TERMS STARTING WITH
marquisate ::: n. --> The seigniory, dignity, or lordship of a marquis; the territory governed by a marquis.
marquisdom ::: n. --> A marquisate.
marquise ::: n. --> The wife of a marquis; a marchioness.
marquis ::: n. --> A nobleman in England, France, and Germany, of a rank next below that of duke. Originally, the marquis was an officer whose duty was to guard the marches or frontiers of the kingdom. The office has ceased, and the name is now a mere title conferred by patent.
marquisship ::: n. --> A marquisate.
TERMS ANYWHERE
and is one of the 12 marquises of the infernal
angels. In the underworld he is a great marquis,
by the Marquis de Talhouet to his chateau du Lude
De Mirville, Marquis Eude. Pneumatologie. Paris: H.
earl ::: n. --> A nobleman of England ranking below a marquis, and above a viscount. The rank of an earl corresponds to that of a count (comte) in France, and graf in Germany. Hence the wife of an earl is still called countess. See Count.
The needlefish.
Garnet ::: 1. A graphical object editor and Macintosh environment.2. A user interface development environment for Common Lisp and X11 from The Garnet project team. It helps you create graphical, interactive user interfaces.Version 2.2 includes the following: a custom object-oriented programming system which uses a prototype-instance model. automatic constraint maintenance allowing or graphs. Automatic generation of PostScript for printing. Support for large-scale applications and data visualisation.Also supplied are: two complete widget sets, one with a Motif look and feel implemented in Lisp and one with a custom look and feel. Interactive design widgets and for drawing application-specific objects. C32 spreadsheet system for specifying complex constraints.Not yet available: Jade automatic dialog box creation system. Marquise interactive tool for specifying behaviours. . (1999-07-02)
Garnet 1. A graphical object editor and {Macintosh} environment. 2. A user interface development environment for {Common Lisp} and {X11} from The Garnet project team. It helps you create graphical, interactive user interfaces. Version 2.2 includes the following: a custom {object-oriented programming} system which uses a {prototype-instance model}. automatic {constraint} maintenance allowing properties of objects to depend on properties of other objects and be automatically re-evaluated when the other objects change. The constraints can be arbitrary Lisp expressions. Built-in, high-level input event handling. Support for {gesture recognition}. {Widgets} for multi-font, multi-line, mouse-driven text editing. Optional automatic layout of application data into lists, tables, trees or graphs. Automatic generation of {PostScript} for printing. Support for large-scale applications and data {visualisation}. Also supplied are: two complete widget sets, one with a {Motif} {look and feel} implemented in {Lisp} and one with a custom {look and feel}. Interactive design tools for creating parts of the interface without writing code: Gilt interface builder for creating {dialog box}es. Lapidary interactive tool for creating new {widgets} and for drawing application-specific objects. C32 {spreadsheet} system for specifying complex {constraints}. Not yet available: Jade automatic dialog box creation system. Marquise interactive tool for specifying behaviours. {(ftp://a.gp.cs.cmu.edu/usr/garnet/garnet)}. (1999-07-02)
Kang Senghui. (J. Ko Soe; K. Kang Sŭnghoe 康僧會) (d. 280). Sogdian monk and early translator of numerous mainstream Buddhist texts into Chinese. Kang Senghui emigrated in 247 to Jianye, the capital of the Wu dynasty (222-264). According to his hagiography, Kang Senghui was brought to the court of Wu as part of the court's investigation into Buddhism. As evidence of the truth of his religion, Kang Senghui miraculously manifested a relic (sARĪRA) of the Buddha, for which the marquis of Wu, Sun Quan, built a monastery near the capital named JIANCHUSI. When Sun Quan's grandson, Sun Hao (r. 264-280), attempted to destroy all Buddhist structures in his kingdom, Kang Senghui is said to have successfully dissuaded him from doing so by making recourse to the notion of "sympathetic resonance" (GANYING). Kang Senghui translated several texts, including a collection of AVADĀNAs called the Liudu ji jing, and he wrote an important preface and commentary on the ANBAN SHOUYI JING, a Chinese recension of the *Smṛtyupasthānasutra (P. SATIPAttHĀNASUTTA). As a learned scholar of Buddhism who was also well versed in the Confucian classics, astronomy, and divination, Kang Senghui played a crucial role in the development of a gentry Buddhist culture in the south, which was heavily influenced by indigenous Chinese philosophy.
lord ::: n. --> A hump-backed person; -- so called sportively.
One who has power and authority; a master; a ruler; a governor; a prince; a proprietor, as of a manor.
A titled nobleman., whether a peer of the realm or not; a bishop, as a member of the House of Lords; by courtesy; the son of a duke or marquis, or the eldest son of an earl; in a restricted sense, a boron, as opposed to noblemen of higher rank.
A title bestowed on the persons above named; and also, for
marchioness ::: n. --> The wife or the widow of a marquis; a woman who has the rank and dignity of a marquis.
margrave ::: n. --> Originally, a lord or keeper of the borders or marches in Germany.
The English equivalent of the German title of nobility, markgraf; a marquis.
markis ::: n. --> A marquis.
marquess ::: n. --> A marquis.
marquisate ::: n. --> The seigniory, dignity, or lordship of a marquis; the territory governed by a marquis.
marquisdom ::: n. --> A marquisate.
marquise ::: n. --> The wife of a marquis; a marchioness.
marquis ::: n. --> A nobleman in England, France, and Germany, of a rank next below that of duke. Originally, the marquis was an officer whose duty was to guard the marches or frontiers of the kingdom. The office has ceased, and the name is now a mere title conferred by patent.
marquisship ::: n. --> A marquisate.
mighty marquis. When invoked, he manifests
nether regions Phenex 1 is a great marquis, a poet,
prince ::: a. --> The one of highest rank; one holding the highest place and authority; a sovereign; a monarch; -- originally applied to either sex, but now rarely applied to a female.
The son of a king or emperor, or the issue of a royal family; as, princes of the blood.
A title belonging to persons of high rank, differing in different countries. In England it belongs to dukes, marquises, and earls, but is given to members of the royal family only. In Italy a
KEYS (10k)
1 Marquis de Vauvenargues
NEW FULL DB (2.4M)
321 Marquis de Sade
132 Don Marquis
76 Madeleine de Souvre marquise de Sable
73 Marie de Rabutin Chantal marquise de Sevigne
30 Neil Gaiman
15 Marquis de Lafayette
14 Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet
9 Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau
8 Sherwood Smith
5 Marcel Proust
5 Georgette Heyer
4 Tomas Lemarquis
4 Michelle Moran
4 Melanie Marquis
3 G K Chesterton
3 Gabriel Garc a M rquez
3 Charles Dickens
3 Alice Goldfarb Marquis
2 Tessa Dawn
2 Robert Burns
1:He who knows how to suffer everything can dare everything.
~ Marquis de Vauvenargues,#KEYS
*** WISDOM TROVE ***
*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***
1:My vengeance needs blood. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
2:o homem é naturalmente mau ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
3:Love Is Stronger Than Pride ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
4:what kittens interrogation point ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
5:life is a bitch so enjoy it ;p ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
6:What is more immoral than war? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
7:There’s a dance in the old dame yet. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
8:I love you as New Englanders love pie! ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
9:Life's too damn funny for me to explain. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
10:Can we become other than what we are? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
11:Any enjoyment is weakened when shared. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
12:I want to be the victim of his errors. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
13:Sensual excess drives out pity in man. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
14:Religions are the cradles of despotism. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
15:Blood will tell, but often it tells too much. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
16:Poetry is what Milton saw when he went blind. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
17:We monsters are necessary to nature also. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
18:I would rather start a family than finish one. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
19:Sex without pain is like food without taste ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
20:Pity the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
21:I've been to Hell. You've only read about it. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
22:Jokainen mies haluaa olla tyranni naidessaan. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
23:Ideas pull the trigger, but instinct loads the gun. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
24:All universal moral principles are idle fancies. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
25:It takes all sorts of people to make the underworld. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
26:It is only by way of pain one arrives at pleasure ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
27:Man cannot be uplifted; he must be seduced into virtue ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
28:What man calls civilization always results in deserts. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
29:An optimist is a man who has never had much experience. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
30:One has always had too much when one has had enough ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
31:Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
32:When you can't have anything else, you can have virtue. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
33:An idea isn't responsible for the people who believe it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
34:An optimist is a guy that has never had much experience. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
35:It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
36:Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
37:Happiness is the interval between periods of unhappiness. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
38:Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
39:An idea isn't responsible for the people who believe in it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
40:My heart hath followed all my days Something I cannot name. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
41:Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
42:My heart has followed, all my days, something I cannot name. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
43:A hypocrite is a person who—but who isn’t? —DON MARQUIS I ~ Timothy Ferriss, #NFDB
44:procrastination is the
art of keeping
up with yesterday ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
45:You are afraid of the people unrestrained-how ridiculous! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
46:A little less vice is virtuousness in a very vicious heart ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
47:Fuck! Is one expected to be a gentleman when one is stiff? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
48:Social order at the expense of liberty is hardly a bargain ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
49:The greatest pleasures are born of conquered repugnancies. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
50:Social order at the expense of liberty is hardly a bargain. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
51:The completest submissiveness is your lot, and that is all. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
52:The completest submissiveness is your lot, and that is all; ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
53:Your body is the church where Nature asks to be reverenced. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
54:An old stomach reforms more whiskey drinkers than a new resolve. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
55:Fishing: a delusion entirely surrounded by liars in old clothes. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
56:Humanity has won its battle. Liberty now has a country. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
57:La vida sólo es una serie ininterrumpida de penas y placeres ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
58:Life is one damned kitten after another." Mehitabel the Alley Cat ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
59:The only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
60:An optimist is the person who has never had any experience at all. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
61:Fishing is a delusion entirely surrounded by liars in old clothes. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
62:Não há homem que não queira ser déspota quando está com tesão. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
63:Not every woman in old slippers can manage to look like Cinderella ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
64:Nothing quite encourages as does one's first unpunished crime. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
65:the high cost of living isnt so bad if you dont have to pay for it ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
66:The primary and most beautiful of nature's qualities is motion ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
67:A pessimist is a person who has had to listen to too many optimist. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
68:Destruction, hence, like creation, is one of Nature's mandates. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
69:es preciso ser puta, niña mía, puta en el alma y en el corazón. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
70:Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
71:The majority of pop stars are complete idiots in every respect. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
72:All that you are, all that I owe to you, justifies my love. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
73:A pessimist is a person who has had to listen to too many optimists. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
74:The man who alters his way of thinking to suit others is a fool. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
75:Tout petit prince a des ambassadeurs, Tout marquis veut avoir des pages. ~ Moli re, #NFDB
76:Bores bore each other too; but it never seems to teach them anything. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
77:Variety, multiplicity are the two most powerful vehicles of lust. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
78:Between understanding and faith immediate connections must subsist. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
79:Few persons comprehend the power of ugliness. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
80:Religion is no more national than conscience. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
81:The chief obstacle to the progress of the human race is the human race. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
82:Tú sabes cómo se aprecia el despotismo en los placeres que gozamos. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
83:A sequel is an admission that you've been reduced to imitating yourself. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
84:Doce solidão, disse para mim mesma, como tua morada me causa inveja. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
85:In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
86:Mikään ei rohkaise niin kuin ensimmäinen rankaisematta jäänyt rikos. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
87:Why do you complain of your fate when you could so easily change it? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
88:He who knows how to suffer everything can dare everything.
~ Marquis de Vauvenargues,#NFDB
89:The female of all species are most dangerous when they appear to retreat. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
90:The idea of God is the sole wrong for which I cannot forgive mankind. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
91:True happiness lies in the senses, and virtue gratifies none of them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
92:What we are doing here is only the image of what we would like to do. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
93:When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him: 'Whose? ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
94:Let me die to the sounds of the delicious music. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
95:Oh to hell with it,” she heard the huge one Marquis grumble. “Sleep, woman. ~ Tessa Dawn, #NFDB
96:When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him: 'Whose?' ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
97:Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
98:A painting that doesn't shock isn't worth painting-Marcel Duchamp ~ Alice Goldfarb Marquis, #NFDB
99:I'm afraid, ha, ha, I find more inspiration in the Marquis de Sade. ~ Christopher Isherwood, #NFDB
100:In an age that is utterly corrupt, the best policy is to do as others do. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
101:One weeps not save when one is afraid, and that is why kings are tyrants. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
102:It is certainly no crime to depict the bizarre ideas that nature inspires. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
103:Let not your zeal to share your principles entice you beyond your borders. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
104:É desprezando a opinião dos homens que você permanecerá na lembrança deles. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
105:Either kill me or take me as I am, because I'll be damned if I ever change. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
106:it s cheerio
my deario
that pulls a
lady through
exclamation point ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
107:Just as soon as the uplifters get a country reformed it slips into a nose dive. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
108:The impossibility of outraging nature is the greatest anguish man can know. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
109:It is a cheering thought to think that God is on the side of the best digestion. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
110:It is only by imitating the vices of others that I have earned my misfortunes. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
111:Not kings alone--the people, too, have their flatterers. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
112:Se te tivesses deixado levar pela corrente, terias encontrado o porto como eu. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
113:And if I were a naughty little boy, the idea is to spank me into good behavior? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
114:ein hübsches mädchen sollte sich damit befassen zu ficken und niemals zu zeugen ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
115:Humanity has gained its suit; Liberty will nevermore be without an asylum. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
116:There is always a comforting thought in time of trouble when it is not our trouble. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
117:...Madame, I have become a whore through good-will and libertine through virtue. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
118:Old godheads sink in space and drown Their arks like foundered galleons sucked down. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
119:prohibition makes you want to cry into your beer and denies you the beer to cry into ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
120:There are thorns everywhere, but along the path of vice, roses bloom above them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
121:It has pleased Nature so to make us that we attain happiness only by way of pain. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
122:Women are not made for one single man; 'tis for men at large Nature created them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
123:Vibrations are the key to everything. Atoms used to be, but atoms have quite gone out. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
124:Art should grasp the mind the way the vagina grasps the penis-Marcel Duchamp ~ Alice Goldfarb Marquis, #NFDB
125:El amor es como el sol, no brilla menos para ti, solo por que brilla para los demás ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
126:The most fortunate of persons is he who has the most means to satisfy his vagaries. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
127:Happiness lies only in that which excites, and the only thing that excites is crime. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
128:Insurrection is the most sacred of rights and the most indispensable of duties. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
129:Many a man spanks his children for things his own father should have spanked out of him. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
130:Não há horror que não possa ser divinizado, nem virtude que não possa ser impugnada. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
131:Cruelty, very far from being a vice, is the first sentiment Nature injects in us all. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
132:Il n'y a d'autre enfer pour l'homme que la bêtise ou la méchanceté de ses semblables. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
133:Don't have children: they deform women's bodies and turn into an enemy 20 years later. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
134:Enjoy your own life without comparing it with that of another. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
135:Nuestro placer principal consiste en violar la ley y el orden; anhelamos el caos total ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
136:The art of newspaper paragraphing is to stroke a platitude until it purrs like an epigram. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
137:There is no God, Nature sufficeth unto herself; in no wise hath she need of an author. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
138:Under the freest constitution ignorant people are still slaves. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
139:A demagogue is a person with whom we disagree as to which gang should mismanage the country. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
140:But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked the Marquis in the face. ~ Charles Dickens, #NFDB
141:Para que havemos de vegetar estupidamente na terra, e ser esquecidos ao fechar os olhos? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
142:A certain alloy of expediency improves the gold of morality and makes it wear all the longer. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
143:God strung up his own son like a side of veal. I shudder to think what he would do to me. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
144:i look back on my life
and it seems to me to be
just one damned kitten
after another ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
145:In times of anarchy one may seem a despot in order to be a saviour. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
146:I don't know what the heart is, not I: I only use the word to denote the mind's frailties. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
147:One is never so dangerous when one has no shame, than when one has grown too old to blush. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
148:Punctuality is one of the cardinal business virtues: always insist on it in your subordinates. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
149:Every cloud has its silver lining but it is sometimes a little difficult to get it to the mint. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
150:no, Dios no existe: la naturaleza se basta a sí misma. No tiene ninguna necesidad de autor. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
151:The most chaste woman may be the most voluptuous, if she truly loves. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
152:Censors are necessary, increasingly necessary, if America is to avoid having a vital literature. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
153:In order to influence a child, one must be careful not to be that child's parent or grandparent. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
154:With regard to ghosts, while we have never believed in them, we have always been afraid of them. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
155:Conversation, like certain portions of the anatomy, always runs more smoothly when lubricated. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
156:How delicious to corrupt, to stifle all semblances of virtue and religion in that young heart! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
157:Valor, ángel mío, valor; acuérdate de que sólo por las penas se alcanzan siempre los placeres. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
158:Honesty is a good thing, but it is not profitable to its possessor unless it is kept under control. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
159:It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes, but the mode of thought of others. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
160:Our is a world where people don't know what they want and are willing to go through hell to get it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
161:It has been my observation and experience, and that of my family, that nothing human works out well. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
162:Nature has not got two voices, you know, one of them condemning all day what the other commands. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
163:One must do violence to the object of one's desire; when it surrenders, the pleasure is greater. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
164:Ours is a world where people don't know what they want and are willing to go through hell to get it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
165:The socialized state is to justice, order, and freedom what the Marquis de Sade is to love. ~ William F Buckley Jr, #NFDB
166:I am never so happy aswhen I am broke, and lately I have been happy all the time. - Mehitabel the Cat ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
167:In my idea General Washington is the greatest man; for I look upon him as the most virtuous. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
168:One of the most important things to remember about infant care is: don't change diapers in midstream. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
169:The truth belongs to those who seek it, not to those who claim to own it. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
170:Y ahora mi estimado lector, prepárate a leer la narración más impura que se haya narrado jamás... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
171:It requires only two things to win credit for a miracle: a mountebank and a number of silly women. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
172:las sensaciones morales son engañosas mientras que la verdad sólo está en las sensaciones físicas. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
173:No kind of sensation is keener and more active than that of pain its impressions are unmistakable. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
174:Oh! my friend, never seek to corrupt the person whom you love, it can go further than you think... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
175:I never think at all when I write
nobody can do two things at the same time
and do them both well ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
176:Middle age is the time when a man is always thinking that in a week or two he will feel as good as ever. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
177:The more defects a man may have, the older he is, the less lovable, the more resounding his success. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
178:Crime is to the passions what nervous fluid is to life: it sustains them, it supplies their strength. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
179:Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
180:Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
181:Savez-vous, monsieur le marquis de Rastignacorama, que ce que vous me dites n’est pas exactement poli ~ Honor de Balzac, #NFDB
182:A truly new and original book would be one which made people love old truths. —MARQUIS DE VAUVENARGUES ~ Eric Greitens, #NFDB
183:In all systems of theology the devil figures as a male person. Yes, it is women who keep the church going. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
184:Nature has endowed each of us with a capacity for kindly feelings: let us not squander them on others. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
185:Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
186:You have no idea, my friend, of the effect of a young woman's tears on all these weak and timid souls. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
187:Es muy difícil asegurarse contra el robo cuando se tiene tres veces más de lo que hace falta para vivir ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
188:It is intolerance to speak of toleration. Away with the word from the dictionary! ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
189:Sexual pleasure is, I agree, a passion to which all others are subordinate but in which they all unite. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
190:Fear not lest precautions and protective contrivances diminish your pleasure: mystery only adds thereto. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
191:every cloud
has its silver
lining but it is
sometimes a little
difficult to get it to
the mint ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
192:I get up in the morning with an idea for a three-volume novel and by nightfall it's a paragraph in my column. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
193:That stern and rockbound coast felt like an amateur when it saw how grim the puritans that landed on it were. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
194:Emme ole tässä maailmassa ikuisesti ja onnellisinta mitä naiselle voi tapahtua on että hän kuolee nuorena. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
195:I suppose the human race is doing the best it can but hells bells thats only an explanation its not an excuse. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
196:Honesty is a good thing,
but it is not profitable
to its possessor unless
it is kept under control. ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
197:If the liberties of the American people are ever destroyed, they will fall by the hands of the clergy. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
198:...that tender compunction of the honest-minded, so different from the hateful intoxication of criminals... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
199:If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you; But if you really make them think, they'll hate you. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
200:We pay for the mistakes of our ancestors, and it seems only fair that they should leave us the money to pay with. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
201:In order to know virtue, we must acquaint ourselves with vice. Only then can we know the true measure of a man. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
202:It would be a colorless world if each individual did not secretly believe himself superior to almost everyone else. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
203:I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
204:To lie is always a necessity for women; above all when they choose to deceive, falsehood becomes vital to them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
205:Most of the people living in New York have come here from the far to try to make enough money to go back to the farm ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
206:Ours is a world where people don't know what they want and are willing to go through hell to get it. —DON MARQUIS ~ John C Maxwell, #NFDB
207:There is a kind of pleasure which comes from sacrilege or the profanation of the objects offered us for worship. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
208:Only two things are required to accredit
an alleged miracle: a mountebank and a crowd of spineless lookers-on. ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
209:The most pleasant and useful persons are those who leave some of the problems of the universe for God to worry about. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
210:There are natural and imprescriptible rights which an entire nation has no right to violate. —MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE ~ Michelle Moran, #NFDB
211:No lover, if he be of good faith, and sincere, will deny he would prefer to see his mistress dead than unfaithful. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
212:The trouble with the public is that there is too much of it; what we need in public is less quantity and more quality. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
213:Cette force irrésistible de la main du sort qui nous porte toujours malgré nous où ses loix veulent que nous soyons ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
214:every cloud has its silver lining but it is sometimes a little difficult to get it to the mint'
-archy the cockroach ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
215:Nearly every night before I go to bed I ask myself, "Have I vibrated in tune with the Infinite today, or have I failed? ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
216:The state of a moral man, is one of tranquillity and peace; the state of an immoral man is one of perpetual unrest. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
217:Are wars anything but the means whereby a nation is nourished, whereby it is strengthened, whereby it is buttressed? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
218:By the time a bartender knows what drink a man will have before he orders, there is little else about him worth knowing. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
219:We’re immigrants. We get the job done.
Alexander Hamilton to the Marquis de Lafayette me (at centre-stage) ~ Lin Manuel Miranda,#NFDB
220:If you were lost for America, there is nobody who could keep the army and the revolution [going] for six months. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
221:The outstanding French publicist, the Marquis de Sade, who was always well informed, responded to this speech in this way: ~ Karel apek, #NFDB
222:They declaim against the passions without bothering to think that it is from their flame philosophy lights its torch. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
223:A little while with grief and laughter, And then the day will close; The shadows gather ... what comes after No man knows. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
224:For him who fain would teach the world The world holds hate in fee- For Socrates, the hemlock cup; For Christ, Gethsemane. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
225:He's not getting out of here again...But you don't have to go all Marquis de Sade on him either. Just kill him or let me. ~ Rachel Caine, #NFDB
226:Nicht die Tugend fordert man von uns, sondern nur ihre Maske. Wenn wir uns zu verstellen wissen, so ist man zufrieden. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
227:Any way, death is so final, isn't it? "Is it?" asked Richard. "Sometimes," said the marquis de Carabas. And they went down. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
228:He worked like hell in the country so he could live in the city, where he worked like hell so he could live in the country. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
229:Si los amantes normales no terminan nunca de hablarse, ¿cuántas cosas importantes debían quedarles por decirse a éstos? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
230:A fierce unrest seethes at the core, of all existing things:, it was the eager wish to soar, that gave the gods their wings. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
231:Certain souls may seem harsh to others, but it is just a way, beknownst only to them, of caring and feeling more deeply. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
232:la vérité déchira le voile qu'étendait la main de l'erreur sur le miroir de la vie, et je m'y vis enfin tel que j'étais. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
233:Virtue can procure only an imaginary happiness; true felicity lies only in the senses, and virtue gratifies none of them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
234:Infeliz como eu era, poderia estar eu apaixonada pela vida, quando a maior felicidade que me podia acontecer era deixá-la? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
235:Prejudice is the sole author of infamies: how many acts are so qualified by an opinion forged out of naught but prejudice! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
236:When the government violates the people’s rights, insurrection is … the most indispensable of duties. —MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE ~ Michelle Moran, #NFDB
237:it is better to be a part of beauty for one instant and then cease to exist than to exist forever and never be a part of beauty ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
238:Any way, death is so final, isn't it?
"Is it?" asked Richard.
"Sometimes," said the marquis de Carabas. And they went down. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
239:Ce n’est pas dans la jouissance que consiste le bonheur, c’est dans le désir, c’est à briser les freins qu’oppose à ce désir. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
240:Sex should be a perfect balance of pain and pleasure. Without that symmetry, sex becomes a routine rather than an indulgence. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
241:Self-interest lies behind all that men do, forming the important motive for all their actions; this rule has never deceived me ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
242:'Til the infallibility of human judgements shall have been proved to me, I shall demand the abolition of the penalty of death. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
243:Tu cuerpo es tuyo, sólo tuyo; sólo tú en el mundo tienes derecho a gozar de él y a hacer gozar con él a quien bien te parezca. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
244:When the government violates the people's rights, insurrection is . . . the most indispensable of duties. -Marquis de Lafayette ~ Michelle Moran, #NFDB
245:Every honorable man is forced to yield to blackmail once or twice in his life, just for the sake of keeping peace in the community. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
246:We are no guiltier in following the primative impulses that govern us than is the Nile for her floods or the sea for her waves. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
247:A great many people who spend their time mourning over the brevity of life could make it seem longer if they did a little more work. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
248:No form of government matters nearly as much as the spirit and intelligence brought to the administration of any form of government. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
249:Amigos mios, ha llegado la hora de darnos cuenta de que la moral debería ser la base de la religión y no esta la base de la moral ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
250:A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might: Guid faith, he maunna fa' that. ~ Robert Burns, #NFDB
251:my master is the same as god
when he thumps with his hand
people bring us hamburg steaks
at any eating stand "pete s holiday ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
252:How is this?" she demanded "I had thought a Marquis must always be acceptable!"
"That, Miss Merriville, Depends on the Marquis! ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
253:If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
254:Self aggrandizement is the most worthy and agreeable of sovereigns' occupations," the king wrote to the Marquis de Villars in 1688.7 ~ Brian M Fagan, #NFDB
255:The things that I can't have I want, And what I have seems second-rate, The things I want to do I can't, And what I have to do I hate. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
256:As you grow ready for it, somewhere or other you will find what is needful for you in a book. ~ George MacDonald, The Marquis of Lossie, Chapter XLII., #NFDB
257:it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
258:It is not the opinions or the vices of private individuals that are harmful to the State, but rather the behavior of public figures. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
259:La verdadera justicia no se aplica porque es a los más grandes delincuentes a los que más aprecian quienes tienen el poder judicial. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
260:Persian pussy from over the sea demure and lazy and smug and fat none of your ribbons and bells for me ours is the zest of the alley cat ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
261:Richard wondered how the marquis managed to make being pushed around in a wheelchair look like a romantic and swashbuckling thing to do. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
262:To judge from the notions expounded by theologians, one must conclude that God created most men simply with a view to crowding hell. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
263:Of middle age the best that can be said is that a middle aged person has likely learned how to have a little fun in spite of his troubles. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
264:If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that's read by persons who move their lips when they're reading to themselves. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
265:No es el mal ocasionado al prójimo de lo que nos arrepentimos, sino de la desgracia que nos ha producido cometerla y el ser descubierta. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
266:Nothing is impossible to the man that can will. Is that necessary? That shall be. This is the only law of success. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
267:This monster was outfitted with faculties so gigantic that even the broadest thoroughfares would still have appeared too narrow for him. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
268:The Marquis de Sade (full name Donatien-Alphonse-François – DAF for short, Comte de Sade) was one of the most liberated men that ever existed. ~ Tyburn Way, #NFDB
269:A man learns nothing when he talks; he learns by listening. Which is why those who talk the most are, in the ordinary run of things, fools. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
270:it s too great a
blow underlined
to a man apostrophe s
pride
to see a woman
influence other women
more than he can
himself ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
271:Remorse! Can a heart like mine ever know the meaning of such a feeling? The habit of evildoing expunged it long ago from my calloused soul. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
272:Every principle is a judgment, every judgment the outcome of experience, and experience is only acquired by the exercise of the senses . . . ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
273:The horror of wedlock, the most appalling, the most loathsome of all the bonds humankind has devised for its own discomfort and degradation. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
274:I suggest somewhere that anyone who wishes to write and has no aptitude for it would be better off making shoes for ladies and boots for men. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
275:It is very easy not to like what you do not know. But no one should be allowed not to want to know what is made to be liked very much indeed. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
276:Washington had several surrogate sons during the Revolution, most notably the marquis de Lafayette, and he often referred to Hamilton as “my boy. ~ Ron Chernow, #NFDB
277:I assumed that everything must yield to me, that the entire universe had to flatter my whims, and that I had the right to satisfy them at will. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
278:Julian was the son of Diokles of Sparta, also known as Diokles the Butcher. That man made the Marquis de Sade look like Ronald McDonald. (Ben) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon, #NFDB
279:I hope to see the bringing together of all the best educated people of the earth into a worldwide Congress of Scientists. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
280:I read, I study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and out of all of this I try to form an idea into which I put as much common sense as I can. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
281:Minä en epäröi koskaan valinnoissani ja koska olen aina varma, että löydän nautinnon siitä mitä teen, en koskaan katumalla turmele sen viehätystä. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
282:My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
283:Why should the Marquis de Cussy wage war on soup? I cannot understand a dinner without it. I hold soup to be the well beloved of the stomach. ~ Marie Antoine Careme, #NFDB
284:The ultimate triumph of philosophy would be to cast light upon the mysterious ways in which Providence moves to achieve the designs it has for man. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
285:Lector, "alegría, saludo y salud", decían antaño nuestros antepasados cuando acababan un cuento. | Historietas, cuentos y fábulas - Marqués de Sade. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
286:So, you figure they won't notice you're back?" sneered the marquis. "Just, 'oh look, there's another angel, here, grab a harp and on with the hosannas'? ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
287:Conspiracy! Intrigue! A rapidly thickening plot! Add some bestiality and a lecherous priest and I'd say you have the beginnings of a beautiful novel. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
288:Happiness is an abstraction, it is a product of the imagination, it is a way of being moved, which depends entirely on our way of seeing and feeling. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
289:Yes, he's got all them different kinds of thoroughbred blood in him, and he's got other kinds you ain't mentioned and that you ain't slick enough to see. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
290:There are many things that are thorns to our hopes until we have attained them, and envenomed arrows to our hearts when we have. ~ Victor de Riqueti marquis de Mirabeau, #NFDB
291:There is no rational commensuration between what affects us and what affects others; the first we sense physically, the other only touches us morally. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
292:True republicanism is the sovereignty of the people. There are natural and imprescriptible rights which an entire nation has no right to violate. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
293:Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
294:de suprimir para siempre la atrocidad de la pena de muerte, porque la ley que atenta contra la vida de un hombre es impracticable, injusta e inadmisible. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
295:I don't want the universe broken up just yet," drawled the Marquis. "I want to do a lot of beastly things before I die. I thought of one yesterday in bed. ~ G K Chesterton, #NFDB
296:Sex'' is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
297:Is it true that in Petersburg you belonged to some secret society of bestial sensualists? Is it true that you could give lessons to the Marquis De Sade? ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky, #NFDB
298:Is it true that in Petersburg you belonged to some secret society of bestial sensualists? Is it true that you could give lessons to the Marquis de Sade? ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky, #NFDB
299:Jean-Pierre Marquis, From a Geometrical Point of View: A Study of the History and Philosophy of Category Theory, Springer Science & Business Media, 2008. ~ Roger Scruton, #NFDB
300:The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
301:Nothing we can do outrages Nature directly. Our acts of destruction give her new vigour and feed her energy, but none of our wreckings can weaken her power. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
302:If a child shows himself incorrigible, he should be decently and quietly beheaded at the age of twelve, lest he grow to maturity, marry, and perpetuate his kind. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
303:my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
304:Are your convictions so fragile that mine cannot stand in opposition to them? Is your God so illusory that the presence of my Devil reveals his insufficiency? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
305:How often when they find a sage
As sweet as Socrates or Plato
They hand him hemlock for his wage
Or bake him like a sweet potato!-Taking the Longer View ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
306:Is it not a strange blindness on our part to teach publicly the techniques of warfare and to reward with medals those who prove to be the most adroit killers? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
307:I wished to stifle the unhappy passion which burned in my soul; but is love an illness to be cured? All I endeavored to oppose to it merely fanned its flames. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
308:The marquis stared at Richard, openly amused. "What a refreshing mind you have, young man," he said. "There really is nothing quite like total ignorance, is there? ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
309:The pleasure of the senses is always regulated in accordance with the imagination. Man can aspire to felicity only by serving all the whims of his imagination. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
310:You want to know whether I believe in ghosts? Of course I do not believe in them. If you had known as many of them as I have, you would not believe in them either. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
311:personally my ambition is to get my time as a cockroach shortened for good behavior and be promoted to a revenue officer it is not much of a step up but i am humble ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
312:Por otro lado, un hombre no cataloga como criminales a todos los asesinos, sino solamente a los que llevan a cabo sus acciones en calidad de empresa particular. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
313:I do not see why men sheould be so proud insects have the more ancient lineage according to the scientists insects were insects when man was only a burbling whatisit. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
314:The marquis de Carabas tossed the figurine to Mr. Croup, who caught it eagerly, like an addict catching a plastic baggie filled with white powder of dubious legality. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
315:Too many creatures both insects and humans estimate their own value by the amount of minor irritation they are able to cause to greater personalities than themselves. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
316:Crime is the soul of lust. What would pleasure be if it were not accompanied by crime? It is not the object of debauchery that excites us, rather the idea of evil. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
317:If a child shows himself to be incorrigible, he should be decently and quietly beheaded at the age of twelve, lest he grow to maturity, marry, and perpetuate his kind. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
318:The reasoning man who rejects the superstitions of simpletons necessarily becomes their enemy; he must expect as much and be prepared to laugh at the consequences. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
319:Thus, that happiness the two sexes cannot find with the other they will find, one in blind obedience, the other in the most energetic expression of his domination. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
320:'Door,' called Richard. 'Don't do it. Don't set it free. We don't matter.'
'Actually,' said the marquis, 'I matter very much. But I have to agree. Don't do it.' ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
321:Happiness lies neither in vice nor in virtue; but in the manner we appreciate the one and the other, and the choice we make pursuant to our individual organization. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
322:Humane sentiments are baseless, mad, and improper; they are incredibly feeble; never do they withstand the gainsaying passions, never do they resist bare necessity. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
323:How can nothing more than a mass of quarks and blood and bones weep, love, dream? We are more than the matter we're made of, and that is in fact what makes us matter. ~ Melanie Marquis, #NFDB
324:Insects have their own point of view about civilization a man thinks he amounts to a great deal but to a flea or a mosquito a human being is merely something good to eat. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
325:personally my ambition is to get my time as a cockroach shortened for good
behavior and be promoted to a revenue officer
it is not much of a step up but i am humble ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
326:Why . . . why did some people think you were dead?”
The marquis looked at Richard with eyes that had seen too much and gone too far. “Because they killed me,” he said. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
327:I once heard the survivors of a colony of ants that had been partially obliterated by a cow's foot seriously debating the intention of the gods towards their civilization. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
328:People still retain the errors of their childhood, their nation, and their age, long after they have accepted the truths needed to refute them. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
329:Why . . . why did some people think you were dead?”
The marquis looked at Richard with eyes that had seen too much and gone too far. “Because they killed
me,” he said. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
330:This is another day! Are its eyes blurred with maudlin grief for any wasted past? A thousand thousand failures shall not daunt! Let dust clasp dust, death, death; I am alive! ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
331:Those who are unhappy
clutch at shadows, and to
give themselves an enjoyment
that truth refuses them, they
artfully bring into being all
sorts of illusions. ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
332:Let us give ourselves indiscriminately to everything our passions suggest, and we will always be happy…Conscience is not the voice of Nature but only the voice of prejudice. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
333:My passions, concentrated on a single point, resemble the rays of a sun assembled by a magnifying glass: they immediately set fire to whatever object they find in their way. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
334:The Marquis de Carabas liked being who he was, and when he took risks he liked them to be calculated risks, and he was someone who double-and triple-checked his calculations. He ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
335:you want to know
whether i believe in ghosts
of course i do not believe in them
if you had known
as many of them as i have
you would not
believe in them either ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
336:Give up the dream that Love may trick the fates To live again somewhere beyond the gleam Of dying stars, or shatter the strong gates Some god has builded high; give up the dream. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
337:Let us give ourselves indiscriminately to everything our passions suggest, and we will always be happy...Conscience is not the voice of Nature but only the voice of prejudice. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
338:Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge, are all founded on lust. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
339:Even if she was the devil's own daughter , God strike me down if I never have her .
May all the devils in hell make off with my soul if he lays a finger on her before I do ! ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
340:Now I beg of you to tell me whether I must love a human being simply because he exists or resembles me and whether for those reasons alone I must suddenly prefer him to myself? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
341:Siena marble. It was only as she reached it that she realised that the Marquis was standing there with his evening cape over his shoulders, obviously waiting for his carriage. ~ Barbara Cartland, #NFDB
342:In the American colonies, the main problem of liberty has been solved, demonstrated and practiced in such a manner as not to leave much to be said by European institutions. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
343:It has been estimated that more than 50 million individuals have lost their lives to wars and religious massacres. Is there even one among them worth the blood of a single bird? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
344:What," asked Mr Croup, "do you want?"
"What," asked the Marquis de Carabas, a little more rhetorically, "does anyone want?"
"Dead things," suggested Mr Vandemar. "Extra teeth. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
345:The marquis de Carabas looked up at him. His eyes were very white in the moonlight. And he whispered, "What's it like being dead? It's very cold, my friend. Very dark, and very cold. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
346:Thomas Jefferson helped the Marquis de Lafayette draft a declaration,” Simon blurts. “Mr. Spier, memorizing the Hamilton soundtrack is not going to save you on the AP Euro exam. ~ Becky Albertalli, #NFDB
347:I have often noticed that ancestors never boast of the descendants who boast of ancestors. I would rather start a family than finish one. Blood will tell, but often it tells too much. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
348:i do not see why men
should be so proud
insects have the more
ancient lineage
according to the scientists
insects were insects
when man was only
a burbling whatsit ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
349:It seems to me,' said the other, 'That you are simply seeking a pretext to insult the Marquis.'
By George!' said Syme facing round and looking at him, 'What a clever chap you are! ~ G K Chesterton,#NFDB
350:The mirror sees the man as beautiful, the mirror loves the man; another mirror sees the man as frightful and hates him; and it is always the same being who produces the impressions. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
351:He who perpetrates an outrage may well be quick to forget what he has done. But they who have suffered at his hands are justified at least in remembering the wrongs he has done them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
352:The past encourages me, the present electrifies me, and I have little fear for the future; and my hope is that the rest of my life shall by far surpass the extravagances of my youth. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
353:Were he supreme, were he mighty, were he just, were he good, this God you tell me about, would it be through enigmas and buffooneries he would wish to teach me to serve and know him? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
354:Non, Thérèse, non, il n’est point de Dieu, la nature se suffit à elle-même ; elle n’a nullement besoin d’un auteur, cet auteur supposé n’est qu’une décomposition de ses propres forces ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
355:The Marquis De Sade said that the most important experiences a man can have are those that take him to the very limit; that is the only way we learn, because it requires all our courage. ~ Paulo Coelho, #NFDB
356:i once heard the survivors
of a colony of ants
that had been partially
obliterated by a cow s foot
seriously debating
the intention of the gods
towards their civilization ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
357:It is only by sacrificing everything to sensual pleasure that this being known as Man, cast into the world in spite of himself, may succeed in sowing a few roses on the thorns of life. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
358:It seems to me,' said the other, 'That you are simply seeking a pretext to insult the Marquis.' By George!' said Syme facing round and looking at him, 'What a clever chap you are! ~ Gilbert K Chesterton, #NFDB
359:There was a low rumbling. “I’m going to kill somebody,” said the Elephant. “As soon as I figure out who.”
“Whoa, dear heart,” said the Marquis, rubbing his hands together. “You mean whom. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
360:Oh! What an enigma is man!" exclaimed the Duke. "Yes, my friend," said Curval. "That is why a certain very intelligent gentleman once said it was better to fuck him than to understand him. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
361:Crime causes so much horror, even to them [criminals], that they would like, in order to escape from the necessity they feel to be bad, to be believed and always to be depicted as virtuous. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
362:you want to know whether i believe in ghosts of course i do not believe in them if you had known as many of them as i have you would not believe in them either – Don Marquis ("ghosts") ~ Kealan Patrick Burke, #NFDB
363:He calls himself the Marquis de Carabas,” he said. “He’s a fraud and a cheat and possibly even something of a monster. If you’re ever in trouble, go to him. He will protect you, girl. He has to. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
364:When the government violates the people's rights, insurrection is, for the people and for each portion of the people, the most sacred of the rights and the most indispensible of duties. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
365:Lycurgus, Numa, Moses, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, all these great rogues, all these great thought-tyrants, knew how to associate the divinities they fabricated with their own boundless ambition. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
366:... decidi segui-lo e chegar a qualquer preço àquelas regiões distantes, imaginando que a paz e o repouso que me eram tão cruelmente negados em minha pátria talvez me esperassem no fim do mundo. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
367:Está tan de moda pretender juzgar las costumbres de un escritor por sus escritos; esta falsa concepción encuentra hoy tantos partidarios, que casi nadie se atreve a poner a prueba una idea osada. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
368:I have supported my deviations with reasons; I did not stop at mere doubt; I have vanquished, I have uprooted, I have destroyed everything in my heart that might have interfered with my pleasure. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
369:The law which attempts a man's life [capital punishment] is impractical, unjust, inadmissible. It has never repressed crime--for a second crime is every day committed at the foot of the scaffold. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
370:The law which attempts a man's life [capital punishment] is impractical, unjust, inadmissible. It has never repressed crime - for a second crime is every day committed at the foot of the scaffold. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
371:I don't want to be pinned down to any position. My position is the lack of a position, but of course you can't even talk about it; the minute you talk you spoil the whole game-Marcel Duchamp ~ Alice Goldfarb Marquis, #NFDB
372:It wont be long now it wont be long man is making deserts of the earth it wont be long now before man will have used it up so that nothing but ants and centipedes and scorpions can find a living on it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
373:justice...is not inherent in the universe and what man has put there he uses when he uses it at all strictly for his own purposes the world is so sad that the only way to live with it is to laugh at it ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
374:There is no more lively sensation than that of pain; its impressions are certain and dependable, they never deceive as may those of the pleasure women perpetually feign and almost never experience. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
375:Olağanüstü iddialar olağanüstü kanıtları gerektirir,” uyarısında bulunmuş olan Marquis de Laplace’ı (sık sık “Fransız Newton” diye adlandırılan matematikçi ve astronom Pierre-Simon Laplace [1794-1827]) ~ Thomas Szasz, #NFDB
376:- O pudor é uma velha virtude que deveis, com tantos encantos, saber dispensar na perfeição,
- Mas a decência...
- Mais um costume gótico, a que hoje pouco se liga. E tão contrário à natureza! ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
377:what man calls civilizationalways results in desertsman is never on the squarehe uses up the fat and greenery of the eartheach generation wastes a little moreof the future with greed and lust for riches ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
378:The primary and most beautiful of Nature's qualities is motion, which agitates her at all times, but this motion is simply a perpetual consequence of crimes, she conserves it by means of crimes only. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
379:If the world were not so full of people, and most of them did not have to work so hard, there would be more time for them to get out and lie on the grass, and there would be more grass for them to lie on. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
380:She had already allowed her delectable lover to pluck that flower which, so different from the rose to which it is nevertheless sometimes compared, has not the same faculty of being reborn each spring. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
381:He, being hacked and cut for three solid quarters of an hour by the vigorous hands that had taken charge of his education, was soon nothing but a single wound, from which blood spurted out on all sides. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
382:Here am I: at one stroke incestuous, adulteress, sodomite, and all that in a girl who only lost her maidenhead today! What progress, my friends with what rapidity I advance along the thorny road of vice! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
383:Oscar Wilde was suing the Marquis of Queensbury in 1895 for libel accusing Wilde of homosexuality Counsel: Have you ever adored a young man madly? Wilde: I have never given adoration to anyone except myself. ~ Oscar Wilde, #NFDB
384:What does one want when one is engaged in the sexual act? That everything around you give you its utter attention, think only of you, care only for you...every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
385:The degradation which characterizes the state into which you plunge him by punishing him pleases, amuses, and delights him. Deep down he enjoys having gone so far as to deserve being treated in such a way. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
386:Man's natural character is to imitate; that of the sensitive man is to resemble as closely as possible the person whom he loves. It is only by imitating the vices of others that I have earned my misfortunes. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
387:Respectable?...Not another word, my dear, for I assure you of all the sentiments I should like to inspire respect is the very last: love is what I wish to arouse. Respect! I am not yet old enough for respect. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
388:fire is beautiful and we know that if we get too close it will kill us but what does that matter it is better to be happy for a moment and be burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
389:I am the Grand Marquis Fornas, leader of twenty-nine of Hell’s legions, corrupter of the sciences, defiler of the experiments, and despoiler of the philosophies. I am a warrior, a poet, a scholar, and your doom. ~ John G Hartness, #NFDB
390:For mortal men there is but one hell, and that is the folly and wickedness and spite of his fellows; but once his life is over, there's an end to it: his annihilation is final and entire, of him nothing survives. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
391:Nature, who for the perfect maintenance of the laws of her general equilibrium, has sometimes need of vices and sometimes of virtues, inspires now this impulse, now that one, in accordance with what she requires. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
392:Islington smiled superciliously. “Lucifer?” It said. “Lucifer was an idiot. It wound up lord and master of nothing at all.” The marquis grinned. “And you wound up lord and master of two thugs and a roomful of candles? ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
393:La imaginación es el aguijón de los placeres; en los de esta especie, lo regula todo, es el móvil de todo; ahora bien, ¿no se goza por ella?
¿No es de ella de la que proceden las voluptuosidades más excitantes? ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
394:If we punished only the crimes we could prove, we would not enjoy the pleasure of dragging our fellow human beings to the scaffold so much as four times a century, and that is the only thing that makes us respected. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
395:There is bound to be a certain amount of trouble running any country. If you are president, the trouble happens to you. But if you are a tyrant you can arrange things so that most of the trouble happens to other people. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
396:I am about to put foward some major ideas; they will be heard and pondered. If not all of them please, surely a few will; in some sort, then, I shall have contributed to the progress of our age, and shall be content. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
397:The more amorous the President became, the more his fatuousness made him intolerable: there is nothing in the world as comical as a lawyer in love—he is the perfect picture of gaucheness, impertinence and ineptitude. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
398:Whoever you are, you're like no one else, and you can do magick like no one else, too. Each and every one of us is a one-of-a-kind pattern of energies and essence, each with our own affinities, abilities, and purpose. ~ Melanie Marquis, #NFDB
399:Beauty belongs to the sphere of the simple, the ordinary, whilst ugliness is something extraordinary, and there is no question but that every ardent imagination prefers in lubricity, the extraordinary to the commonplace ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
400:I didn't hit her, man, what happened was that Maria was obsessed with the Marquis de Sade and wanted to try the spanking thing," said Luscious Skin.
"That's very Maria," said Pancho. "She takes her reading seriously. ~ Roberto Bola o,#NFDB
401:The President was in seventh heaven when he heard himself being teased like this; he strutted about and thrust his chest out; never did a man of the robe stick out his neck so far, not even one who has just hanged a man. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
402:Dread not infanticide; the crime is imaginary: we are always mistress of what we carry in our womb, and we do no more harm in destroying this kind of matter than in evacuating another, by medicines, when we feel the need. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
403:The imagination is the spur of delights... all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
404:He would doubtless have promised anything for the mere pleasure of breaking all bounds; perhaps he would even have liked her to ask him to swear on oath so he could add the attractions of perjury to his horrible pleasures. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
405:Man’s natural character is to imitate: that of the sensitive man is to resemble as closely as possible the person whom he loves. It is only by imitating the vices of others that I have earned my misfortunes. —MARQUIS DE SADE ~ Michelle Moran, #NFDB
406:So long as the laws remain such as they are today, employ some discretion: loud opinion forces us to do so; but in privacy and silence let us compensate ourselves for that cruel chastity we are obliged to display in public. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
407:...and what creature, after all, is more precious, more attractive in the eyes of men, than the woman who has cherished, respected, and cultivated all earthly virtues, only to find, at every step, both misfortune and sorrow? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
408:When a man loves a woman, as our old troubadours used to say, even if he has heard or seen something that puts his beloved in a bad light, he should believe neither his ears nor his eyes, he should listen to his heart alone. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
409:...it is only in the darkness of the grave that man will find the peace which the wickedness of his fellows, the tumult of his own passions, and, above all, the inevitability of his fate shall eternally deny him in this life. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
410:I write what I see, the endless procession to the guillotine. Were all lined up, waiting for the crunch of the blade... the rivers of blood are flowing beneath our feet... Ive been to hell, young man, youve only read about it. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
411:The viscountess had raised the forefinger of her right hand and made a pretty gesture toward a stool at her feet. There was such intense tyrannical passion in the gesture that the marquis relinquished the doorknob and came back. ~ Honor de Balzac, #NFDB
412:What's it like then?" asked Old Bailey. "Being dead?" The marquis sighed. And then he twisted his lips up into a smile, and with a glitter of his old self, he replied, "Live long enough, Old Bailey, and you can find out for yourself. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
413:The best good that you can possibly achieve is not good enough if you have to strain yourself all the time to reach it. A thing is only worth doing, and doing again and again, if you can do it rather easily, and get some joy out of it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
414:Anything beyond the limits and grasp of the human mind is either illusion or futility; and because your god having to be one or the other of the two, in the first instance I should be mad to believe in him, and in the second a fool. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
415:Certain souls seem hard because they are capable of strong feelings, and they sometimes go to rather extreme lengths; their apparent unconcern and cruelty are but ways, known only to themselves, of feeling more strongly than others. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
416:Do not breed. Nothing gives less pleasure than childbearing. Pregnancies are damaging to health, spoil the figure, wither the charms, and it's the cloud of uncertainty forever hanging over these events that darkens a husband's mood. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
417:they thought they were heroes when they were only cinders in the eye of humanity too many creatures both insects and humans estimate their own value by the amount of irritation they are able to cause greater personalities than themselves ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
418:What's it like then?" asked Old Bailey. "Being dead?"
The marquis sighed. And then he twisted his lips up into a smile, and with a glitter of his old self, he replied, "Live long enough, Old Bailey, and you can find out for yourself. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
419:Imperious, angry, furious, extreme in all things, with a disturbance in the moral imagination unlike any the world has ever known - there you have me in a nutshell: and one more thing, kill me or take me as I am, for I will not change ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
420:Miserable creatures, thrown for a moment on the surface of this little pile of mud, is it decreed that one half of the flock should be the persecutor of the other? Is it for you, mankind, to pronounce on what is good and what is evil? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
421:There is no stupidity religions have omitted to revere; and you know just as well as I, my friends, that when one examines a human institution, the first thing one must do is discard all religious notions. They are poison to lucidity. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
422:Ay del escritor ruin y vacío que, buscando únicamente halagar las opiniones de moda, renuncie a la energía que ha recibido de la naturaleza para ofrecernos sólo el incienso que quema complacientemente a los pies del partido que domina. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
423:Never lose sight of the fact that all human felicity lies in man's imagination, and that he cannot think to attain it unless he heeds all his caprices. The most fortunate of persons is he who has the most means to satisfy his vagaries. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
424:There was once a Hindu sage, who sat down on the banks of the Ganges and thought for seventy years about the millennium. Just as he arrived at the solution and was putting it into verse, a mosquito stung him and he forgot it again at once. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
425:Are not laws dangerous which inhibit the passions? Compare the centuries of anarchy with those of the strongest legalism in any country you like and you will see that it is only when the laws are silent that the greatest actions appear. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
426:fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
427:In his eulogy, the Marquis de Condorcet observed that whosoever pursues mathematics in the future will be "guided and sustained by the genius of Euler" and asserted , with much justification, that "all mathematicians...are his disciples. ~ William Dunham, #NFDB
428:Nunca, repito, nunca pintaré el crimen bajo otros colores que los del infierno; quiero que se lo vea al desnudo, que se lo tema, que se lo deteste, y no conozco otra forma de lograrlo que mostrarlo con todo el horror que lo caracteriza. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
429:The marquis breathed heavily on his fingernails and polished them on the lapel of his coat. "I have always felt," he said, "that violence was the last refuge of the incompetent, and empty threats the final sanctuary of the terminally inept. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
430:What you call disorder is nothing else than one of the laws of the order you comprehend not and which you have erroneously named disorder because its effects, though good for Nature, run counter to your convenience or jar your opinions. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
431:All, all is theft, all is unceasing and rigorous competition in nature; the desire to make off with the substance of others is the foremost - the most legitimate - passion nature has bred into us and, without doubt, the most agreeable one. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
432:Now me,” said Mr. Vandemar. “What number am I thinking of?” “I beg your pardon?” “What number am I thinking of?” repeated Mr. Vandemar. “It’s between one and a lot,” he added, helpfully. “Seven,” said the Marquis. Mr. Vandemar nodded, impressed. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
433:The laws vainly try to talk virtue to the mass, but it's just talk. The people who make the laws are really too biased towards evil and never carry out their fine talk -- they merely make a stab at it for the sake of appearances, that's all. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
434:To enlighten mankind and improve its morals is the only lesson which we offer in this story. In reading it, may the world discover how great is the peril which follows the footsteps of those who will stop at nothing to satisfy their desires. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
435:ein hübsches mädchen sollte sich damit befassen zu ficken und niemals zu zeugen
la philosophie dans le boudoir , ou les instituteurs immoraux | philosophy in the bedroom |
die philosophie im boudoir oder die lasterhaften lehrmeister ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
436:I found the other two in Bran’s room, and one look at their faces made it abundantly clear that they felt no better than I did. Not that the Marquis had a red nose or a thick voice--he even looked aristocratic when sick, I thought with disgust. ~ Sherwood Smith, #NFDB
437:Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else; hence the exercise of the natural rights of each man has no limits except those which assure to the other members of the society the enjoyment of the same rights. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
438:She made him appreciate that a man with the birth and status of Oxtiern must be incapable of deceit. The innocent creature! She did not know that vices, supported by birth and wealth, and then emboldened by impunity, only become more dangerous. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
439:"The man who alters his way of thinking to suit others is a fool." Our quote of the day is, from of all people, the Marquis de Sade, the most infamous writer in all of French literature. And by the way, if you recognized that quote, you're sick. ~ Tucker Carlson, #NFDB
440:Till the hour when the trump of the Archangel shall sound to announce that Time shall be no more, the name of Lafayette shall stand enrolled upon the annals of our race, high on the list of the pure and disinterested benefactors of mankind. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
441:Whipping, caning, chains, restraints, the cat-o’-nine tails and many other devices beloved of the Marquis de Sade are employed in more extreme sado-masochistic relationships. A spanking, though, s every girl knows, is more about pleasure than pain. ~ Chloe Thurlow, #NFDB
442:He was making it obvious that something was wrong—that Adam's presence was throwing him off.
"Uh, Marquis. We were going to food." Because that was a verb. "I mean, get food."
"He's gone."
"Yes."
Monosyllables. Monosyllables were good. ~ Santino Hassell,#NFDB
443:We found so much to say, to share, to learn.... For it wasn't just the Marquis de Sade profile and the sporty thighs-and-calves that seduced me. It was even more, perhaps, or certainly just as much, the speed at which you used to read, and still do. ~ Julia Kristeva, #NFDB
444:Men do not often dare to avow, even to themselves, the slow progress reason has made in their minds; but they are ready to follow it if it is presented to them in a lively and striking manner, and forces them to recognize it. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
445:Ambition, as that passion is generally understood,- a strong desire to rise above others, to occupy the first place, - formed no part of Lafayette's character. In him the passion was nothing more than a constant and irresistible wish to do good. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
446:Successful people aren’t born that way. They become successful by establishing the habit of doing things unsuccessful people don’t like to do. The successful people don’t always like doing these things themselves; they just get on and do them. —DON MARQUIS ~ Hal Elrod, #NFDB
447:When I started writing
I was a sick teenaged
fuck inside who partly
thought I was the new
Marquis de Sade, a body
doomed to communicate
with Satan who was us-
ing my sickness as his
home away from home,
and there’s your proof. ~ Dennis Cooper,#NFDB
448:si existiera un Dios, habría menos mal en la Tierra; creo que si este mal existe, o estos desórdenes han sido ordenados por ese Dios, y se trata entonces de un ser bárbaro, o es incapaz de impedirlos: a partir de ese momento, se trata de un dios débil, ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
449:The debility to which Nature condemned women incontestably proves that her design is for man, who then more than ever enjoys his strength, to exercise it in all the violent forms that suit him best, by means of tortures, if he be so inclined, or worse. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
450:It is only by enlarging the scope of one’s tastes and one’s fantasies, by sacrificing everything to pleasure, that the unfortunate individual called Man, thrown despite himself into this sad world, can succeed in gathering a few roses among life’s thorns ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
451:One never quite stops believing,' said the Marquis. 'Some doubt remains forever.' Abrenuncio understood. He had always thought that ceasing to believe caused a permanent scar in the place where one's faith had been, making it impossible to forget. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez, #NFDB
452:...the good never suspect others of perpetrating wicked deeds which they themselves are incapable of committing. That is why they are so easily duped by the first rogue who sinks his claws into them, and why it is so easy and so despicable to trick them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
453:Imperious, choleric, irascible, extreme in everything, with a dissolute imagination the like of which has never been seen, atheistic to the point of fanaticism, there you have me in a nutshell, and kill me again or take me as I am, for I shall not change. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
454:One must feel sorry for those who have strange tastes, but never insult them. Their wrong is Nature's too; they are no more responsible for having come into the world with tendencies unlike ours than are we for being born bandy-legged or well-proportioned. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
455:He..." Richard began. "The marquis. Well, you know, to be honest, he seems a little bit dodgy to me." Door stopped. The steps dead-ended in a rough brick wall. "Mm," she agreed. "He's a little bit dodgy in the same way that rats are a little bit covered in fur. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
456:One must feel sorry for those who have strange tastes, but never insult them. Their wrong is Nature's too; they are no more responsible for having come into the world with tendencies unlike ours than are we for being born bandy-legged for well-proportioned. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
457:Hope is the most sensitive part of a poor wretch's soul; whoever raises it only to torment him is behaving like the executioners in Hell who, they say, incessantly renew old wounds and concentrate their attention on that area of it that is already lacerated. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
458:La clarté est la bonne foi des philosophes. - Clearness marks the sincerity of philosophers. ~ Luc de Clapiers, Marquis de Vauvenargues, Pensées Diverses, No. 372. Gilbert’s ed. (1857), Volume I, p. 475. Reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 596-97., #NFDB
459:Do the meager pleasures you have been able to enjoy during your fall compensate for the torments which now rend your heart? Happiness therefore lies only in virtue,my child, and all the sophistries of its detractors can never procure a single one of its delights. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
460:It is only by sacrificing everything to the senses’ pleasure that this individual, who never asked to be cast into this universe of woe, that this poor creature who goes under the name of Man, may be able to sow a smattering of roses atop the thorny path of life. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
461:This was real life, not a book. And in
real life, people met, nothing happened, and you went
home. Or they went o to Egypt and told you that they
weren’t a commitment kind of guy after six years. That
was real life. Not a guy like Marc. Or the marquis. ~ Danielle Steel,#NFDB
462:He..." Richard began. "The marquis. Well, you know, to be honest, he seems a little bit dodgy to me."
Door stopped. The steps dead-ended in a rough brick wall. "Mm," she agreed. "He's a little bit dodgy in the same way that rats are a little bit covered in fur. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
463:...and above all, you should not think of writing as a way of earning your living. If you do, your work will smell of your poverty. It will be colored by your weakness and be as thin as your hunger. There are other trades which you can take up: make boots, not books. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
464:It has, moreover, been proven that horror, nastiness, and the frightful are what give pleasure when one fornicates. Beauty is a simple thing; ugliness is the exceptional thing. And fiery imaginations, no doubt, always prefer the extraordinary thing to the simple thing. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
465:Thread of their days without pity, and in the midst of life, without ever concerning themselves with this fatal moment, living as though they were to exist for ever, they disappear into the obscure cloud of immortality, uncertain of the fate which lies in store for them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
466:A character is never the author who created him. It is quite likely, however, that an author may be all his characters simultaneously.
Albert Camus - As quoted in Albert Camus : The Invincible Summer (1958) by Albert Maquet, p. 86; a remark made about the Marquis de Sade. ~ Albert Camus,#NFDB
467:As the skull of the man grows broader, so do his creeds. And his gods they are shaped in his image and mirror his needs. And he clothes them with thunders and beauty, He clothes them with music and fire, Seeing not, as he bows by their altars, That he worships his own desire. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
468:If pacific negotiations are in progress, warlike preparations should have been made beforehand.” He rebuked and shamed the Marquis of Ch`i, who cowered under him and dared not proceed to violence. How can it be said that these two great Sages had no knowledge of military matters? ~ Sun Tzu, #NFDB
469:Si hay algo extravagante en el mundo es ver a los hombres, que no conocen a su dios y lo que ese dios pueda exigir más que según sus limitadas ideas, querer, sin embargo, decidir sobre la naturaleza de lo que contenta o desagrada a ese ridículo fantasma de su imaginación. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
470:Evil is... a moral entity and not a created one, an eternal and not a perishable entity: it existed before the world; it constituted the monstrous, the execrable being who was also to fashion such a hideous world. It will hence exist after the creatures which people this world ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
471:Enjoy your own life without comparing it with that of another.[or you will create disappointment and envy, as every other person has something, small or large, better than you. Remember at these times what you have rather than what you don't and be grateful] ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
472:Viciul nu este periculos decât pentru virtute căci ea, slabă și timidă, nu îndrăznește nimic niciodată, dar dacă ar fi ștearsă de pe fața pământului. viciul nemailovind decât tot în vicii, n-ar mai tulbura nimic și ar face doar să înflorească alte păcate fără a mai strica virtutea. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
473:Attaining deeper spirituality and mastering more advanced magick have two unwavering requirements, and only two. One, you must intend to progress, intend to evolve, intend to take your magick and spirit further than ever. Two, you must actively pursue the next step along the journey. ~ Melanie Marquis, #NFDB
474:The Marquis believed himself to be hardened against flattery. He thought that he had experienced every variety, but he discovered that he was mistaken: the blatantly worshipful look in the eyes of a twelve-year-old, anxiously raised to his, was new to him, and it pierced his defences. ~ Georgette Heyer, #NFDB
475:We were expecting to see you at the market."
"Yes. Well. Some people thought I was dead. I was forced to keep a low profile."
"Why . . . why did some people think you were dead?"
The marquis looked at Richard with eyes that had seen too much and gone too far. "Because they killed me. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
476:Murder is a horror, but an often necessary horror, never criminal, which it is essential to tolerate in a republican State. Is it or is it not a crime? If it is not, why make laws for its punishment? And if it is, by what barbarous logic do you, to punish it, duplicate it by another crime? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
477:You look beautiful sitting there spitting at me like a she-cat. All I have to do is look at you, and I lust. I'm going to take you back to the hotel and take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to be mad at me anymore." Ian Connelly, Marquis of Derne ~ Karen Robards, #NFDB
478:If God permits virtue to be persecuted on earth, it is not for us to question his intentions. It may be that his rewards are held over for another life, for is it not true as written in Holy Scripture that the Lord chastenenth only the righteous! And after all, is not virtue it's own reward? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
479:I’m not certain what you mean by that last bit,” I said at last. “As for the first, you said ‘until last year.’ Does that mean that Lady Tamara has someone else in view?”
“But of course,” Nee said blandly. “The Marquis of Shevraeth.”
I laughed all the way up the steps into the Residence. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
480:The Marquis had known whom he had wanted not to be, when he was a boy. He had definitely not wanted to be like Peregrine. He had not wanted to be like anyone at all. He had, instead, wanted to be elegant, elusive, brilliant and, above all things, he had wanted to be unique.
Just like Peregrine. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
481:Ah, but I’m not a gentleman,” said the Marquis. “I have it on the best of authority that I am only a
nobleman.”
“Good gracious, Vidal, who in the world dared to say such a thing?” cried his cousin, instantly
diverted.
“Mary,” replied his lordship, pouring himself out a glass of wine. ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
482:And there you see what happens to the promises of eternal love which we women are foolish enough to believe! The more affectionate we are, the more likely it is that our seducers will desert us...the unfeeling brutes...the more we try to keep them, the greater the chance that they will abandon us. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
483:Get it into your head once and for all, my simple and very fainthearted fellow, that what fools call humanness is nothing but a weakness born of fear and egoism; that this chimerical virtue, enslaving only weak men, is unknown to those whose character is formed by stoicism, courage, and philosophy. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
484:I have wondered,' said the Marquis, taking a great bite out of a slice of bread and jam, 'whether it wouldn't be better for me to do it with a knife. Most of the best things have been brought off with a knife. And it would be a new emotion to get a knife into a French President and wriggle it around. ~ G K Chesterton, #NFDB
485:Throw those Germans into a carriage, will you,” said he to one of his hirelings, a man who was accustomed to doing what was needed under these circumstances, “get them out of here, they’ll not wake up. Strip them and dump them naked in some out-of-the-way street. God takes care of his little children. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
486:What’s happening?” he asked.
The Marquis spared him a glance, and then returned his gaze to the action in front of them. “You,” he said, “are out of your depth, in deep shit, and, I would imagine, a few hours away from an untimely and undoubtedly messy end. We on the other hand are auditioning bodyguards. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
487:Any punishment that does not correct, that can merely rouse rebellion in whoever has to endure it, is a piece of gratuitous infamy which makes those who impose it more guilty in the eyes of humanity, good sense and reason, nay a hundred times more guilty than the victim on whom the punishment is inflicted. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
488:Behold, my love, behold all that I simultaneously do: scandal, seduction, bad example, incest, adultery, sodomy! Oh, Satan! one and unique God of my soul, inspire thou in me something yet more, present further perversions to my smoking heart, and then shalt thou see how I shall plunge myself into them all! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
489:[All phenomena] are equally susceptible of being calculated, and all that is necessary, to reduce the whole of nature to laws similar to those which Newton discovered with the aid of the calculus, is to have a sufficient number of observations and a mathematics that is complex enough. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
490:O que importa para a natureza sempre criadora aquela massa de carne que hoje tem a forma de uma mulher se reproduza amanhã sob a forma de mil insetos diferentes? Ousarás dizer que a construção de um indivíduo como nós custa mais à natureza que a de um verme e que, por conseguinte, ela deva dar-lhe mais atenção? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
491:If the objects who serve us feel ecstacy, they are much more often concerned with themselves than with us, and our own enjoyment is consequently impaired. The idea of seeing another person experience the same pleasure reduces one to a kind of equality which spoils the unutterable charms that come from despotism. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
492:Consider the problem from the point of view of evil, evil being almost always pleasure's true and major charm; considered thus, the crime must appear greater when perpetrated upon a being of your identical sort than when inflicted upon one which is not, and this once established, the delight automatically doubles. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
493:O que importa para a natureza sempre criadora aquela massa de carne que hoje tem a forma de uma mulher se reproduza amanhã sob a forma de mil insetos diferentes? Ousarás dizer que a construção de um indivíduo como nós custa mais à natureza que a de um verme e que, por conseguinte, ela deva dar-lhe mais
atenção? ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
494:Those who have no principles are never more dangerous than when they reach the age when they lose all sense of shame. Their hearts are gangrened by depravity, they refine and polish up their first offences and convert them into heinous crimes while still believing they are still at the stage of minor misdemeanours. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
495:He has hazel eyes " Nachari remarked in astonishment.
He looked over at Jocelyn with approval.
"Yeah well " Marquis grumbled "we can toughen him up make up for that one little...feminine mishap."
Nachari feigned insult. "My eyes are green as well Marquis."
Marquis shrugged. "Yeah...and you became a wizard. ~ Tessa Dawn,#NFDB
496:Wdzięczność to najgorsze z upokorzeń. Nic tak nie zobowiązuje, jak korzystanie z cudzych dobrodziejstw. Nie ma wyjścia: albo odpłacić tym samym, albo też czuć się podle. Najmocniej odczują to ludzie dumni, którym wyświadczona łaska ciąży tak bardzo, iż jedynym uczuciem, na jakie ich stać, jest nienawiść do dobroczyńcy. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
497:From 'the lesson of the moth': and before i could argue him out of his philosophy he went and immolated himself on a patent cigar lighter i do not agree with him myself i would rather have half the happiness and twice the longevity but at the same time i wish there was something i wanted as badly as he wanted to fry himself ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
498:You dogs!" said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged front, except as to the spots on his nose: "I would ride over any of you very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew which rascal threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the wheels. ~ Charles Dickens, #NFDB
499:How delightful are the pleasures of the imagination! In those delectable moments, the whole world is ours; not a single creature resists us, we devastate the world, we repopulate it with new objects which, in turn, we immolate. The means to every crime is ours, and we employ them all, we multiply the horror a hundredfold. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
500:At all times, in every century, every age, there has been such a connection between despotism and religion that it is infinitely apparent and demonstrated a thousand times over, that in destroying one, the other must be undermined, for the simple reason that the first will always put the law into the service of the second. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
501:Num mundo inteiramente virtuoso, eu te aconselharia a virtude porque as recompensas a acompanhariam; a felicidade infalivelmente adviria dela; num mundo totalmente corrompido, jamais te aconselharia outra coisa senão o vício.
(...)
ora, que felicidade esperam aqueles que contrariam eternamente o interesse dos outros? ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
502:Our models of magick are ever-expanding works in progress, imperfect and incomplete yet still highly useful in providing a concrete structure for testing theories, improving techniques, and figuring out our own best ways of working powerful magick. Whatever your model of magick might be, the important thing is to have one. ~ Melanie Marquis, #NFDB
503:The wand waved; the Adam's Apple leapt, and they were off. What followed cannot be indicated typographically. But if a cat were a sawmill, and a dog were a gigantic cart full of tin cans bouncing through a stone paved street, and that dog and that cat hated each other and were telling each other so, it would sound much like it. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
504:I think that if there were a God, there would be less evil on this earth. I believe that if evil exists here below, then either it was willed by God or it was beyond His powers to prevent it. Now I cannot bring myself to fear a God who is either spiteful or weak. I defy Him without fear and care not a fig for his thunderbolts. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
505:The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. A traveler journeys along a fine road. It has been strewn with traps. He falls into one. Do you say it is the traveler’s fault, or that of the scoundrel who lays the traps? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
506:Es mucho más fácil condenar el robo cuando se tiene más comida de la que se podría llegar a ingerir, es muy sencillo decir la verdad cuando no se ganaría nada diciendo mentiras; es totalmente innecesario planear un asesinato cuando estás rodeado de adoradores y papanatas que nunca te ofenden, y que son manejados a voluntad fácilmente. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
507:First ourselves, then the others: this is Nature's order of progression. Consequently, we must show no respect, no quarter for others as soon as they have shown that our misfortune or our ruin is the object of their desires. To act differently, my daughter, would be show preference for others above ourselves, and that would be absurd. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
508:My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking to suit other people! My manner of thinking stems straight from my considered reflections; it holds with my existence, with the way I am made. It is not in my power to alter it; and were it, I'd not do so. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
509:I never drive when I can ride,” said his lordship indifferently.
“I make no doubt at all that had I been Mary Challoner you would have been glad enough to have
borne me company!”
The Marquis was snuffing one of the candles, but he looked up at that, and there was a glint in his eye.
“That, my dear, is quite another matter,” he said. ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
510:The equality prescribed by the Revolution is simply the weak man's revenge upon the strong; it's just what we saw in the past, but in reverse; that everyone should have his turn is only meet. And it shall be turnabout again tomorrow, for nothing in Nature is stable and the governments men direct are bound to prove as changeable and ephemeral as they. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
511:What do prisoners do? Write, of course; even if they have to use blood as ink, as the Marquis de Sade did. The reasons they write, the exquisitely frustrating restrictions of their autonomy and the fact that no one listens to their cries, are all the reasons that mentally ill people, and even many normal people write. We write to escape our prisons. ~ Alice W Flaherty, #NFDB
512:Every principle is a judgment, every judgment the outcome of experience, and experience is only acquired by the exercise of the senses; whence it follows that religious principles bear upon nothing whatever and are not in the slightest innate. Ignorance and fear, you will repeat to them, ignorance and fear - those are the twin bases of every religion. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
513:Voluptuosos de todas las edades y sexos, sólo a vosotros dedico esta obra; nutrios con sus principios, porque favorecen vuestras pasiones, y ellas —de las que os espantan los moralistas fríos y vacíos— no son sino los medios de que se sirve la naturaleza para conducir a los hombres hacia los fines que les ha asignado. Atended esas deliciosas pasiones; ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
514:General Marquis sat back in his seat. He let out a pleased sigh as his heartbeat and his racing mind caught up with each other. His eyes fell upon the Brothers Grimm storybook on his desk and a soft chuckle surfaced from within him. For the first time the fairy-tale world didn’t seem like an overly ambitious Arthurian quest – it was a victory within reach. ~ Chris Colfer, #NFDB
515:i have had my ups and downs but wotthehell wotthehell yesterday sceptres and crowns fried oysters and velvet gowns and today i herd with bums but wotthehell wotthehell i wake the world from sleep as i caper and sing and leap when i sing my wild free tune wotthehell wotthehell under the blear eyed moon i am pelted with cast off shoon but wotthehell wotthehell ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
516:Which other major religion is based on the Godhead incarnate being whipped, tacked to a cross, stabbed? Only the Marquis de Sade could have made up a sicker religion. It's no wonder that those brought up in such a culture hate life and enjoy inflicting pain. All societies are sick but some are sicker than others. Christian societies are certainly the sickest. ~ Gore Vidal, #NFDB
517:What do prisoners do? Write, of course; even if they have to use blood as ink, as the Marquis de Sade did. The reasons they write, the exquisitely frustrating restrictions of their autonomy and the fact that no one listens to their cries, are all the reasons that mentally ill people, and even many normal people write. We write to escape our prisons. ~ Alice Weaver Flaherty, #NFDB
518:It is certain that stealing nourishes courage, strength, skill, tact, in a word, all the virtues useful to a republican system and consequently to our own. Lay partiality aside, and answer me: is theft, whose effect is to distribute wealth more evenly, to be branded as a wrong in our day, under our government which aims at equality? Plainly, the answer is no. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
519:From 'the lesson of the moth':
and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
520:Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas Caritat, marquis de Condorcet (1743–1794), who thought that the French Revolution was the dividing line between the past and a ‘glorious future’, believed there were three outstanding issues in history – the destruction of inequality between nations, the progress of equality within one and the same nation, and the perfecting of mankind. ~ Peter Watson, #NFDB
521:The penalty of death is the only one that makes an injustice absolutely irreparable; from which it follows that the existence of the death penalty implies that one is exposed to committing an irreparable injustice; from which it follows that it is unjust to establish it. This reasoning appears to us to have the force of a demonstration. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
522:Wolves which batten upon lambs, lambs consumed by wolves, the strong who immolate the weak, the weak victims of the strong: there you have Nature, there you have her intentions, there you have her scheme: a perpetual action and reaction, a host of vices, a host of virtues, in one word, a perfect equilibrium resulting from the equality of good and evil on earth. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
523:More out of alarm than inspiration, she flung the cloth she’d been using on the bookcases toward his head. The marquis snatched the fabric as it connected with his nose. A puff of dust settled in his hair as one corner of the cloth slapped against his forehead. The stunned look on his face was the last thing Amelia saw before she shoved Jane down the corridor. ~ Kristi Ann Hunter, #NFDB
524:Beg for mercy,” said the Elephant.
That one was easy. “Mercy!” said the Marquis. “I beg! I plead! Show me mercy—the finest of all gifts. It befits you, mighty Elephant, as lord of your own demesne, to be merciful to one who is not even fit to wipe the dust from your excellent toes …”
“Did you know,” said the Elephant, “that everything you say sounds sarcastic? ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
525:the slave preaches the virtues of kindness and humility to his master, because as a slave he has need of them;but the master, better guided by nature and his passions, has no need to devote himself to anything excepting those things which serve or please him. Be as kind as you wish, if you enjoy such things - but dont demand any reward for having had this pleasure ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
526:For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true; And low at the shrines where my brothers bow, there will I bow too; For no form of a god, and no fashion Man has made in his desperate passion, But is worthy some worship of mine; Not too hot with a gross belief, Nor yet too cold with pride, I will bow me down where my brothers bow, Humble, but open eyed. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
527:Never may an act of possession be exercised upon a free being; the exclusive possession of a woman is no less unjust than the possession of slaves; all men are born free, all have equal rights: never may there be granted to one sex the legitimate right to lay monopolizing hands on the other, and never may one of these sexes, or classes, arbitrarily posses the other. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
528:Enjoy your own life without comparing it with that of another for there will always be others whose lives on the face of it appear better. However just remember and focus on the fact that your life could be much worse and be grateful it isn't. No matter what others or even you may briefly think you are lucky things aren't worse so be grateful. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
529:A hundred years after his death, a statue of Lavoisier was erected in Paris and much admired until someone pointed out that it looked nothing like him. Under questioning the sculptor admitted that he had used the head of the mathematician and philosopher the Marquis de Condorcet—apparently he had a spare—in the hope that no one would notice or, having noticed, would care. ~ Bill Bryson, #NFDB
530:In libertinage, nothing is frightful, because everything libertinage suggests is also a natural inspiration; the most extraordinary, the most bizarre acts, those which most arrantly seem to conflict with every law, every human institution... even those that are not frightful, and there is not one amongst them all that cannot be demonstrated within the boundaries of nature. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
531:Those laws, being forged for universal application, are in perpetual conflict with personal interest, just as personal interest is always in contradiction with the general interest. Good for society, our laws are very bad for the individuals whereof it is composed; for, if they one time protect the individual, they hinder, trouble, fetter him for three quarters of his life. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
532:I just wanted to see if you traitors would dare to face me,” Galdran said, his caustic voice making me feel sick inside. Sick--and angry.
The Marquis bowed low over his horse’s withers, every line of his body indicative of irony.
Galdran’s face flushed dark purple.
“I confess,” Shevraeth drawled, “we had a small wager on whether you would have the courage to face us. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
533:Now we come to the crux of my philosophy: if the taking of pleasure is enhanced by the criminal character of the circumstances -- if, indeed, the pleasure taken is directly proportionate to the severity of the crime involved --, then is it not criminality itself which is pleasurable, and the seemingly pleasure-producing act nothing more than the instrument of its realization? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
534:¡Gran Dios!, así es como han mancillado durante más de doscientos años tus altares; así es como seres razonables han creído deber honrarte; rociando tu templo con la sangre de tus criaturas, mancillándolo con horrores e infamias, con ferocidades dignas de los caníbales es como varias generaciones de hombres sobre la tierra han creído cumplir tus deseos y agradar a tu justicia. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
535:I did not dance again but once, and that with Savona, who insisted that I join Shevraeth and Elenet in a set. Despite his joking remarks from time to time, the Marquis seemed more absent than merry, and Elenet moved, as always, with impervious serenity and reserve. Afterward the four of us went our ways, for Shevraeth did not dance again with Elenet.
I know, because I watched. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
536:What I should like to find is a crime the effects of which would be perpetual, even when I myself do not act, so that there would not be a single moment of my life even when I were asleep, when I was not the cause of some chaos, a chaos of such proportions that it would provoke a general corruption or a distubance so formal that even after my death its effects would still be felt. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
537:When we die, we die. No more. Once the spider-thread of life is severed, the human body is but a mass of corrupting vegetable matter. A feast for worms. That is all. Tell me, what is more ridiculous than the notion of an immortal soul; than the belief that when a man is dead, he remains alive, that when his life grinds to a halt, his soul -- or whatever you call it -- takes flight? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
538:Condenados a vivir con personas que tienen el mayor interés en ocultarse a nuestros ojos, en disfrazar sus vicios que tienen para no ofrecernos más que las virtudes que nunca veneraron, correríamos el mayor peligro si mostrásemos únicamente franqueza;porque, entonces, es evidente que les concederíamos sobre nosotros todas las ventajas que ellos nos niegan, y el engaño sería manifiesto. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
539:The philosopher who travels the world in order to learn must put up with all customs, all religions, all kinds of weather and climate, all beds and all kinds of food, and leave to the voluptuous, indolent man in the capital his prejudices...his luxury...that obscene luxury that, as it never contains any real needs, creates artificial ones every day at the expense of fortune and health. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
540:We magistrates find that reason is the easiest thing in the world to dispense with; banished from our law courts as it is from our heads, we delight in trampling it underfoot, and that is what makes our judicial sentences such masterpieces, since (although commonsense never presides in them) those sentences are carried out with as much firmness as if people knew what they actually meant. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
541:i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
542:...As for all the little people who call themselves Marquis de Cambremerde or de Gotoblazes, there is no difference between them and the humblest rookie in your regiment. Whether you go and do wee-wee at the Countess Cack's or cack at the Baroness Wee-wee's, it's exactly the same, you will have compromised your reputation and have used a shitty rag instead of toilet paper. Which is unsavoury. ~ Marcel Proust, #NFDB
543:I should like to find a crime with perpetual repercussions, which would continue even after I had ceased to act, so there would not be a single instant of my life, not even when I was asleep, when I would not be causing some sort of disorder, a disorder so extensive as to involve general corruption, or so absolute a disturbance that its effect would be prolonged even when my life had ceased. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
544:this is what happens to the plans of humans, it is when they make them in the midst of their pleasures that death cuts the thread of their days without pity, and in the midst of life, without ever concerning themselves with this fatal moment, living as though they were to exist for ever, they disappear into the obscure cloud of immortality, uncertain of the fate which lies in store for them. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
545:Your service will be arduous, it will be painful and rigorous, and the slightest delinquencies will be requited immediately with corporal and afflicting punishments; hence, I must recommend to you prompt exactness, submissiveness, and total self-abnegation that you be enabled to heed naught but our desires; let them be your laws, fly to do their bidding, anticipate them, cause them to be born. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
546:From the two things one: either my husband is a brutal, jealous one, or he’s a refined man; in the first hypothesis, the best I can do is to revenge myself for his conduct; in the second, I would know not to burden myself; since I taste of pleasures, he’ll be happy for it if he’s honest: there’s not a refined man who doesn’t take pleasure at the spectacle of the happiness of the person he adores. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
547:...your service will be arduous, it will be painful and rigorous, and the slightest delinquencies will be requited immediately with corporal and afflicting punishments; hence, I must recommend to you prompt exactness, submissiveness, and total self-abnegation that you be enabled to heed naught but our desires; let them be your laws, fly to do their bidding, anticipate them, cause them to be born... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
548:As the mind learns to understand more complicated combinations of ideas, simpler formulae soon reduce their complexity; so truths that were discovered only by great effort, that could at first only be understood by men capable of profound thought, are soon developed and proved by methods that are not beyond the reach of common intelligence. The strength and the limits of man ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
549:I read, I study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and out of all of this I try to form an idea into which I put as much common sense as I can. I shall not speak much for fear of saying foolish things; I will risk still less for fear of doing them, for I am not disposed to abuse the confidence which they have deigned to show me. Such is the conduct which until now I have followed and will follow. ~ Marquis de Lafayette, #NFDB
550:Voluptuosos de todas las edades y sexos, sólo a vosotros dedico esta obra; nutrios con sus principios, porque favorecen vuestras pasiones, y ellas —de las que os espantan los moralistas fríos y vacíos— no son sino los medios de que se sirve la naturaleza para conducir a los hombres hacia los fines que les ha asignado. Atended esas deliciosas pasiones; sólo ellas pueden conduciros a la felicidad. Mujeres ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
551:She had forgotten them all; forgotten Richard down in the mud, and the marquis and his foolish crossbow, and the world. She was delighted and transported, in a perfect place, the world she lived for. Her world contained two things: Hunter, and the Beast. The Beast knew that too. It was the perfect match, the hunter and the hunted. And who was who, and which was which, only time would reveal; time and the dance. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
552:What do I see in the God of that infamous sect if not an inconsistent and barbarous being, today the creator of a world of destruction he repents of tomorrow; what do I see there but a frail being forever unable to bring man to heel and force him to bend a knee. This creature, although emanated from him, dominates him, knows how to offend him and thereby merit torments eternally! What a weak fellow, this God! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
553:What, then, are religions if not the restraint wherewith the tyranny of the mightier sought to enslave the weaker? Motivated by that design, he dared say to him whom he claimed the right to dominate, that a God had forged the irons with which cruelty manacled him; and the latter, bestialized by his misery, indistinctly believed everything the former wished. Can religions, born of these rogueries, merit respect? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
554:She had forgotten them all; forgotten Richard down in the mud, and the Marquis and his foolish crossbow, and the world. She was delighted and transported, in a perfect place, the world she lived for. Her world contained two things: Hunter, and the Beast. The Beast knew that too. It was the perfect match, the hunter, and the hunted. And who was who, and which was which, only time would reveal; time and the dance. The ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
555:In completing your civilization, the causes changed, but you maintained the custom: no longer did you sacrifice victims to gods athirst for human blood, but to laws, which you deem sage because you found in them a specious reason to indulge your former habits, together with the semblance of a justice which was, at bottom, nothing other than the desire to preserve those horrid practices which you could not abjure. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
556:Not many people can imagine a president of the Parlement of Aix—it is a species of beast of which people have often spoken without knowing it well: strict and unbending by profession, and pernickety, credulous, stubborn, vain, cowardly, garrulous and stupid by character; with a beaky little face, rolling his 'r's like a Punchinello, commonly as thin as a rake, lanky and skinny and stinking like a corpse... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
557: 'Not all women have the failings that I must have had, given that I have not succeeded in tying you to me,' she said, and added, with a sigh, 'or else not all husbands are like you.'
'Wives...false, jealous, domineering, flirtatious, or devout...husbands, wicked, inconstant, cruel or despotic: that in a nutshell is how all individuals on earth are, Madame; do not expect to find any paragons of virtue.' ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
558:have no interest in handing down an indictment of mankind. If I did, I’d point out that for every Michelangelo there’s a Marquis de Sade, for every Gandhi an Eichmann, for every Martin Luther King an Osama bin Laden. Leave it at this: man has come to dominate the planet thanks to two essential traits. One is intelligence. The other has been the absolute willingness to kill anyone and anything that gets in his way.” He ~ Stephen King, #NFDB
559:What do I care for Williams? What do I care for anything on this earth? Listen, my dear fellow, when this combustible heart of mine falls in love, there is no obstacle capable of preventing it from being satisfied. The more I fall in love, the more combustible it becomes. For me, having a woman is satisfying only by reason of the trouble I am put to on the way. Bedding a woman is the most prosaic thing in the world. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
560:Chimerical and empty being, your name alone has caused more blood to flow on the face of the earth than any political war ever will. Return to the nothingness from which the mad hope and ridiculous fright of men dared call you forth to their misfortune. You only appeared as a torment for the human race. What crimes would have been spared the world, if they had choked the first imbecile who thought of speaking of you. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
561:Virtue only needs to be worshipped; it follows the path to happiness...it must be so, a thousand arms open to receive its devotees, if they are pursued by adversity. But everybody deserts the guilty man...one blushes at one's attachment to him or at the tears one sheds for him, there is a fear of contagion, he is banished from everybody's hearts, and one condemns out of pride the man one ought to help out of humanity. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
562:The mechanism that directs government cannot be virtuous, because it is impossible to thwart every crime, to protect oneself from every criminal without being criminal too; that which directs corrupt mankind must be corrupt itself; and it will never be by means of virtue, virtue being inert and passive, that you will maintain control over vice, which is ever active: the governor must be more energetic than the governed. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
563:A man's a man for a' that. . . . . A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that! . . . Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's comin' yet, for a' that, When man to man, the world o'er, Shall brithers be for a' that. ~ Robert Burns, #NFDB
564:The imagination serves us only when the mind is absolutely free of any prejudice. A single prejudice suffices to cool off the imagination. This whimsical part of the mind is so unbridled as to be uncontrollable. Its greatest triumphs, its most eminent delights consist in smashing all the restraints that oppose it. Imagination is the enemy of all norms, the idolater of all disorder and of all that bears the color of crime. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
565:I think that if there were a God, there would be less evil on this earth. I believe that if evil exists here below, then either it was willed by God or it was beyond His powers to prevent it. Now I cannot bring myself to fear a God who is either spiteful or weak. I defy Him without fear and care not a fig for his thunderbolts. ~ Marquis de Sade, Justine or The Misfortunes of Virtue (1787) [This quote is strikingly similar to Epicurus' above.], #NFDB
566:How long did they stay there in that room, on the narrow bed? She had a scar on her shoulder, in the shape of a star, that Louis couldn't help but run his lips over. A souvenir of a fall from a horse. It got dark. They could hear the clattering of hooves, a whinny, and the high-pitched voice of the marquis giving orders at more and more distant intervals, like a motif on a flute, clear and desolate, returning again and again. ~ Patrick Modiano, #NFDB
567:When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings...when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure.....enticing from within this feral lioness...growling and scratching and biting...taking everything I dish out to her.....at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
568:La mort n'est à craindre, mon enfant, que pour ceux qui croient ; toujours entre l'enfer et le paradis, incertains de celui qui s'ouvrira pour eux, cette anxiété les désole ; pour moi qui n'espère rien, pour moi qui suis bien sûre de n'être pas plus malheureuse après ma mort que je ne l'étais avant ma vie, je vais m'endormir tranquillement dans le sein de la nature, sans regret comme sans douleur, sans remords comme sans inquiétude. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
569:Never may an act of possession be exercised upon a free being; the exclusive possession of a woman is no less unjust than the possession of slaves; all men are born free, all have equal rights: never should we lose sight of those principles; according to which never may there be granted to one sex the legitimate right to lay monopolizing hands upon the other, and never may one of the sexes, or classes, arbitrarily possess the other. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
570:You say that my way of thinking cannot be tolerated? What of it? The man who alters his way of thinking to suit othere is a fool. My way of thinking is the result of my reflections. It is part of my inner being,the way I am made. I do not contradict them, and would not even if I wished to. For my system, which you disapprove of is also my greatest comfort in life, the source of all my happiness -it means more to me than my life itself. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
571:His grandfather, who was eighty years of age, would not die, — appeared to have no symptoms of dying; — whereas this Marquis, who was not yet much over fifty, was rushing headlong out of the world, simply because he was the one man whose continued life at the present moment would be serviceable to George Vavasor. As he thought of his grandfather he almost broke his umbrella by the vehemence with which he struck it against the pavement. ~ Anthony Trollope, #NFDB
572:¡Oh, vosotros que tenéis en vuestras manos la suerte de vuestros compatriotas! Ojalá tales ejemplos puedan convenceros de que ahí están los verdaderos resortes con los que se mueve a todas las almas. Las cadenas, las delaciones, las mentiras, las traiciones, los cadalsos hacen esclavos y producen crímenes; sólo a la tolerancia pertenece esclarecer y conquistar los corazones; sólo ella, ofreciéndole virtudes, las inspira y las hace adorar. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
573:The Marquis dusted off the Italian theorbo. He restrung it, tuned it with a perseverance that could be understood only as love, and once again accompanied the songs of the past, sung with the good voice and bad ear that neither years nor troubled memories had changed. This was when she asked him whether it was true that love conquered all, as the songs said.
"It is true," he replied, "but you would do well not to believe it. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,#NFDB
574:IT was a heavy mass of building, that château of Monsieur the Marquis, with a large stone court-yard before it, and two stone sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace before the principal door. A stony business altogether, with heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers, and stone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in all directions. As if the Gorgon’s head had surveyed it, when it was finished, two centuries ago. ~ Charles Dickens, #NFDB
575:He always believed he loved his daughter, but the fear of rabies obliged the Marquis to admit to himself that this was a lie for the sake of convenience. Bernarda, on the other hand, did not even ask herself the question, for she knew very well she did not love the girl and the girl did not love her, and both things seemed fitting. A good part of the hatred each of them felt for Sierva Maria was caused by the other's qualities in her. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez, #NFDB
576:Une fois, il quêtait pour les pauvres dans un salon de la ville. Il y avait là le marquis de Champtercier, vieux, riche, avare, lequel trouvait moyen d'être tout ensemble ultra-royaliste et ultra-voltairien. Cette variété a existé. L'évêque, arrivé à lui, lui toucha le bras. —Monsieur le marquis, il faut que vous me donniez quelque chose. Le marquis se retourna et répondit sèchement: —Monseigneur, j'ai mes pauvres. —Donnez-les-moi, dit l'évêque. ~ Victor Hugo, #NFDB
577:Without principles and without virtue, and still full of the prejudices of that group of men whose pride had just led them to fight against the sovereign himself, Oxtiern imagined that nothing in the world could curb his passions. Well, of all those that burned within him, love was the most impetuous; but this feeling, which can be almost a virtue in a good soul, is bound to become the source of many crimes in a corrupt heart like that of Oxtiern. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
578:Il n'y a que deux ou trois crimes à faire dans le monde, dit Curval, et, ceux-là faits, tout est dit; le reste est inférieur et l'on ne sent plus rien. Combien de fois, sacredieu, n'ai-je pas désiré qu'on pût attaquer le soleil, en priver l'univers, ou s'en servir pour embraser le monde? Ce serait des crimes cela, et non pas les petits écarts où nous nous livrons, qui se bornent à métamorphoser au bout de l'an une douzaine de créatures en mottes de terre. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
579:The ditch once covered over, above it acorns shall be strewn, in order that the spot become green again, and the copse grown back thick over it, the traces of my grave may disappear from the face of the earth as I trust the memory of me shall fade out of the minds of all men save nevertheless for those few who in their goodness have loved me until the last and of whom I carry away a sweet remembrance with me to the grave."
Last Will and Testament (1806) ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
580:There is not a living man who does not wish to play the despot when he is stiff: it seems to him his joy is less when others appear to have as much fun as he; by an impulse of pride, very natural at this juncture, he would like to be the only one in the world capable of experiencing what he feels: the idea of seeing another enjoy as he enjoys reduces him to a kind of equality with that other, which impairs the unspeakable charm despotism causes him to feel. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
581:Aprovecha el tiempo más feliz de tu vida: ¡son demasiado cortos estos felices años de nuestros placeres! Si somos lo bastante afortunadas para haber gozado en ellos, deliciosos recuerdos nos consuelan y nos divierten aún en nuestra vejez. ¿Que los hemos perdido?... Recuerdos amargos, horribles remordimientos nos desgarran y se unen a los tormentos de la edad para rodear de lágrimas y zarzas la funesta proximidad del ataúd... ¿Tienes acaso la locura de la inmortalidad? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
582:Have you gone to Petitioners’ Court, or talked to the Renselaeuses? When his grace the Marquis of Shevraeth was up at Tlanth during winter, he rode around the county with Lord Branaric and answered questions very freely, no matter who asked.”
“No. I…keep running afoul of him.”
“Running afoul on political questions?” he asked.
“It never gets that far.” I felt my face burn. “Purely personal questions--usually with me misconstruing his motivations. I can’t ask him. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
583:Mme de Franval, indulgent and sweet-natured as ever, and always happy when anything brought her closer to a man who was dearer to her than her own life, went along with all the desires of that treacherous husband, anticipated them, served them, and shared them without exception, not daring to make the most of the moment, as she should have done, to persuade that barbarian to treat her better, and not plunge his unhappy wife every day into an abyss of pain and suffering. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
584:The Marquis sighed. "I thought it was just a legend," he said. "Like the alligators in the sewers of New York City." Old Bailey nodded, sagely: "What, the big white buggers? They're down there. I had a friend lost a head to one of them." A moment of silence. Old Naeiley handed the statue back to the Marquis. Then he raised his hand, and snapped it, like a crocodile hand, at the Carabas. "It was OK," gurned Old Bailey with a grin that was most terrible to behold. "He had another. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
585:...for although we may fully respect our social conventions...it may unfortunately happen that , through the perversity of others we encounter only the thorns of life, whilst the wicked gather nothing but roses.
will it not be said that virtue, however fair she may be, becomes the worst cause one can espouse... when she has grown so weak that she cannot struggle against vice? ”
- La Nouvelle Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu, suivie de l'histoire de Juliette ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
586:When I moved to New York, I had nothing. And a friend of mine also had nothing. And he said, 'Hey, come with me to the Marriot Marquis. And if you go to the 30th floor, and you wait by this door, and you sneak in, you can get free food.' And I did that for three years. I was prepared if anyone said, 'Can we see your room key?' to be like, 'Do you know who I am? I'm Bob Marriot's nephew.' Um, so great, I'm glad to be here and have free food again. And I didn't have to sneak in! ~ Santino Fontana, #NFDB
587:Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination. It is a manner of being moved which relies solely upon the way we see and feel. Except for the satisfaction of needs, there is nothing which makes all men equally happy. Not a day goes by but that we see one person made happy by something that supremely displeases another. Therefore, there is certain or fixed happiness, and the only happiness possible for us is the one we form with the help of our organs and our principles. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
588:The Marquis sighed. "I thought it was just a legend," he said. "Like the alligators in the sewers of New York City."
Old Bailey nodded, sagely: "What, the big white buggers? They're down there. I had a friend lost a head to one of them." A moment of silence. Old Naeiley handed the statue back to the Marquis. Then he raised his hand, and snapped it, like a crocodile hand, at the Carabas. "It was OK," gurned Old Bailey with a grin that was most terrible to behold. "He had another. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
589:A great man, who was convinced that the truths of political and moral science are capable of the same certainty as those that form the system of physical science, even in those branches like astronomy that seem to approximate mathematical certainty. He cherished this belief, for it led to the consoling hope that humanity would inevitably make progress toward a state of happiness and improved character even as it has already done in its knowledge of the truth. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
590:so this is my collection of human body parts, Dr. Silkston," he said proudly, walking into the storeroom. "each organ is here fro a reason, a purpose. you see this one," he said, pointing to a cylinder containing what appeared to Thomas to be a section of a small intestine with a hole in it. "'Tis a duelist's jejunum. that is the bullet hole, right through the middle. and this, this is the Marquis of Rockingham's heart," he announced proudly. " he gave me a permission to have it a fore he died ~ Tessa Harris, #NFDB
591:I maintain that what is taken for a naturally inspired horror of death is merely the fruit of the absurd fears which we, starting in childhood, develop regarding this total annihilation, fears initiated by the religious notions our elders stupidly cram into our young heads. Once cured of these fears and reassured concerning our fate, not only do we cease to behold death with alarm and repugnance, but it becomes easy to prove that death is in reality nothing more nor less than a voluptuous pleasure. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
592:How, you will go on, how have they been able to convince rational beings that the thing most difficult to understand is the most vital to them? It is that mankind has been terrorized; it is that when one is afraid one ceases to reason; it is, above all, that we have been advised to mistrust reason and defy it; and that, when the brain is disturbed, one believes anything and examines nothing. Ignorance and fear, you will repeat to them, ignorance and fear - those are the twin bases of every religion. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
593:Almost overnight it became laughable to read writers like Cheever or Updike, who wrote about the suburbia Madeleine and most of her friends had grown up in, in favor of reading the Marquis de Sade, who wrote about anally deflowering virgins in eighteenth-century France. The reason de Sade was preferable was that his shocking sex scenes weren't about sex but politics. They were therefore anti-imperialist, anti-bourgeois, anti-patriarchal, and anti-everything a smart young feminist should be against. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides, #NFDB
594:Ne kadar tuhaf olduğunu düşünürseniz düşünün, mutlak anlamda canice olabilecek tek bir eylem olmadığı gibi mutlak anlamda erdemli denilebilecek tek bir eylem de yoktur. Her şey bizim geleneklerimize ve içinde yaşadığımız iklime bağlıdır; burada suç olan şey yüz fersah daha aşağıda çoğu zaman erdem kabul edilir, bir başka yarımkürede erdem olarak görülen şey, tersine dönerek bizim için suç olabilir. Tek bir dehşet yoktur ki tanrısallaştırılmamış olsun, tıpkı gölge düşürülmemiş tek bir erdem olmaması gibi… ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
595:El proceso de un(a) infeliz sin valimiento ni protección está pronto hecho en un país donde se cree que la virtud es incompatible con la miseria, donde el infortunio es una prueba completa contra el acusado; aquí una injusta prevención hace creer que el que ha debido cometer el crimen, lo ha cometido; los sentimientos se miden de acuerdo con el estado en que se encuentra el culpable; y si el oro o los títulos no establecen su inocencia, la imposibilidad de que pueda ser inocente queda entonces demostrada. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
596:I was still brooding over this question when I heard a polite tap outside the tapestry, and a moment later, there was the equally quiet impact of a boot heel on the new tile floor, then another.
A weird feeling prickled down my spine, and I twisted around to face the Marquis of Shevraeth, who stood just inside the room. He raised his hands and said, “I am unarmed.”
I realized I was glaring. “I hate people creeping up behind me,” I muttered.
He glanced at the twenty paces or so of floor between us. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
597:If, though full of respect for social conventions and never overstepping the bounds they draw round us, if, nonetheless, it should come to pass that the wicked tread upon flowers, will it not be decided that it is preferable to abandon oneself to the tide rather than to resist it? Will it not be felt that Virtue, however beautiful, becomes the worst of all attitudes when it is found too feeble to contend with Vice, and that, in an entirely corrupted age, the safest course is to follow along after the others? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
598:There are no more than two or three crimes to commit in the world,’ said Curval. ‘Once those are done there is no more to be said – what remains is inferior and one no longer feels a thing. How many times, good God, have I not wished it were possible to attack the sun, to deprive the universe of it, or to use it to set the world ablaze – those would be crimes indeed, and not the little excesses in which we indulge, which do no more than metamorphose, in the course of a year, a dozen creatures into clods of earth. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
599:The Marquis stepped between Richard and Door. 'You can't go back to your old home or your old job or your old life,' he said to Richard almost gently. 'None of those things exist. Up there, you don't exist.' They had reached a junction: a place where three tunnels came together. Door and Hunter set off along one of them, the one that no water was coming down, and they did not look back. The Marquis lingered. 'You'll just have to make the best of it down here,' he said to Richard, 'in the sewers and the magic and the dark. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
600:Bravo,’ said Mathis. ‘I’m proud of you. You ought to be tortured every day. I really must remember to do something evil this evening. I must start at once. I have a few marks in my favour – only small ones, alas,’ he added ruefully – ‘but I shall work fast now that I have seen the light. What a splendid time I’m going to have. Now, let’s see, where shall I start, murder, arson, rape? But no, these are peccadilloes. I must really consult the good Marquis de Sade. I am a child, an absolute child in these matters.’ His face fell. ~ Ian Fleming, #NFDB
601:If they who are appointed to instruct and rule over men had wisdom and virtue themselves, realities, and not fantasies, would enable them to govern better; but scoundrels, quacksalvers, ambitious ruffians, or low sneaks, the lawgivers have ever found it easier to lull nations to sleep with bedtime tales than to teach truths to the public, than to develop intelligence in the population, than to encourage men to virtue by making it worthwhile for sound and palpable reasons, than, in short, to govern them in a logical manner. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
602:One wonders why there are so many women who follow Robespierre to his home, to the Jacobins, to the Cordeliers and to the Convention. It is because the French Revolution is a religion and Robespierre is one of its sects. He is a priest with his flock... Robespierre preaches, Robespierre censures, he is furious, serious, melancholic and exalted with passion. He thunders against the rich and the great. He lives on little and has no physical needs. He has only one mission: to talk. And he talks all the time. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
603:Believe me, Eugenie, the words "vice" and "virtue" supply us only with local meanings. There is no action, however bizarre you may picture it, that is truly criminal; or one that can really be called virtuous. Everything depends on our customs and on the climates we live in. What is considered a crime here is often a virtue a few hundred leagues away; and the virtues of another hemisphere might, quite conversely, be regarded as crimes among us. There is no atrocity that hasn't been deified, no virtue that hasn't been stigmatized. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
604:Indeed, the thought that we might restrict public policy considerations to a mere economic calculus was already a source of concern two centuries ago. The Marquis de Condorcet, one of the most perceptive writers on commercial capitalism in its early years, anticipated with distaste the prospect that “liberty will be no more, in the eyes of an avid nation, than the necessary condition for the security of financial operations.” The revolutions of the age risked fostering confusion between the freedom to make money . . . and freedom itself. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
605:Shaftoe wasn’t a boxer. He was a wrestler. This was to his advantage. The other Marines would put up their dukes and try to fight it out—Marquis of Queensberry style—no match for chop-socky. Shaftoe had no illusions about his boxing, so he would just put his head down and charge like a bull, take a few blows to the face on his way in, but usually get a solid hold on his opponent and slam him into the cobblestones. Usually that shook the Nip up enough that Shaftoe could get him in a full-nelson or a hammerlock and get him to cry uncle. ~ Neal Stephenson, #NFDB
606:If it is possible to have a linear unit that depends on no other quantity, it would seem natural to prefer it. Moreover, a mensural unit taken from the earth itself offers another advantage, that of being perfectly analogous to all the real measurements that in ordinary usage are also made upon the earth, such as the distance between two places or the area of some tract, for example. It is far more natural in practice to refer geographical distances to a quadrant of a great circle than to the length of a pendulum. ~ Nicolas de Caritat marquis de Condorcet, #NFDB
607:There are,' said Curval, 'but two or three crimes to perform in this world, and they, once done, there's no more to be said; all the rest is inferior, you cease any longer to feel. Ah, how many times, by God, have I not longed to be able to assail the sun, snatch it out of the universe, make a general darkness, or use that star to burn the world! oh, that would be a crime, oh yes, and not a little misdemeanor such as are all the ones we perform who are limited in a whole year's time to metamorphosing a dozen creatures into lumps of clay. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
608:But, don’t you see, since we happened to have M. de Cambremer here, and he is a Marquis, while you are only a Baron. . . . ” “Pardon me,” M. de Charlus replied with an arrogant air to the astonished Verdurin, “I am also Duc de Brabant, Damoiseau de Montargis, Prince d’Oloron, de Carency, de Viareggio and des Dunes. However, it is not of the slightest importance. Please do not distress yourself,” he concluded, resuming his subtle smile which spread itself over these final words: “I could see at a glance that you were not accustomed to society. ~ Marcel Proust, #NFDB
609:Between the years of ninety-two and a hundred and two, however, we shall be the ribald, useless, drunken, outcast person we have always wished to be. We shall have a long white beard and long white hair; we shall not walk at all, but recline in a wheel chair and bellow for alcoholic beverages; in the winter we shall sit before the fire with our feet in a bucket of hot water, a decanter of corn whiskey near at hand, and write ribald songs against organized society... We look forward to a disreputable, vigorous, unhonoured, and disorderly old age. ~ Don Marquis, #NFDB
610:Now let us consider theft. From the standpoint of the wealthy, this is, of course, an horrendous crime. But, laying partiality aside, let us ask ourselves as republicans: shall we, upholding the principle that all men are equal, brand as wrong an act whose effect is to accomplish a more equal distribution of wealth? Theft furthers economic equilibrium: one never hears of the rich stealing from the poor, thereby aggravating the economic imbalance; only of the poor stealing from the rich, thereby correcting it. What possibly be wrong with that? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
611:My soul is callous, it is impassive... I put any sentiment whatever at defiance to attain it, with the exception of pleasure. I am mistress of that soul's movements and affections, of its desires, of its impulsions; with me, everything is under the unchallenged control of mind; and there's worse yet... for my mind is appalling. But I am not complaining, I cherish my vices, I abhor virtue; I am the sworn enemy of all religions, of all gods and godlings, I fear neither the ills of life nor what follows death; and when you're like me, you're happy. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
612:i have been
used something fierce in my time but
i am no bum sport archy
i am a free spirit archy i
look on myself as being
quite a romantic character oh the
queens i have been and the
swell feeds i have ate
a cockroach which you are
and a poet which you used to be
archy couldn t understand
my feelings at having come
down to this i have
had bids to elegant feeds where poets
and cockroaches would
neither one be mentioned without a
laugh archy i have had
adventures but i
have never been an adventuress ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
613:If Nature denies eternity to beings, it follows that their destruction is one of her laws. Now, once we observe that destruction is so useful to her that she absolutely cannot dispense with it from this moment onward the idea of annihilation which we attach to death ceases to be real what we call the end of the living animal is no longer a true finish, but a simple transformation, a transmutation of matter. According to these irrefutable principles, death is hence no more than a change of form, an imperceptible passage from one existence into another. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
614: Did Chuang Chou dream he was the butterfly?
Or the butterfly dream he was Chuang Chou?
In the single bodys transformations
See the vortex of the Myriad Creatures.
No mystery then that the Magic Seas
Shrank again to crystal streams,
Or down by Chang-ans Green Gate
The gardener was Marquis of Tung-Ling.
If this is the fate of fame and power,
What is it for- this endless striving?
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ Li Bai, Old Poem
,#NFDB
615:You’ve left me behind. What have you been reading, Mel? Life! You should go up to Erev-li-Erval and help take the field against the Djurans. Unless you’re planning another revolution here!”
“Were you thinking of taking the field against me?” the Marquis addressed me in his usual drawl.
Aghast, I choked on a bite of food. Then I saw the gleam of humor in his eyes, and realized he’d been joking. “But I’m not,” I squawked. “Not at all! I just like, well, reading and thinking about these things.”
“And testing your knowledge, Danric,” Bran added. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
616:One can only hope." He took a step toward her, so only a few scant inches separated them. A white cascade of glittering light lit the night above his head and made his eyes sparkle. "Do you mean there is no charity in your heart for a poor, misguided soul such as myself?
"You've guided yourself astray," she informed him, backing up, "and my poor brother, as well." Her thoughts and her wits seemed to have scattered, and she fought to keep an affronted expression on her face.
"Then he is safe," the marquis murmured, "for my path leads straight back to you. ~ Suzanne Enoch,#NFDB
617:Franval, who was now absolutely at ease, thought on,y of upsetting others; he behaved in his vindictive, unruly, impetuous way when he was disturbed; he desired his own tranquility again at any price, and in order to obtain it he clumsily adopted the only means most likely to make him lose it once again. If he obtained it he used all his moral and physical facilities only to do harm to others; he was therefore always in a state of agitation, he had either to anticipate the wiles which he forced others to employ against him, or else he had to use them against others. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
618:Lassen Sie mich dem Tod entgegen gehen. Ich fürchte ihn nicht, er wird meinen Leiden ein Ende setzen. Nur der muss ihn fürchten, der glücklich und friedlich lebt, aber das arme Geschöpf, das immer wieder auf Schlangen getreten ist, dessen blutige Füße nur Dornen verspürten, das die Menschen nur kennenlernte, um sie hassen zu müssen, das nur gelebt hat, um das Leben zu verabscheuen - das Mädchen, das Eltern, Vermögen, Hilfe, Schutz, Freunde verloren hat, das in der Welt nur Tränen als Trank und Leiden als Nahrung hatte -, es sieht den Tod nahen, ohne vor ihm zu zittern. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
619:But if I find this Marquis don’t know the difference between master and tyrant, not one penny will I settle on Emma, and we’ll see what he and Sukey have to say to that!’
‘I’m afraid, ma’am, that Emily’s fortune is a matter of indifference to him.’
‘Oh, it is, is it? Well, if Emily’s been pushed into this against her will, I’ll go up to London, and tell his lordship who I am, and what I mean to do, which is to hire a house in the best part of the town, and set up as his grandma! And we’ll see if that’s a matter of indifference to him!’ declared the old lady triumphantly. ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
620:Serían precisos otros pinceles distintos a los míos para pintar la alegría de estos dos fieles amantes cuando volvieron a verse. Pero ese lenguaje del amor, estos instantes que sólo son conocidos de los corazones sensibles... esos momentos deliciosos en que el alma se reúne con la del objeto que adora, en que se deja al sentimiento el cuidado de pintarse a sí mismo, ese silencio, digo, ¿no está por encima de todas las frases? Y quienes se han embriagado con esas situaciones celestes, ¿se atreverán a decir que puede haber otras más divinas en el mundo... más imposibles de trazar? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
621:Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter: the latter, a most beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda. Conrad, the son, was three years younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no promising disposition; yet he was the darling of his father, who never showed any symptoms of affection to Matilda. Manfred had contracted a marriage for his son with the Marquis of Vicenza’s daughter, Isabella; and she had already been delivered by her guardians into the hands of Manfred, that he might celebrate the wedding as soon as Conrad’s infirm state of health would permit. ~ Horace Walpole, #NFDB
622:A hundred years after his death, a statue of Lavoisier was erected in Paris and much admired until someone pointed out that it looked nothing like him. Under questioning the sculptor admitted that he had used the head of the mathematician and philosopher the Marquis de Condorcet—apparently he had a spare—in the hope that no one would notice or, having noticed, would care. In the second regard he was correct. The statue of Lavoisier-cum- Condorcet was allowed to remain in place for another half century until the Second World War when, one morning, it was taken away and melted down for scrap. ~ Bill Bryson, #NFDB
623:His daughter was valuable to him because she might make him the father-in-law of a Marquis or an Earl; but the higher that he rose without such assistance, the less need had he of his daughter’s aid. Lord Alfred was certainly very useful to him. Lord Alfred had whispered into his ear that by certain conduct and by certain uses of his money, he himself might be made a baronet. “But if they should say that I’m not an Englishman?” suggested Melmotte. Lord Alfred had explained that it was not necessary that he should have been born in England, or even that he should have an English name. No ~ Anthony Trollope, #NFDB
624:Cruelty, very far from being a vice, is the first sentiment Nature injects in us all. The infant breaks his toy, bites his nurse's breast, strangles his canary long before he is able to reason; cruelty is stamped in animals, in whom, as I think I have said, Nature's laws are more emphatically to be read than in ourselves; cruelty exists amongst savages, so much nearer to Nature than civilized men are; absurd then to maintain cruelty is a consequence of depravity. . . . Cruelty is simply the energy in a man civilization has not yet altogether corrupted: therefore it is a virtue, not a vice. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
625:I am a libertine, but I am not a criminal nor a murderer, and since I am compelled to set my apology alongside my vindication, I shall therefore say that it might well be possible that those who condemn me as unjustly as I have been might themselves be unable to offset the infamies by good works as clearly established as those I can contrast to my errors. And yet you who today tyrannize me so cruelly, you do not believe it either: your vengeance has beguiled your mind, you have proceeded blindly to tyrannize, but your heart knows mine, it judges it more fairly, and it knows full well it is innocent. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
626:Mel!” he exclaimed when I opened the door. And he laughed. “Look at you! You’re drowning in that kit.” He turned his head to address Shevraeth. “Ain’t anyone undersized among your people?”
“Obviously not,” I said tartly, and helped myself to the flagon that I saw on the bed. A swig of bristic did help somewhat. “Unless the sight of me is intended to provide some cheap amusement for the warriors.”
“Well, I won’t come off much better,” Bran said cheerily.
“That I resent,” the Marquis said with his customary drawl. “Seeing as it is my wardrobe that is gracing your frame.”
Branaric only laughed. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
627:The Marquis believed himself to be hardened against flattery. He thought that he had experienced every variety, but he discovered that he was mistaken: the blatantly worshipful look in the eyes of a twelve-year-old, anxiously raised to his, was new to him, and it pierced his defences. He was capable of giving the coolest of set-downs to any gushing female; and the advances of toadeaters he met with the most blistering of snubs; but even as he realised how intolerably bored he would be in Soho he found himself quite unable to snub his latest and most youthful admirer. It would be like kicking a confiding puppy. ~ Georgette Heyer, #NFDB
628:But to declare his wishes only in some unknown corner of Asia, to choose the most double-dealing and the most superstitious of peoples as followers, and the vilest, most ridiculous, and most roguish working man as representative, to muddle up the message so much that it is impossible to comprehend, to teach it only to a tiny number of individuals while leaving everyone else in the dark, and to punish them for remaining there... Oh, no, Therese, no, no, such atrocities cannot be our guide. I would rather die a thousand times than believe in them. When atheism wants martyrs, let it choose them and my blood is ready. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
629:It is in the lawful power of no human being to force me to believe or accept what he says or thinks; and however little regard I have for these human reveries, however much I flout them, there is no person on earth who can pretend to the right to censure or punish me therefor. Into what chasm of errors or foolishness would we not tumble were all men blindly to adhere to what it suited some other men to establish! And through what incredible injustice will you call moral that which emanates from you; immoral that which I uphold? To what arbitration shall we apply in order to find out upon which side right and reason lie? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
630:Cea mai mare nebunie, spunea ea, este aceea care face ca nouă să ne fie rușine de aplecările dăruite de natură; și a-ți bate joc de o ființă ale cărei porniri sînt deosebite este la fel de barbar ca a lua în zeflemea pe un bărbat sau pe o femeie care au ieșit chiori sau șchiopi din pîntecul mamei lor, dar ca să încerci să-i convingi de niște lucruri atît de obișnuite pe proști este tot una cu a încerca să oprești mersul aștrilor. Găsim un fel de plăcere în îngîmfarea de a-ți bate joc de niște cusururi care nu există și aceste plăceri sînt atăt de gustate de oameni, mai ales de imbecili, că rareori îi vezi lepădîndu-se de ele... ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
631:Before you were born, you were nothing more than an indistinguishable lump of unformed matter. After death, you simply will return to that nebulous state. You are going to become the raw material out of which new beings will be fashioned. Will there be pain in this natural process? No! Pleasure? No! Now, is there anything frightening in this? Certainly not! And yet, people sacrifice pleasure on earth in the hope that pain will be avoided in an after-life. The fools don't realize that, after death, pain and pleasure cannot exist: there is only the sensationless state of cosmic anonymity: therefore, the rule of life should be ... to enjoy oneself! ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
632:If you’re rebelling, then you must have someone in mind for the throne. Who?”
Bran pointed across the table at Shevraeth. “He seems to want to do it, and I have to say, he’d be better at it than I.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I said without thinking.
Bran winced and rubbed his chin. “Mel…”
“Please, my dear Lord Branaric,” the Prince murmured. “Permit the lady to speak. I am interested to hear her thoughts on the matter.”
Rude as I’d been before, my response had shocked even me, and I hadn’t intended to say anything more. Now I sneaked a peek at the Marquis, who just sat with his goblet in his fingers, his expression one of mild questioning. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
633:¡Creedlo, ciudadanos, aquel a quien la espada material de las leyes no detiene tampoco se detendrá por el temor moral de los suplicios del infierno, de los que se burla desde su infancia!. En una palabra, vuestro teísmo ha hecho cometer muchas fechorías, pero jamás ha evitado una sola. Si es cierto que las pasiones ciegan, que su efecto es tender ante nuestros ojos una nube que nos oculte los peligros de que están rodeadas, ¿cómo podemos suponer que los que están lejos de nosotros, como lo están los castigos anunciados por vuestro dios, puedan llegar a disipar esa nube que no disuelve siquiera la espada de las leyes, siempre suspendida sobre las pasiones? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
634:I come," replied he, "to thee, Manfred, usurper of the principality of Otranto, from the renowned and invincible Knight, the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre: in the name of his Lord, Frederic, Marquis of Vicenza, he demands the Lady Isabella, daughter of that Prince, whom thou hast basely and traitorously got into thy power, by bribing her false guardians during his absence; and he requires thee to resign the principality of Otranto, which thou hast usurped from the said Lord Frederic, the nearest of blood to the last rightful Lord, Alfonso the Good. If thou dost not instantly comply with these just demands, he defies thee to single combat to the last extremity. ~ Horace Walpole, #NFDB
635:There, at the top of the table, alone amongst all these women, stooped over his ample plateful, with his napkin tied around his neck like a child, an old man sat eating, drips of gravy drbibbling gravy from him lips. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a little pigtail tied up with a black ribbon. This was the Marquis' father-in-law... he had led a... Read more tumultuous life of debauchery and duelling, of wagers made and women abducted, had squandered his fortune and terrified his whole family... Emma's eyes kept coming back to this old man with the sagging lips, as though to something wonderfully majestic. He had lived at court and slept in the bed of a queen! ~ Gustave Flaubert, #NFDB
636:If you’re capable of simple truth, just spit it out.”
“Your brother has agreed to a truce,” the Marquis started.
“Truce? What do you mean, a ‘truce’?” I snarled. “He wouldn’t surrender, he wouldn’t, unless you forced him by threats to me--”
“I have issued no threats. It was only necessary to inform him that you were on your way here. He agreed to join us, for purposes of negotiation--”
A sun seemed to explode behind my eyes. “You’ve got Bran? You used me to get my brother?”
“He’s here,” the Marquis said, but he didn’t get any further.
Giving a wail of sheer rage, I plucked a heavy silver candleholder and flung it straight at his head. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
637:Then she revived him with an ardor and skill he could not have imagined in the meager pleasures of his solitary lovemaking, and without glory deprived him of his virginity. He was fifty-two years old and she was twenty-three, but age was the least pernicious of the differences between them. They continued to make hurried, heartless siesta love in the evangelical shade of the orange trees. The madwomen encouraged them from the terraces with indecent songs, and celebrated their triumphs with stadium ovations. Before the Marquis was aware of the dangers that pursued him, Bernarda woke him from his stupor with the news that she was in the second month of pregnancy. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez, #NFDB
638:What’s your rank of choice?”
Juliet started, nearly spilling her cup of lemonade. “Pardon?”
Drake gestured to all the other men in the room. “Every rank from a duke down to a second son who became a vicar is available for your choosing. Any rank strike your fancy?”
“I believe you’re incorrect,” she said, looking over all the men in the room. “I see one second son-vicar, one baron―” she turned to him―“one viscount, two earls, and one duke. But alas, no marquis.”
His brown eyes lit with mischief. “I’d say that I stand corrected, but I do not. There is a marquis on the premises. If you’d like to dance with him, I’ll see if a servant can fetch him from the nursery. ~ Rose Gordon,#NFDB
639:Stories of Love, Intrigue, and Battle: Being Selected Works of Rafael Sabatini (1931) collection The Black Swan (1932) The Stalking Horse (1933) A Century of Sea Stories (1934) editor Heroic Lives (1934) nonfiction Venetian Masque (1934) Chivalry (1935) A Century of Historical Stories (1936) editor The Fortunes of Captain Blood (1936) The Lost King (1937) The Sword of Islam (1939) The Marquis of Carabas (1940) Columbus (1942) King in Prussia (1944) Turbulent Tales (1946) collection The Gamester (1949) Saga of the Sea (1953) omnibus Sinner, Saint, and Jester (1954) omnibus In the Shadow of the Guillotine (1955) omnibus The Fortunes of Casanova and Other Stories (1993) collection ~ Rafael Sabatini, #NFDB
640:Nothing is essentially born, nothing essentially perishes, all is but the action and reaction of matter; all is like the ocean billows which ever rise and fall, like the tides of the sea, ebbing and flowing endlessly, without there being either the loss or the gain of a drop in the volume of the waters; all this is a perpetual flux which ever was and shall always be, and whereof we become, though we know it not, the principal agents by reason of our vices and our virtues. All this is an infinite variation; a thousand thousand different portions of matter which appear under every form are shattered, are reconstituted to appear again under others, again to be undone and to rearise. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
641:Expecting the two equerries to immediately take off after me, I braced for a run. Why had I babbled so much? I thought, annoyed with myself. Why didn’t I just say “No” and leave?
But the equerries both turned and walked swiftly back in the direction they’d come, and the old man continued on his way.
What does that mean?
And the answer was not long in coming: They were going back to report.
Which meant a whole lot of them searching. And soon.
Yes, I’d really widened my perimeter, I thought furiously, cursing the Baron, music, inns, resorts, food, and the Baron again, throwing in Galdran Merindar and the Marquis of Shevraeth for good measure. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
642:but in all honesty, when I looked at my own pictures they surprised even me with their knowledge : cause at the same time as I’d been painting these questioning things I had been telling myself that the Marquis would be just, he’d naturally know and honour my worth and reward me properly for it, of course he would, even if I pictured him and his hunt all clipclopping as if blind towards a crevasse : cause the life of painting and making is a matter of double knowledge so that your own hands will reveal a world to you to which your mind’s eye, your conscious eye, is often blind. The Falcon was shaking his head at the infidel : he was no longer laughing : his mouth fell open : he put his hand to his mouth. ~ Ali Smith, #NFDB
643:Ya se ve: la envidia, la ambición, he ahí las causas reales de disturbios de los que el interés de Dios no fue más que un pretexto. ¡Oh, religión! Hasta qué punto te respetan los hombres; cuando tantos horrores emanan de ti, ¿no puede sospecharse por un momento que no eres entre nosotros sino el manto bajo en el que se envuelve la discordia cuando quiere destilar su veneno sobre la tierra? ¡Cómo! Si existe un Dios, ¿qué importa la forma en que los hombres le adoren? ¿Son virtudes o ceremonias lo que exige? Si no quiere de nosotros más que corazones puros, ¿puede ser honrado mejor por un culto que por otro cuando la adopción del primero en lugar del segundo debe costar tantos crímenes a los hombres? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
644:it wont be long now it wont be long
man is making deserts of the earth
it wont be long now
before man will have used it up
so that nothing but ants
and centipedes and scorpions
can find a living on it
....
what man calls civilization
always results in deserts
....
men talk of money and industry
of hard times and recoveries
of finance and economics
but the ants wait and the scorpions wait
for while men talk they are making deserts all the time
getting the world ready for the conquering ant
drought and erosion and desert
because men cannot learn
....
it wont be long now it wont be long
till earth is barren as the moon
and sapless as a mumbled bone ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
645:Couldn’t I try. . . . Naturally, it wouldn’t be a question of a tune . . . but couldn’t I, in another medium? . . . It would have to be a book: I don’t know how to do anything else. But not a history book: history talks about what has existed—an existant can never justify the existence of another existant. My error, I wanted to resuscitate the Marquis de Rollebon. Another type of book. I don’t quite know which kind—but you would have to guess, behind the printed words, behind the pages, at something which would not exist, which would be above existence. A story, for example, something that could never happen, an adventure. It would have to be beautiful and hard as steel and make people ashamed of their existence. ~ Jean Paul Sartre, #NFDB
646:The Marquis De Sade said that the most important experiences a man can have are those that take him to the very limit; that is the only way we learn, because it requires all our courage. When a boss humiliates an employee, or a man humiliates his wife, he is merely being cowardly or taking his revenge on life, they are people who have never dared to look into the depths of their soul, never attempted to know the origin of that desire to unleash the wild beast, or to understand that sex, pain and love are all extreme experiences. Only those who know those frontiers know life; everything else is just passing the time, repeating the same tasks, growing old and dying without ever having discovered what we are doing here. ~ Paulo Coelho, #NFDB
647:The others conversed little, and at the end of the meal I looked up, saw the unmistakable marks of fever in their faces. Branaric grinned. “What a trio we make! Look at us.”
Annoyance flared anew. Glaring at him, I said hoarsely, “Look at yourself. I’d rather spare myself the nightmare, which would affright even a half-sighted gargoyle.”
Bran gaped at me in surprise, then laughed. “Just keep that temper sharp. You’ll need it, for we may be on the march tomorrow.”
“Oh, good,” I croaked with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
It sounded about as false as it felt, and Bran laughed again; but before he could say anything, the Marquis suggested that we all retire, for the morrow promised to be a long day. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
648:But a wife..."
"...is an individual who can be interesting when one makes use of her, but one must know how to detach oneself firmly when serious reasons separate one from her."
"That is a harsh statement."
"Not at all...it is philosophy...it is the tone of the day, it is the language of reason, one must adopt it or be taken for a fool."
"This supposes some fault in your wife, explain it to me: some natural defect, or a failure to comply, or bad conduct."
"A little of everything...a little of everything, sir, but let us change the subject, I beg you, and return to that dear Madam: damn me, I don't understand how you can have been in Orleans without amusing yourself with that creature...but everyone has her. ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
649:Oh, there are plenty of people," the Duc used to observe, "who never misbehave save when passion spurs them to ill; later, the fire gone out of them, their now calm spirit peacefully returns to the path of virtue and, thus passing their life going from strife to error and from error to remorse, they end their days in such a way there is no telling just what roles they have enacted on earth. Such persons," he would continue, "must surely be miserable: forever drifting, continually undecided, their entire life is spent detesting in the morning what they did the evening before. Certain to repent of the pleasures they taste, they take their delight in quaking, in such sort they become at once virtuous in crime and criminal in virtue. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
650:You know what I miss? The practice sessions we had when we were riding cross-country last year. I did some practice at home…but there doesn’t seem to be opportunity anymore.”
“We have open practice each day at dawn, in the garrison court when the weather’s fine, the gym when it isn’t. You’re welcome to join us. There’s no hierarchy, except that of expertise, by order of the Marquis himself.”
“The Marquis?” I repeated faintly, realizing how close I’d come to making an even worse fool of myself than my spectacular attempts so far.
“There every day,” she said. “Others as well--Lady Renna. Duke of Savona there most days, same as Baron Khialem. You wouldn’t be alone.”
I won’t be there at all. But out loud I just thanked her. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
651:[...]virtue is not some kind of mode whose value is
incontestable, it is simply
a scheme of conduct, a way of getting along, which varies
according to accidents of geography and climate and which, consequently, has no
reality, the which alone exhibits its futility.
Only what is constant is really good; what changes perpetually cannot
claim that
characterization: that is why they have declared that immutability belongs to the
ranks of the Eternal's perfections; but virtue is completely without this quality: there
is not, upon the entire globe, two races which are virtuous in the same m
anner;
hence, virtue is not in any sense real, nor in any wise intrinsically good and in no sort
deserves our reverence. ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
652:Ah-ah! Another kiss. Come here to me, Charlotte-Rose. Come and kiss me.'
He flung himself down on the couch and held out his arms to me. I rose and went slowly towards him, searching his face, my stomach fluttering with nerves. His face softened. 'I will not hurt you, chérie.' He drew me down so our mouths met and clung.
It was a long, long kiss. Somehow, I found myself lying back on the cushions, the Marquis' body half-covering mine, his hand tangling my hair, one shoulder bared to the cool night air. He lifted his mouth from mine, smiled at me and then shifted his body so that his mouth was at the junction of my collarbones, his tongue tracing lazy circles in the hollow. I sighed. My bones seemed made of honey, my skin dancing with a million tiny stars. ~ Kate Forsyth,#NFDB
653:My dear, the universe runs itself, and the eternal laws inherent in Nature suffice, without any first cause or prime mover, to produce all there is and all that we know; the perpetual movement of matter explains everything: why need we supply a motor to that which is ever in motion?
The universe is an assemblage of unlike entities which act and react mutually and successively with and against each other; I discern no start, no finish, no fixed boundaries, this universe I see only as an incessant passing from one state into another, and within it only particular beings which forever change shape and form, but I acknowledge no universal cause behind and distinct from the universe and which gives it existence and which procures the modifications in the particular beings composing it. ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
654:As we made our way steadily northward, their spirits lifted at the prospect of home, and leave-time to enjoy it. From remarks they let fall it seemed that the Marquis had had them on duty day and night, with no breaks, during all the days of my run for freedom.
I really liked Nessaren and her riding. With good-natured generosity they treated me as a companion rather than as a prisoner. The last four mornings they even let me run through their morning sword drills with them. Some of it I knew from our own exercises with Khesot, but they had far better ones. I did my best to memorize the new material for taking back to our people in Tlanth.
The problem was, I realized as we raced across the northern hills, I was still furious with their leader.
My duty was clear: I had to escape. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
655:From an early age I set myself above the monstrous fantasies of religion, being perfectly convinced that the existence of the creator is a revolting absurdity in which not even children believe any more; there is no need for me to restrain my tastes in order to please Him, it is from Nature that I received these tastes, and I should offend her by resisting them – if they are wicked, it is because they serve her purposes. In her hands I am nothing but a machine for her to operate as she wishes, and there is not a single one of my crimes that fails to serve her; the greater her need, the more she spurs me on – I should be a fool to resist her. Only the law stands in my way, but I defy it – my gold and my influence place me beyond the reach of those crude scales meant only for the common people. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
656:No doubt Mr Grimes was personally an advocate for the return of Mr Vavasor, and would do all in his power to prevent the re-election of the young Lord Kilfenora, whose father, the Marquis of Bunratty, had scattered that six thousand pounds among the electors and non-electors of Chelsea; but his main object was that money should be spent. “‘Tain’t altogether for myself,” he said to a confidential friend in the same way of business; “I don’t get so much on it. Perhaps sometimes not none. May be I’ve a bill agin some of those gents not paid this werry moment. But it’s the game I looks to. If the game dies away, it’ll never be got up again; — never. Who’ll care about elections then? Anybody’d go and get hisself elected if we was to let the game go by!” And so, that the game might not go by, Mr Grimes was now present in Mr George Vavasor’s rooms. ~ Anthony Trollope, #NFDB
657:The marquis de Carabas was not a good man, and he knew himself well enough to be perfectly certain that he was not a brave man. He had long since decided that the world, Above or Below, was a place that wished to be deceived, and, to this end, he had named himself from a lie in a fairy tale, and created himself--his clothes, his manner, his carriage--as a grand joke.
There was a dull pain in his wrists and his feet, and he was finding it harder and harder to breathe. There was nothing more to be gained by feigning unconsciousness, and he raised his head, as best he could, and spat a gob of scarlet blood into Mr. Vandemar's face.
It was a brave thing to do, he thought. And a stupid one. Perhaps they would have let him die quietly, if he had not done that. Now, he had no doubt, they would hurt him more.
And perhaps his death would come the quicker for it. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
658:He pulled one of his brands out of the fire and stepped toward me, raising it. The sharp smell of red-hot metal made me sneeze--and when I looked up, the man’s mouth was open with surprise.
My gaze dropped to the knife embedded squarely in his chest, which seemed to have sprouted there. But knives don’t sprout, even in dungeons, I thought hazily, as the torturer fell heavily at my feet. I turned my head, half rising from the chair--
And saw the Marquis of Shevraeth standing framed in the doorway. At his back were four of his liveried equerries, with swords drawn and ready.
The Marquis strolled forward, indicated the knife with a neatly gloved hand, and gave me a faint smile. “I trust the timing was more or less advantageous?”
“More or less,” I managed to say before the rushing in my ears washed over me, and I passed out cold right on top of the late torturer. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
659:Ah, God, it was too sad and awful, the endless hide-and-go-seek game one played with the middle class.
If one could only be sure that one did not belong to it, thatone was finer, nobler, more aristocratic. The truth was, shehated it shakily from above, not solidly from below, and herproletarian sympathies constituted a sort of snub that she ad-ministered to the middle class, just as a really smart woman willoutdress her friends by relentlessly underdressing them. Scratcha socialist and you find a snob. The semantic test confirmedthis. In the Marxist language, your opponent was always a"parvenu," an "upstart," an "adventurer," a politician was al-ways "cheap," and an opportunist "vulgar." But the proletariatdid not talk in such terms; this was the tone of the F.F.V.What the socialist movement did for a man was to allow him-self the airs of a marquis without having either his title or his sanity questioned. ~ Mary McCarthy,#NFDB
660:I am almost ashamed to answer,' she said. 'As I have said before, Emily
Fox-Seton has become the lodestar of my existence. I cannot live without
her. She has walked over to Maundell to make sure that we do not have a
dinner-party without fish to-night.'
'She has walked over to Maundell,' said Lord Walderhurst--'after
yesterday?'
'There was not a pair of wheels left in the stable,' answered Lady
Maria. 'It is disgraceful, of course, but she is a splendid walker, and
she said she was not too tired to do it. It is the kind of thing she
ought to be given the Victoria Cross for--saving one from a dinner-party
without fish.'
The Marquis of Walderhurst took up the cord of his monocle and fixed the
glass rigidly in his eye.
'It is not only four miles to Maundell,' he remarked, staring at the
table-cloth, not at Lady Maria, 'but it is four miles back. ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett,#NFDB
661:I shall approach. Before taking off his hat, I shall take off my own. I shall say, "The Marquis de Saint Eustache, I believe." He will say, "The celebrated Mr. Syme, I presume." He will say in the most exquisite French, "How are you?" I shall reply in the most exquisite Cockney, "Oh, just the Syme."'
'Oh shut it...what are you really going to do?'
'But it was a lovely catechism! ...Do let me read it to you. It has only forty-three questions and answers, some of the Marquis's answers are wonderfully witty. I like to be just to my enemy.'
'But what's the good of it all?' asked Dr. Bull in exasperation.
'It leads up to the challenge...when the Marquis as given the forty-ninth reply, which runs--'
'Has it...occurred to you...that the Marquis may not say all the forty-three things you have put down for him?'
'How true that is! ...Sir, you have a intellect beyond the common. ~ G K Chesterton,#NFDB
662:In fact, many of the most famous anti-Christian polemicists of the last 200 years—who sought to use science to justify their unbelief—never themselves set foot in a laboratory or conducted a single field observation. That includes the Marquis de Sade (a writer), Percy Bysshe Shelley (a poet), Friedrich Nietzsche (a philologist by training), Algernon Swinburne (a poet), Bertrand Russell (a philosopher), Karl Marx (a philosopher), Robert Ingersoll (a lecturer), George Bernard Shaw (a playwright), Vladimir Lenin (a communist revolutionary), Joseph Stalin (a communist dictator), H. L. Mencken (a newspaper columnist), Jean-Paul Sartre (a philosopher), Benito Mussolini (a fascist dictator), Luis Buñuel (Spanish filmmaker), Clarence Darrow (a lawyer), Ayn Rand (a novelist), Christopher Hitchens (a journalist), Larry Flynt (a pornographer), George Soros and Warren Buffett (investors), and Penn and Teller (magicians). ~ Robert J Hutchinson, #NFDB
663:Awareness came back slowly, and not very pleasantly. First were all the aches and twinges, then the dizziness, and last the sensation of movement. Before I even opened my eyes I realized that once again I was on a horse, clasped upright by an arm.
The Marquis again? Memories came flooding back--the dungeon, the Baron’s horrible promise, then the knife and Shevraeth’s comment about timing. The Marquis had saved me, with about the closest timing in history, from a thoroughly nasty fate. Relief was my foremost emotion, then gratitude, and then a residual embarrassment that I didn’t understand and instantly dismissed. He had saved my life, and I owed him my thanks.
I opened my eyes, squinting against bright sunlight, and turned my head, words forming only to vanish when I looked up into an unfamiliar face. I closed my eyes again, completely confused. Had I dreamed it all, then? Except--where was I, and with whom? ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
664:Ah, God, it was too sad and awful, the endless hide-and-go-seek game one played with the middle class.
If one could only be sure that one did not belong to it, that one was finer, nobler, more aristocratic. The truth was, she hated it shakily from above, not solidly from below, and her proletarian sympathies constituted a sort of snub that she ad- ministered to the middle class, just as a really smart woman will outdress her friends by relentlessly underdressing them. Scratch a socialist and you find a snob. The semantic test confirmed this. In the Marxist language, your opponent was always a "parvenu," an "upstart," an "adventurer," a politician was al- ways "cheap," and an opportunist "vulgar." But the proletariat did not talk in such terms; this was the tone of the F.F.V. What the socialist movement did for a man was to allow him- self the airs of a marquis without having either his title or his sanity questioned. ~ Mary McCarthy,#NFDB
665:Well, if you sat eating as though nothing mattered save your dinner I’m not surprised,” said Juliana
viciously. “If I were not so angry with her, the deceitful, sly wretch, I could pity her for all she must
have undergone at your hands.”
“Seeing me eat was the least of her sufferings,” answered the Marquis. “She underwent much, but it
may interest you to know, Juliana, that she never treated me to the vapours, as you seem like to do.”
“Then I can only say, Vidal, that either she had no notion what a horrid brutal man you are, or that she
is just a dull creature with no nerves at all.”
For a moment Vidal did not answer. Then he said in a level voice: “She knew.” His lip curled. He
glanced scornfully at his cousin. “Had I carried you off as I carried her you would have died of fright
or hysterics, Juliana. Make no mistake, my dear; Mary was so desperately afraid she tried to put a
bullet through me. ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
666:Para o orgulho, há uma espécie de prazer em zombar dos defeitos que se não tem, e essa satisfação é tão doce ao homem e particularmente aos néscios, que é muito raro vê-los renunciar a tal comportamento, este, por sinal, fomenta a malvadez, as frívolas palavras de espírito, os calembures vulgares, e, para a sociedade, isto é, para um grupo de seres que o tédio reúne e a estupidez modifica, é tão doce falar duas ou três horas sem nada dizer! tão delicioso brilhar às custas dos outros, e proclamar, estigmatizando um vício, que se está bem longe de o possuir... é uma espécie de elogio que se faz tacitamente a si mesmo; por esse preço é lícito inclusive associar-se aos outros, tracejar maquinações secretas a fim de pisar no indivíduo cujo grande erro é não pensar como a maioria dos mortais; e a pessoa volta para casa toda entufada devido à espirituosidade que não lhe faltou, embora com tal conduta só se tenha demonstrado, essencialmente, pedantismo e estupidez. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
667:Aus seinem Buch [David Macmillan] ging klar hervor, daß die angeblichen Satanisten weder an Gott, noch an den Teufel, noch an irgendeine außerirdische macht glaubten; die Gotteslästerung diente in ihren Zeremonien übrigens nur als unbedeutende erotische Würze, an der die meisten bald den Geschmack verloren. Sie waren in Wirklichkeit, genau wie ihr Meister, der Marquis de Sade, absolute Materialisten, Genußmenschen auf der Suche nach immer stärkerem Nervenkitzel. Daniel Macmillan zufolge war die allmähliche Zerstörung der moralischen Werte im Verlauf der 60er, 70er, 80er und schließlich der 90er Jahre ein durchaus logischer, unabwendbarer Prozeß. Nachdem sie die Möglichkeiten der sexuellen Befreiung ausgeschöpft hatten, war es völlig normal, daß die Individuen, die sich von den üblichen moralischen Zwängen befreit hatten, sich der umfassenderen Befriedigung grausamer Instinkte zuwandten; zweihundert Jahre zuvor hatte de Sade einen ähnlichen Weg beschritten. ~ Michel Houellebecq, #NFDB
668:There’s no use in talking about the plan, because of course nothing went the way it was supposed to. Even the passage of time was horribly distorted. At first the ride to the hill seemed endless, with me sneaking looks at my brother, who was increasingly unsteady in his saddle.
The Marquis insisted on riding in front of us the last little distance, where we saw a row of four horse riders waiting--the outer two bearing banners, dripping from the rain, but the flags’ green and gold still brilliant, and the inner two riders brawny and cruel faced and very much at ease, wearing the plumed helms of command.
“I just wanted to see if you traitors would dare to face me,” Galdran said, his caustic voice making me feel sick inside. Sick--and angry.
The Marquis bowed low over his horse’s withers, every line of his body indicative of irony.
Galdran’s face flushed dark purple.
“I confess,” Shevraeth drawled, “we had a small wager on whether you would have the courage to face us. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
669:I Met A King This Afternoon!
166
I met a King this afternoon!
He had not on a Crown indeed,
A little Palmleaf Hat was all,
And he was barefoot, I'm afraid!
But sure I am he Ermine wore
Beneath his faded Jacket's blue—
And sure I am, the crest he bore
Within that Jacket's pocket too!
For 'twas too stately for an Earl—
A Marquis would not go so grand!
'Twas possibly a Czar petite—
A Pope, or something of that kind!
If I must tell you, of a Horse
My freckled Monarch held the rein—
Doubtless an estimable Beast,
But not at all disposed to run!
And such a wagon! While I live
Dare I presume to see
Another such a vehicle
As then transported me!
Two other ragged Princes
His royal state partook!
Doubtless the first excursion
These sovereigns ever took!
I question if the Royal Coach
Round which the Footmen wait
Has the significance, on high,
Of this Barefoot Estate!
~ Emily Dickinson,#NFDB
670:Quando me tiverem provado a sublimidade de nossa espécie, quando me tiverem demonstrado que ela é tão importante para a natureza que necessariamente suas leis se irritam com sua destruição, então eu poderei crer que essa destruição é um crime; mas quando o estudo mais ponderado da natureza me tiver provado que tudo o que vegeta sobre o globo, a mais imperfeita das suas obras, tem um preço igual aos seus olhos, jamais suporei que a mudança de um de seus seres em mil outros possa ofender suas leis; eu me direi: todos os homens, todas as plantas, todos os animais que crescem, vegetam, se destroem pelos mesmos meios, não recebendo jamais uma morte real, mas uma simples variação no que as modifica, tudo, digo, tudo se perseguindo, destruindo-se, procriando indiferentemente, aparece um instante sob uma forma e no instante seguinte sob uma outra, podem ao capricho do ser que quer ou que pode move-los, mudar milhares e milhares de vezes num dia sem que uma única lei da natureza possa ser afetada por instantes sequer. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
671:Let us remember that, despite the tasteless fables in the Holy Writ -- Sodom and Gomorrah, for example -- Nature does not have two voices; She does not create the appetite for buggery, then proscribe its practice. This fallacious proscription is the work of those imbeciles who seem unable to view sex as anything but an instrumentality for the multiplication of their own imbecilic kind. But I put it to you thusly: would it not be unreasonable for Nature, if she opposed buggery, to reward its practitioners with consummate pleasure at the very moment when they, by buggering, heap insults upon Her "natural" order? Furthermore, if procreation were the primary purpose of sex, would woman be created capable of conceiving during only sixteen to eighteen hours of each month -- and thus, all arithmetic being performed, during only four to six years of her total life span? No, child, let us not ascribe to Nature those prohibitions which we acquire through fear or prejudice; all things which are possible are natural; let no one ever persuade you otherwise. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
672:We’ll burn those old clothes, my lady--they’re ruined.” And she pointed to where she’d laid out a long, heavy cotton shirt, and one of the blue and black-and-white tunics, and a pair of leggings. Renselaeus’s colors.
“I don’t mind putting that dress back on, dirty or not,” I said. “I’m used to dirt.”
She gave me a friendly shrug but shook her head. “Orders.”
I considered that as I rinsed the last of the sandsoap from my hair and twisted it to get the water out. Orders from whom? Once again my mind filled with recent memories. More awake now, I knew that the rescue at Chovilun had been no dream. Was it possible that the Marquis had seen the justice of our cause and had switched sides? The escort, the humane treatment--surely that meant I was being sent home. Once again I felt relief and gratitude. As soon as I got to the castle I’d write a fine letter of thanks. No, I’d get Oria to write down my words, I decided, picturing the elegant Marquis. At least as embarrassing as had been the idea of waking up in his arms again was the idea of his trying to read my terrible handwriting and worse spelling. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
673:The youngest Merriville, bursting into the room some time later, found them seated side by side on the sofa. 'Buddle said I wasn't to disturb you, but I knew that was fudge,' he said scornfully. 'Cousin Alverstoke, there is someting I particularly wanted to ask you!' He broke off, perceiving suddenly, and with disfavour, that his Cousin Alverstoke had an arm round Frederica. Revolted by such a betrayal of unmanliness, he bent a disapproving look upon his idol and demanded: 'Why are you cuddling Frederica, sir?'
'Because we are going to be married,' replied his lordship calmly. 'It's obligatory, you know. One is expected to -er - cuddle the lady one is going to marry.'
'Oh!' said Felix. 'Well, I won't ask anyone to marry me , if that's what you have to do! I just say I never thought that you sir would have-' Again he broke off, as a thought struck him. 'Will that make her a - a She-Marquis? Oh, Jessamy, did you hear that? Frederica is going to be a She-Marquis!'
'What you mean is a Marchioness, you ignorant little ape!' replied his austere brother ~ Georgette Heyer,#NFDB
674:I found Bran in the courtyard below. Two fresh, mettlesome horses awaited us, and Bran had a bag at his belt. Shevraeth himself was there to bid us farewell--a courtesy I could have done without. Impatient to be gone, I stayed silent as he and my brother exchanged some last words.
Then, at last, Shevraeth stepped back. “Do you remember the route?”
Bran nodded. “Well enough. My thanks again--” He looked over at me, then sighed. “Another time, I trust.” I realized then that he actually liked the Marquis--that in some wise (as much as a Court decoration and an honest man ill trained in the niceties of high society could) they had become friends.
Shevraeth turned to me, bowed. There was no irony visible in face or manner as he wished me a safe journey. I felt my face go hot as I gritted out a stilted “Thank you.” Then I turned in my saddle and my horse spun about. Branaric was with me in a moment, and side-by-side we rode out.
And in silence we began our journey. The horses seemed to want speed, which gladdened my heart. I turned my back on the terraced city with its thundering fall; faced west and home. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
675:I went straight back to my room, surprising Mora and one of her staff in the act of packing up my trunk. Apologizing, I hastily unlaced the traveling gown and reached for my riding gear.
Mora gave me a slight smile as she curtsied. “That’s my job, my lady,” she said. “You needn’t apologize.”
I grinned at her as I pulled on the tunic. “Maybe it’s not very courtly, but I feel bad when I make someone do a job twice.”
Mora only smiled as she made a sign to the other servant, who reached for the traveling gown and began folding it up. I thrust my feet into my riding boots, smashed my fancy new riding hat onto my head, and dashed out again.
The Marquis was waiting in the courtyard, standing between two fresh mares. I was relieved that he did not have that fleet-footed gray I remembered from the year before. On his offering me my pick, I grabbed the reins of the nearest mount and swung up into the saddle. The animal danced and sidled as I watched Bran and Nimiar come out of the inn hand in hand. They climbed into the coach, solicitously seen to by the innkeeper himself.
The Marquis looked across at me. “Let’s go.”
And he was off, with me right on his heels. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
676:For dinner that night we found Bran and Shevraeth waiting in the parlor next to the dining room. Nee had probably prepared them, I realized. This was new for me, but it was according to the rules of etiquette; and if I looked at it as rehearsal--more of the playacting--I found it easy to walk in beside her, minding my steps so that my skirt flowed gracefully and my floor-length sleeves draped properly without twisting or tripping me up.
Nee walked straight to my brother, who performed a bow, and grinning widely, offered his arm.
This left me with the Marquis, who looked tall and imposing in dark blue embroidered with pale gold, which--I realized as I glanced just once at him--was the exact same shade as his hair. He said nothing, just bowed, but there was mild question in his gray eyes as he held out his arm.
I grimaced, thinking: You’ll have to learn this some time. May’s well get it over quickly. Putting my fingertips so lightly on his sleeve I scarcely felt the fabric, I fell into step beside him as we followed the other two into the dining room. Though this was my home, I didn’t plop down cross-legged onto my cushion, but knelt in the approved style. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
677:And even though it may offend you, I feel bound to say that the majority also of English people are uncouth and unrefined, whereas we Russian folk can recognise beauty wherever we see it, and are always eager to cultivate the same. But to distinguish beauty of soul and personal originality there is needed far more independence and freedom than is possessed by our women, especially by our younger ladies. At all events, they need more experience. For instance, this Mlle. Polina—pardon me, but the name has passed my lips, and I cannot well recall it—is taking a very long time to make up her mind to prefer you to Monsieur de Griers. She may respect you, she may become your friend, she may open out her heart to you; yet over that heart there will be reigning that loathsome villain, that mean and petty usurer, De Griers. This will be due to obstinacy and self-love—to the fact that De Griers once appeared to her in the transfigured guise of a marquis, of a disenchanted and ruined liberal who was doing his best to help her family and the frivolous old General; and, although these transactions of his have since been exposed, you will find that the exposure has made no impression upon her mind. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
678:...those who deny or oppose these so pleasant delights (of virtue), do so only from jealousy, you may be sure, from the barbarous pleasure of making others as guilty and unhappy as they are. They are blind and would like everyone to be the same, they are mistaken, and would like everyone else to be mistaken; but if you could see into the depths of their hearts you would find only sorrow and repentance; all these apostles of crime are only evil and desperate people; you would not find a sincere person among them who would not admit, if he were truthful, that their poisonous words or dangerous writings had not been guided only by their passions. And what man in fact can say in cold blood that the bases of morality can be shaken without risk? What being would dare maintain that doing good and desiring good are not essentially the aim of mankind? And how can a man who will do only evil expect to be happy in a society whose strongest concern is the perpetual increase of good? But will not this apologist of crime not shudder himself when he had uprooted from all hearts the only thing which could lead to his conversion? What will stop his servants ruining him, if they have ceased to be virtuous? ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
679:Você diz que minha maneira de pensar não pode ser aprovada. O que me importa? Bem louco é quem adota a maneira de pensar dos outros! Ela é fruto das minhas reflexões, deve-se á minha existência, à minha organização; não sou senhor de mudá-la, e, se fosse, não o faria. Essa maneira de pensar que você reprova é o único consolo de minha vida. Não foi a minha maneira de pensar que me desgraçou. O homem sensato que despreza o preconceito dos tolos necessariamente torna-se inimigo dos tolos; que se fie disto e caçoe destes. Um viajante segue numa bela estrada por onde espalharam armadilhas; cai numa delas. A quem a culpa, ao viajante ou ao celerado que as armou? Logo, se, como você diz, colocam minha liberdade a preço do sacrifício de meus princípios ou gostos, podemos nos dizer um eterno adeus, pois antes deles, sacrificaria mil vidas e mil liberdades se as tivesse. Taís princípios e gostos são levados por mim ao fanatismo, e éobra das perseguições dos meus tiranos. Quanto mais me atormentarem, mais enraizarão meus princípios no peito. E declaro abertamente jamais ser necessário me falarem de liberdade, se esta só me for oferecida pelo preço da destruição de meus princípios. Nem diante do cadafalso mudaria de idéia. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
680:My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty; I
am joy, son of joy, son of joy, son of joy.
Behold, the Marquis of Glee has attainted felicity; this city and
plain are filled with soldiers and drums and flags.
If I encounter a wolf, he becomes moonfaced Joseph; if I go
down into a well, it converts into a Garden of Eram.
He whose heart is as iron and stone out of miserliness is now
changed before me into a Hatem of the age in generosity and
bounty.
Dust becomes gold and pure silver in my hand; how then
should the temptation of gold and silver waylay me?
I have an idol such that, were his sweet scent scattered
abroad, even an idol of stone would receive life through joy.
Sorrow has died for joy in him of may God bind your consolation;
how should not such a sword strike the neck of sorrow?
By tyranny he seizes the soul of whom he desires; justices are
all slaves of such injustice and tyranny.
What is that mole on that face? Should it manifest itself, out
of desire for it forthwith maternal aunt would be estranged from
paternal [uncle].
I said, If I am done and send my story, will you finish it and
expound it? He answered, Yes.
~ Jalaluddin Rumi, My Mother Was Fortune, My Father Generosity And Bounty
,#NFDB
681:The world was in a confused turmoil-wars, H-bombs, confrontations, fear, hate, hate. And Hollywood was feeding the confusion with a steady diet of sex, violence, and lewdness. What wisdom needed, to catch up with our runaway technology, was time. And time might be bought not with violence, but with compassion-that divine unguent that lubricates and soothes our abrasive human hates. Compassion might just possibly slow down the ticking till we could defuse the world with reason.
And we had an outside chance of buying a little precious extra time by filming the life of Schnozzola, the great compassionate clown. A chance that got lost among stars and their satellites. Pity Pity.
Now what would I do? Certainly the world didn't need more films about sex, violence, and lewdness. Judging by contemporary Hollywood films, the United States was made up of sexpots, homosexuals, lesbians, Marquis de Sades, junkies too! too! beautiful people, country-club liberals, draft-card burners, and theatrical and religious figures bleeding make-believe blood for cause and camera. "Shock films," they called them; "skin flicks" that dealt not with the humorous, honest, robust, Rabelaisian earthiness that nurtures life, but with the cologned, pretentious, effete, adulterated crud that pollutes life. ~ Frank Capra,#NFDB
682:We saw Bran and Shevraeth only at dinner, and that seldom enough, for they were often away. When the weather was particularly bad, they might be gone for several days. On the evenings we were alone, Nee and I would curl up in her room or mine, eating from silver trays and talking.
Branaric and the Marquis managed to be around on most days when the weather permitted gatherings in the old garrison courtyard for swordfighting practice. Even though I was not very good at it, I enjoyed sword work. At least I enjoyed it when not rendered acutely conscious of all my failings, when the bouts were attended by someone tall, strong, naturally gifted with grace, and trained since childhood--such as the Marquis of Shevraeth. So after a couple of particularly bad practices (in which I tried so hard not to get laughed at that I made more mistakes than ever), I stopped going whenever I saw him there.
When Nee and I did join Bran and the Marquis for dinner, for the most part I sat in silence and watched Nee covertly, trying to copy her manners. No one--not even Bran--remarked on it if I sat through an entire meal without speaking.
Thus I was not able to engender any discussions about the Marquise of Merindar, so the letter--and the question of kingship--stayed dormant, except at night in my troubled dreams. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
683:So once again on an early spring day, I was ensconced in a coach rolling down the middle of the Street of the Sun. Again people lined the street, but this time they waved and cheered. And as before, outriders joined us, but this time they wore our colors as well as the Renselaeuses’.
This had all been arranged beforehand, I found out through Nimiar. People expected power to be expressed through visible symbols, such as columns of armed outriders, and fancy carriages drawn by three matched pairs of fast horses, and so forth. Apparently Shevraeth loathed traveling about with such huge entourages--at least as much as Galdran used to love traveling with them--so he arranged for the trappings to be assumed at the last moment.
All this she told me as we rattled along the last distance through Remalna-city toward the golden-roofed palace called Athanarel.
When we reached the great gates, there were people hanging off them. I turned to look, and a small girl yelled, “Astiar!” as she flung a posy of crimson rosebuds and golden daisies through the open window of our carriage.
“They didn’t shout last time,” I said, burying my face in the posy. “Just stared.”
“Last time?” Nee asked.
“When I had the supreme felicity of being introduced to Galdran by the esteemed Marquis,” I said, striving for a light tone. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
684:Tα σφάλματα του ανθρώπου με βοηθούν να τον γνωρίσω, αν ταξιδεύω, το κάνω για να μελετώ. Όσο περισσότερο παρεκκλίνει απ'τους φραγμούς που του επιβάλλουν οι νόμοι ή η φύση, τόσο πιο ενδιαφέρουσα είναι η μελετη του, τόσο περισσοτερο δικαιούται την προσοχή και τη συμπόνια μου. Το μόνο που χρειάζεται η αρετή είναι λατρεία, ο δρόμο της είναι ο δρόμος της ευτυχίας...πως να μην είναι, χίλιες αγκαλιές ανοίγουν για να δεχτούν τους οπαδούς της όταν η ατυχία τους κατατρύχει. Όμως όλοι εγκαταλείπουν τον ένοχο...ντρεπόμαστε για τις σχέσεις μας μαζί του, ντρεπόμαστε να κλάψουμε γι'αυτόν, το μίασμα μας τρομάζει, τον εξοστρακίζουν όλες οι καρδιές και τον συνθλίβουμε από αλαζονία, ενώ θα έπρεπε να του παρασταθούμε από ανθρωπισμό. Υπάρχει, κύριε, θνητός πιο ενδιαφέρων από εκείνον που, από τον κολοφώνα του μεγαλείου, έπεσε άξαφνα σε μια άβυσσο απο δεινά, που, γεννημένος για την εύνοια της τύχης, δε νιώθει πια παρά μονάχα τη δυσμένειά της...[...}
Μονάχα αυτός, αγαπητέ μου, είναι άξιος του οίκτου μου. Δε πρόκειται να πω, σαν τους ανόητους...<<εκείνος φταίει>> ή, σα τις παγερές ψυχές που θέλουν να δικαιολογήσουν τη σκληρότητα τους...<<παραείναι ένοχος>>.
Και λοιπόν; Τι με νοιάζει ποια όρια έχει ξεπεράσει, τι έχει αψηφήσει, τι έχει κάνει! Είναι άνθρωπος, θα στάθηκε αδύναμος...είναι εγκληματίας, είναι δυστυχής, τον λυπάμαι... ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
685:But the man who, by dint of long study and sober reflection, has succeeded in training his mind not to detect evil in anything, to consider all human actions with the utmost indifference, to regard them all as the inevitable consequences of a power - however it's defined - which is sometimes good and sometimes perverse but always irresistible, and gives rise to both what men approve and to what they condemn and never allows anything to distract or thwart its operations, such a man, I say, as you will agree, sir, may be as happy behaving as I behave as you are in the career which you follow. Happiness is an abstraction, a product of the imagination. It is one manner of being moved and depends exclusively on our way of seeing and feeling. Apart from the satisfaction of our needs, there is no single thing which makes all men happy. Every day we observe one man made happy by the circumstance which makes his neighbour supremely miserable. There is therefore nothing which guarantees happiness. It can only exist for us in the form given to it by our physical constitution and our philosophical principles. [...] Nothing in the world is real, nothing which merits praise or blame, nothing deserving reward or punishment, nothing which is unlawful here and perfectly legal five hundred leagues away, in other words, there is no unchanging, universal good. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
686:The pathbreaker who disdains the applause he may get from the crowd of his contemporaries does not depend on his own age's ideas. He is free to say with Schillers Marquis Posa: "This century is not ripe for my ideas; I live as a citizen of centuries to come." The genius' work too is embedded in the sequence of historical events, is conditioned by the achievements of preceding generations, and is merely a chapter in the evolution of ideas. But it adds something new and unheard of to the treasure of thoughts and may in this sense be called creative. The genuine history of mankind is the history of ideas. It is ideas that distinguish man from ali other beings. Ideas engender social institutions, political changes, technological methods of production, and ali that is called economic conditions. And in searching for their origin we inevitably come to a point at which ali that can be asserted is that a man had an idea. Whether the name of this man is known or not is of secondary importance.
This is the meaning that history attaches to the notion of individuality. Ideas are the ultimate given of historical inquiry. Ali that can be said about ideas is that they carne to pass. The historian may point out how a new idea fitted into the ideas developed by earlier generations and how it may be considered a continuation of these ideas and their logical sequei. ~ Ludwig von Mises,#NFDB
687:I was fighting drowsiness when they finally emerged and started riding southward, again across the hills. I stared after them until my eyes watered. They kept disappearing beyond the hills but then eventually reappeared, each time getting smaller and smaller. Then they disappeared for a long time: another village or town. I made myself wait and watch. Again I was trying not to nod off when I saw a second line appear on the crest of a hill directly west of me, on the other lip of the valley.
The urge to sleep fled. I watched the line--it was a long one this time, with tiny bright dots at the front that indicated banners--descend into the town.
The banners meant the commander. Was the Marquis still with him, or had he finally gotten bored and gone back to the silk-and-velvet life in Athanarel?
“You might contemplate the purpose of a court…” You brainless, twaddling idiot, I thought scornfully. I wished he were before me. I wished I could personally flout him and his busy searchers, and make him look like the fool he was. And watch the reaction, and walk away laughing.
While I was indulging my fulminating imaginings, the long line emerged again, much more quickly than the previous one had. Delight suffused me: They had obviously discovered that the previous group had been there, and had probably decided that the place was therefore safe.
Excellent. Then that was where I would go. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
688:Me
if you weren't you, who would you like to be?
Paul McCartney Gustav Mahler
Alfred Jarry John Coltrane
Charlie Mingus Claude Debussy
Wordsworth Monet Bach and Blake
Charlie Parker Pierre Bonnard
Leonardo Bessie Smith
Fidel Castro Jackson Pollock
Gaudi Milton Munch and Berg
Belà Bartók Henri Rousseau
Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns
Lukas Cranach Shostakovich
Kropotkin Ringo George and John
William Burroughs Francis Bacon
Dylan Thomas Luther King
H. P. Lovecraft T. S. Eliot
D. H. Lawrence Roland Kirk
Salvatore Giuliano
Andy Warhol Paul Uzanne
Kafka Camus Ensor Rothko
Jacques Prévert and Manfred Mann
Marx Dostoevsky
Bakunin Ray Bradbury
Miles Davis Trotsky
Stravinsky and Poe
Danilo Dolci Napoleon Solo
St John of the Cross and
The Marquis de Sade
Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Rimbaud Claes Oldenburg
Adrian Mitchell and Marcel Duchamp
24
James Joyce and Hemingway
Hitchcock and Bunuel
Donald McKinlay Thelonius Monk
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Matthias Grunewald
Philip Jones Grifths and Roger McGough
Guillaume Apollinaire
Cannonball Adderley
René Magritte
Hieronymus Bosch
Stéphane Mallarmé and Alfred de Vigny
Ernst Mayakovsky and Nicolas de Stael
Hindemith Mick Jagger Durer and Schwitters
Garcia Lorca
and
last of all
me.
~ Adrian Henri,#NFDB
689:I saw an open door at the other end of the little hall, and yellow light pouring from it.
The light drew me more than anything. Straightening up, I crossed the hall. Inside the room Shevraeth sat at a rough stone table near a fireplace, in which a crackling fire roared. At one end of the table was spread a map, at the other a tray of food, as yet untouched. Against an adjacent wall was a narrow bed, with more papers and another map spread over its neatly smoothed blanket. Three or four warriors in the familiar livery sat on mats around the table, all talking in quiet voices, but when the Marquis saw me, they fell silent and rose to their feet.
In silence, they filed past me, and I was left alone with the person who, the day before, I’d wanted to kill even more than Galdran Merindar.
“Take a swig.” Shevraeth held out a flagon. “You’re going to need it, I’m afraid.”
I crossed the room, sank cross-legged onto the nearest mat. With one numb hand I took the flagon, squeezed a share of its contents into my mouth; and gasped as the fire of distilled bristic burned its way inside me. I took a second sip and with stinging eyes handed the flagon back.
“Blue lips,” he said, with that faint smile. “You’re going to have a whopping cold.”
I looked up at the color burning along his cheekbones, and the faint lines of strain in his forehead, and made a discovery. “So are you,” I said. “Hah!” I added, obscurely pleased. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
690:However, society is only composed of weak persons and strong; well, if the pact must perforce displease both weak and strong, there is great cause to suppose it will fail to suit society, and the previously existing state of warfare must appear infinitely preferable, since it permitted everyone the free exercise of his strength and his industry, whereof he would discover himself deprived by a society's unjust pact which takes too much from the one and never accords enough to the other; hence, the truly intelligent person is he who, indifferent to the risk of renewing the state of war that reigned prior to the contract, lashes out in irrevocable violation of that contract, violates it as much and often as he is able, full certain that what he will gain from these ruptures will always be more important than what he will lose if he happens to be a member of the weaker class; for such he was when he respected the treaty; by breaking it he may become one of the stronger; and if the laws return him to the class whence he wished to emerge, the worst that can befall him is the loss of his life, which is a misfortune infinitely less great than that of existing in opprobrium and wretchedness.
There are then two positions available to us: either crime, which renders us happy, or the noose, which prevents us from being unhappy. I ask whether there can be any hesitation, lovely Therese, and where will your little mind find an argument able to combat that one? ~ Marquis de Sade,#NFDB
691:Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that. ~ Robert Burns,#NFDB
692:As soon as I reached my room I took out the Marquise’s letter and reread it, even though by then I knew it word for word. It seemed impossible that Branaric’s arrival on the same day--with Shevraeth--was a coincidence.
I sighed. Now I could not ask my brother outright about this letter. He was as tactless as he was honest. I could easily imagine him blurting it out over dinner. He might find it diverting, though I didn’t think Shevraeth would, for the same reason I couldn’t ask him his opinion of Arthal Merindar: because the last time we had discussed the possible replacement for Galdran Merindar, I had told him flatly I’d rather see my brother crowned than another lying courtier.
Remembering that conversation--in Shevraeth’s father’s palace, with his father listening--I winced. It wasn’t just Bran who lacked tact.
Oria is probably right, I thought glumly, there are too many misunderstandings between the Marquis and me. The problem with gathering my courage and broaching the subject was the very fact of the kingship. If I hadn’t been able to resolve those misunderstandings before Galdran’s death, when Shevraeth was just the Marquis, it seemed impossible to do it now when he was about to take the crown. My motives might be mistaken and he’d think me one of those fawning courtiers at the royal palace. Ugh!
So I asked Oria to tell them I was sick. I holed up in my room with a book and did my best to shove them all out of my mind--as well as the mysterious Marquise of Merindar. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
693:Then a step in the grass made me look up. The Marquis was right in front of me, and he was a lot taller than he looked seated across a campfire. In one hand were the horse’s reins, and he held the other hand out in an offer to boost me up. I noticed again that his palm was crossed with calluses, indicating years of swordwork. I grimaced, reluctantly surrendering my image of the Court-bred fop who never lifted anything heavier than a fork.
“Ready?” His voice was the same as always--or almost the same.
I tipped my head back to look at his face, instantly suspicious. Despite his compressed lips he was clearly on the verge of laughter.
For a moment I longed, with all my heart, to swing my stick right at his head. My fingers gripped…and his palm turned, just slightly; but I knew a block readying when I saw one. The strong possibility that anything I attempted would lead directly to an ignominious defeat did not improve my mood at all, but I dropped the stick and wiped my hand down the side of my rumpled tunic.
Vowing I’d see that smile wiped off his cursed face, I said shortly, “Let’s get it over with.”
He put his hands on my waist and boosted me up onto the horse--and I couldn’t help but notice it didn’t take all that much effort.
All right, defeat so far, I thought as I winced and gritted my way through arranging my leg much as it had been on the previous ride. All I have to do is catch him in a single unwary moment…He mounted behind me and we started off, while I indulged myself with the image of grabbing that stick and conking him right across his smiling face. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
694:Out of the first carriage stepped Bran, his hair loose and shining under a rakish plumed hat. He was dressed in a magnificent tunic and glossy high blackweave riding boots, with a lined cloak slung over one shoulder. He grinned at me--then he turned and, with a gesture of practiced grace that made me blink, handed out a lady.
A lady? I gawked in dismay at the impressive hat and muffling cloak that spanned a broad skirt, and looked down at myself, in an old skirt Oria had discarded, a worn tunic that I hadn’t bothered to change after my sword lesson that morning, and my bare feet. Then I noticed that Julen and Oria had vanished. I stood there all alone.
In fine style Bran escorted the mysterious lady to the new slate steps leading to the big double doors where I stood, but then he dropped her arm and bounded up, grabbing me in a big hug and swinging me around. “Sister!” He gave me a resounding kiss and set me down. “Place looks wonderful!”
“You could have let me know you were bringing a guest,” I whispered.
“And spoil a good surprise?” he asked, indicating the lady, who was still standing on the first step. “We have plenty of room, and as you’d told me in your letter the place isn’t such a rattrap anymore, I thought why not make the trip fun and bring ‘em?”
“‘Them?’” I repeated faintly, but by then I already had my answer, for the outriders had resolved into a lot of liveried servants who were busy unloading coaches and helping stablehands. Through the midst of them strolled a tall, elegant man in a heel-length black cloak. I looked at the familiar gray eyes, the long yellow hair--it was the Marquis of Shevraeth. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
695:I sat where I was and waged a short fierce inner battle. Either I could sit and sulk--in which case they would want to know why--or I could go out there, pretend nothing was amiss, and do what needed doing.
The table in the Marquis’s room was set for the three of us. I sniffed the air, which was pleasant with the summer-grass smell of brewing listerblossom. Somehow this eased my sore spirits just a little. I knelt down next to my brother, whose bed pillows cushioned him, and poured myself some of the tea. It felt good on my raw throat.
For a time I just sat there with my eyes closed, sipping occasionally, while the other two continued a conversation about the difficulties of supply procurement that they had obviously begun before I returned. At first I listened to the voices: Bran’s husky, slow, with laughter in it as a constant and pleasant undercurrent, and Shevraeth’s soft, emotionless, with words drawn out in a court drawl to give them emphasis, rather than using changes in tone or timbre. The complexity of Shevraeth’s reaction was thus masked, which--I realized--was more irritating to me than his voice, which didn’t precisely grate on the ears. It was an advantage that I had no access to; I seemed to be incapable of hiding my reactions.
The tea restored to me enough presence of mind to bring the sense of their words, instead of mere sound. They were still discoursing on supply sources and how to protect supply lines, and Bran kept looking to me for corroboration, for in truth, I knew more about this than he did. Then I realized that it was an unexceptionable subject introduced so that I might take part; but I saw in that a gesture of pity, and my black mood threatened to descend again. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
696:My friendly guise of the morning notwithstanding, I had no wish to blunder into the memoir room if Shevraeth was working there. This time I will be more stealthy, I vowed…
The thought vanished when I happened to glance out one of the many arched windows lining the long hallway and saw two figures in one of the private courtyards.
The glass was old and wavery, but something about the tall figure made me stumble to a halt and reach to unlatch the window. As I did, my mind went back to another time when I stood inside a building with distorted glass and stared out at the Marquis of Shevraeth. And somehow he had sensed I was there.
I opened the window just a crack, telling myself that they could see me if they chanced to look up, so it wasn’t really spying. He was walking side by side with Lady Elenet, his head bent, his hands clasped behind him. His manner was completely absorbed. I could not hear his voice, but I could see urgency in her long hands as she gestured, and intensity in the angle of her head. Then she glanced up at him and smiled, just briefly, but the expression in her face made me back away without closing the window. I had seen that look before, in the way Nee and Bran smiled at one another, and in the faces of Lady Renna and her new husband. It was love.
Almost overwhelming was the sense that I had breached their privacy, and instinctively I started back to my room until I realized I was in retreat. Why? No one had seen me. And now I knew I would not accidentally encounter Shevraeth in the alcove where he kept the royal memoirs.
Still, it was with shaking hands and pattering heartbeat that I raced back to the archive room and searched through the appropriate years looking for mentions of the Merindars. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
697:And then you compounded your attractions by keeping my lazy cousin on the hop for days.” He indicated Shevraeth with an airy wave of the hand.
Those memories effectively banished my mirth. For it wasn’t just Galdran’s bullying cousin Baron Debegri who had chased me halfway across the kingdom after my escape from Athanarel. Shevraeth had been there as well. I felt my shoulders tighten against the old embarrassment, but I tried not to show it, responding as lightly as I could. “On the contrary, it was he who kept me on the hop for days. Very long days,” I said. And because the subject had been broached and I was already embarrassed, I risked a quick look at the Marquis and asked, “When you said to search the houses. In the lake town. Did you know I was inside one?”
He hesitated, looking across at Savona, who merely grinned at us both. Then Shevraeth said somewhat drily, “I…had a sense of it.”
“And outside Thoresk. When you and Debegri rode by. You looked right at me. Did you know that was me?”
“Will it make you very angry if I admit that I did? But the timing seemed inopportune for us to, ah, reacquaint ourselves.” All this was said with his customary drawl. But I had a feeling he was bracing for attack.
I sighed. “I’m not angry. I know now that you weren’t trying to get me killed, but to keep me from getting killed by Debegri and Galdran’s people. Except--well, never mind. The whole thing is stupid.”
“Come then,” Savona said immediately. “Forgive me for straying into memories you’d rather leave behind, and let us instead discuss tonight’s prospective delights.”
He continued with a stream of small talk about the latest entertainments--all easy, unexceptionable conversation. Slowly I relaxed, though I never dared look at Shevraeth again. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
698:If everyone who compromised with Galdran out of fear, or greed, or even indifference, were to be penalized,” Shevraeth went on, “Athanarel would soon be empty and a lot of people sent home with little to do but use their wealth and power toward recovering their lost prestige.”
“More war,” I said, and thinking again of my secret cause, I ventured a question. “Do you agree with Mistress Ynizang’s writings about the troubles overseas and how they could have been avoided?”
Shevraeth nodded, turning to me. “That’s an excellent book--one of the first my parents put into my hands when it became apparent I was serious about entering their plans.”
“What’s this? Who?” Bran asked, looking from one of us to the other.
Shevraeth said, “She is a historian of great repute in the Empress’s Court, and I believe what she says about letting social custom and the human habit of inertia bridge an old regime to a new, when there is no active evil remaining.”
“Sounds dull as a hibernating snake. Saving your grace.” Bran saluted the Marquis with his glass, then said, “Tell my sister about the army.”
Shevraeth saluted my brother with his own glass and a slightly mocking smile. “To resume: Dispersal and reassignment. I have relied heavily upon certain officers whom I have come to trust--”
“Which is why you were up here against us last winter, eh?” Bran asked, one brow cocked up. “Scouting out the good ones?”
Old anger stirred deep inside me as I remembered the common talk from a year ago, about Shevraeth’s very public wager with the Duke of Savona about how soon he could thoroughly squelch the rustic Tlanth’s--meaning Branaric and me. Fighting down my emotions, I realized that yet again I had been misled by surface events--and again I had misjudged Shevraeth’s true motives. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
699:How about writing to your brother?” Oria asked at last.
“Bran is good, and kind, and as honest as the stars are old,” I said, “but the more I read, the more I realize that he has no political sense at all. He takes people as he finds them. I don’t think he’d have the first notion about what makes a good or bad ruler.”
Oria nodded slowly. “In fact, I suspect he would not even like being asked.” She gave me a straight look. “There is one person you could ask, and that is the Marquis of Shevraeth.”
“Ask the putative next king to evaluate his rival? Not even I would do that,” I said with a grimace. “No.”
“Then you could go to Court and evaluate them yourself,” she stated. “Why not? Everything is finished here, or nearly. We have peace in the county, and as for the house, you made me steward. Will you trust me to carry your plans forward?”
“Of course I will,” I said impatiently. “But that’s not the issue. I won’t go to Court. I don’t want to…”
“Don’t want to what?” Oria persisted.
I sighed. “Don’t want to relive the old humiliations.”
“What humiliations?” she asked, her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Mel, the whole country thinks you a heroine for facing down Galdran.”
“Not everyone,” I muttered.
Oria crossed her arms. “Which brings us right back,” she said, “to that Marquis.”
I sighed again. “If I never see him again, I will be content--”
“You’ll not,” Oria said firmly.
I shook my head and looked out sightlessly at the snow, my mind instead reliving memories of the year before. I could just picture how he must have described our encounters--always in that drawling voice, with his courtier’s wit--for the edification of the sophisticates at Court. How much laughter had every noble in the kingdom enjoyed at the expense of the barefoot, ignorant Countess Meliara Astiar of Tlanth? ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
700:In all matters of consequence, General P.P. Peckem was, as he always remarked when he was about to criticize the work of some close associate publicly, a realist. He was a handsome, pink-skinned man of fifty-three. His manner was always casual and relaxed, and his uniforms were custom-made. He had silver-gray hair, slightly myopic eyes and thin, overhanging, sensual lips. He was a perceptive, graceful, sophisticated man who was sensitive to everyone's weaknesses but his own and found everyone absurd but himself. General Peckem laid great fastidious stress on small matters of taste and style. He was always augmenting things. Approaching events were never coming, but always upcoming. It was not true that he wrote memorandums praising himself and recommending that his authority be enhanced to include all combat operations; he wrote memoranda. And the prose in the memoranda of other officers was always turgid, stilted, or ambiguous. The errors of others were inevitable deplorable. Regulations were stringent, and his data never was obtained from a reliable source, but always were obtained. General Peckem was frequently constrained. Things were often incumbent upon him, and he frequently acted with the greatest reluctance. It never escaped his memory that neither black nor white was a color, and he never used verbal when he meant oral. He could quote glibly from Plato, Nietzsche, Montaigne, Theodore Roosevelt, the Marquis de Sade and Warren G. Harding. A virgin audience like Colonel Scheisskopf [his new underling] was grist for General Peckem's mill, a stimulating opportunity to throw open his whole dazzling erudite treasure house of puns, wisecracks, slanders, homilies, anecdotes, proverbs, epigrams, apothegms, bon mots and other pungent sayings. He beamed urbanely as he began orienting Colonel Scheisskopf to his new surroundings. ~ Joseph Heller, #NFDB
701:Then the day came when a new column was spotted riding up behind Debegri’s force. We almost missed them, for we had also begun staying in a tight group. But luckily Khesot, cautious since his days in the terrible Pirate Wars, still sent pairs of scouts on rounds in all four directions twice a day.
It was Seliar, of my group, who spotted them first. She reported to me, and the rest of us crept down the hillside to watch the camp below. We saw at the head of the column a man wearing a long black cloak.
Debegri emerged, bowed. The newcomer bowed in return and handed the Baron a rolled paper. They went inside Debegri’s tent, and when they emerged, the stranger had the white plume of leadership on his helm. Debegri’s glower was plain even at the distance we watched from.
Backing up from our vantage, we retreated to our camp.
Bran and Khesot and the other riding leaders were all gathered under our old, patched rain cover when we reached them. Seliar blurted out what we’d seen.
Branaric grinned all through the story. At the end I said, “This is obviously no surprise. What news had you?”
Bran nodded to where a mud-covered young woman sat in front of one of the tents, attacking a bowl of stew as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. “Messenger just arrived from Azmus, or it would have been a surprise. Galdran has taken his cousin off the command. He’d apparently expected us to last two weeks at most.”
“Well, who is this new commander? Ought we to be afraid?”
Bran’s grin widened until he laughed. “Here’s the jest: He’s none other than the Marquis of Shevraeth, heir to the Renselaeus principality. According to Azmus, all he ever thinks about are clothes, horse racing, and gambling. And did I mention clothes?”
Everyone roared with laughter.
“We’ll give him two weeks,” I crowed. “And then we’ll send him scurrying back to his tailor. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
702:I don’t know how long I had been sniffing and snorting there on my broken bunk (and I didn’t care who heard me) when I became aware of furtive little sounds from the corridor. Nothing loud--no more than a slight scrape--then a soft grunt of surprise.
I looked up, saw nothing in the darkness.
A voice whispered, “Countess?”
A voice I recognized. “Azmus!”
“It is I,” he whispered. “Quickly--before they figure out about the doors.”
“What?”
“I’ve been shadowing this place for two days, trying to figure a way in,” he said as he eased the door open. “There must be something going on. The outer door wasn’t locked tonight, and neither is this one.”
“Shevraeth,” I croaked.
“What?”
“Marquis of Shevraeth. Was here gloating at me. The guard must have expected him to lock it, since the grand Marquis sent the fellow away,” I muttered as I got shakily to my feet. “And he--being an aristocrat, and above mundane things--probably assumed the guard would lock it. Uh! Sorry, I just can’t walk--“
At once Azmus sprang to my side. Together we moved out of the corridor, me hating myself for not even thinking of trying the door--except, how could I have gotten anywhere on my own?
At the end of the corridor a long shape lay still on the ground. Unconscious or dead, I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to check. I just hoped it wasn’t one of the nice guards.
Outside it was raining in earnest, which made visibility difficult for our enemies as well as for us. Azmus took a good grip on me, breathing into my ear: “Brace up--we’ll have to move fast.”
The trip across the courtyard was probably fifty paces or so, but it seemed fifty days’ travel to me. Every step was a misery, but I managed, heartened by the reflection that each step took me farther from that dungeon and--I hoped fervently--from the fate in store if Galdran got his claws into me again. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
703:I found the other two in Bran’s room, and one look at their faces made it abundantly clear that they felt no better than I did. Not that the Marquis had a red nose or a thick voice--he even looked aristocratic when sick, I thought with disgust. But Bran sneezed frequently, and from the pungent smell of bristic in the air, he had had recourse to the flagon.
“Mel!” he exclaimed when I opened the door. And he laughed. “Look at you! You’re drowning in that kit.” He turned his head to address Shevraeth. “Ain’t anyone undersized among your people?”
“Obviously not,” I said tartly, and helped myself to the flagon that I saw on the bed. A swig of bristic did help somewhat. “Unless the sight of me is intended to provide some cheap amusement for the warriors.”
“Well, I won’t come off much better,” Bran said cheerily.
“That I resent,” the Marquis said with his customary drawl. “Seeing as it is my wardrobe that is gracing your frame.”
Branaric only laughed, then he said, “Now that we’re all together, and I’m still sober, what’s the word?”
“The latest report is that the King is a day or two’s march from here, well ensconced in the midst of his army. Debegri is with him, and it seems there have been some disagreements on the manner in which you two are to be dealt with. Galdran wants to lay Tlanth to waste, but Debegri, of course, has his eye to a title and land at last.”
Bran rubbed his chin. “Only one of that family not landed, right?”
“To the Baron’s festering annoyance. Despite their pose of eternal brotherhood, they have never really liked--or trusted--one another. It has suited Galdran well to have Nenthar Debegri serve as his watch-beast, for Debegri has been scrupulous about enforcing Galdran’s laws. Enthusiastic, I should say. If he cannot have land, Debegri’s preference is to ride the countryside acting the bully. It has made him unpopular, which does Galdran no harm. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
704:Transgression has been embraced as a virtue within Western social liberalism ever since the 60s, typically applied today as it is in bell hooks’ Teaching to Transgress. So elevated has the virtue of transgression become in the criticism of art, argued Kieran Cashell, that contemporary art critics have been faced with a challenge: ‘either support transgression unconditionally or condemn the tendency and risk obsolescence amid suspicions of critical conservatism’ as the great art critic Robert Hughes often was. But, Cashell wrote, on the value placed upon transgression in contemporary art: ‘In the pursuit of the irrational, art has become negative, nasty and nihilistic.’ Literary critic Anthony Julius has also noted the resulting ‘unreflective contemporary endorsement of the transgressive’. Those who claim that the new right-wing sensibility online today is just more of the same old right, undeserving of attention or differentiation, are wrong. Although it is constantly changing, in this important early stage of its appeal, its ability to assume the aesthetics of counterculture, transgression and nonconformity tells us many things about the nature of its appeal and about the liberal establishment it defines itself against. It has more in common with the 1968 left’s slogan ‘It is forbidden to forbid!’ than it does with anything most recognize as part of any traditionalist right. Instead of interpreting it as part of other right-wing movements, conservative or libertarian, I would argue that the style being channelled by the Pepe meme-posting trolls and online transgressives follows a tradition that can be traced from the eighteenth-century writings of the Marquis de Sade, surviving through to the nineteenth-century Parisian avant-garde, the Surrealists, the rebel rejection of feminized conformity of post-war America and then to what film critics called 1990s ‘male rampage films’ like American Psycho and Fight Club. ~ Angela Nagle, #NFDB
705:They had not been long there before Lord Dumbello did group himself. 'Fine day,' he said, coming up and occupying the vacant position by Miss Grantly's elbow.
'We were driving to-day and we thought it rather cold,' said Griselda.
'Deuced cold,' said Lord Dumbello, and then he adjusted his white cravat and touched up his whiskers. Having got so far, he did not proceed to any other immediate conversational efforts; nor did Griselda. But he grouped himself again as became a marquis, and gave very intense satisfaction to Mrs. Proudie.
'This is so kind of you, Lord Dumbello,' said that lady, coming up to him and shaking his hand warmly; 'so very kind of you to come to my poor little tea-party.'
'Uncommonly pleasant, I call it,' said his lordship. 'I like this sort of thing--no trouble, you know.'
'No; that is the charm of it: isn't it? no trouble or fuss, or parade. That's what I always say. According to my ideas, society consists in giving people facility for an interchange of thoughts--what we call conversation.'
'Aw, yes, exactly.'
'Not in eating and drinking together--eh, Lord Dumbello? And yet the practice of our lives would seem to show that the indulgence of those animal propensities can alone suffice to bring people together. The world in this has surely made a great mistake.'
'I like a good dinner all the same,' said Lord Dumbello.
'Oh, yes, of course--of course. I am by no means one of those who would pretend to preach that our tastes have not been given to us for our enjoyment. Why should things be nice if we are not to like them?'
'A man who can really give a good dinner has learned a great deal,' said Lord Dumbello, with unusual animation.
'An immense deal. It is quite an art in itself; and one which I, at any rate, by no means despise. But we cannot always be eating -- can we?'
'No,' said Lord Dumbello, 'not always.' And he looked as though he lamented that his powers should be so circumscribed. ~ Anthony Trollope,#NFDB
706:Speaking of busy, what make you of this?” I held out the letter.
Oria took it and frowned slightly as she read. When she reached the end, she said, “It seems straightforward enough, except…Merindar. Isn’t she some relation to the old king?”
“Sister,” I said. “The Marquise of Merindar.”
“Isn’t she a princess?”
“While they ruled, the Merindars only gave the title ‘prince’ or ‘princess’ to their chosen heir. She carried the family title, which predates their years on the throne.”
Oria nodded, pursing her lips. “So what does this mean?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I did help bring about the downfall of her brother. I think a nasty letter threatening vengeance, awful as it would be to get, would be more understandable than this.”
Oria smiled. “Seems honest enough. She wants to meet you.”
“But why? And why now? And what’s this about ‘guidance’?”
Oria looked back at the letter, her dark brows slightly furrowed, then whistled softly. “I missed that, first time through. What do you think she’s hinting at, that she thinks the new king ought not to be king?”
“That is the second thing I’ve been wondering about,” I said. “If she’d make a good ruler, then she ought to be supported…”
“Well, would she?”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
Oria handed the letter back, and she gave me a crooked grin. “Do you want to support her bid for the crown, or do you just want to see the Marquis of Shevraeth defeated?”
“That’s the third thing on my mind,” I said. “I have to admit that part of me--the part that still rankles at my defeat last year--wants him to be a bad king. But that’s not being fair to the country. If he’s good, then he should be king. This concerns all the people of Remalna, their safety and well-being, and not just the feelings of one sour countess.”
“Who can you ask, then?”
“I don’t know. The people who would know her best are all at Court, and I wouldn’t trust any of them as far as I could throw this castle. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
707:Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
“My dear Countess,” he said with a grand bow. “Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance.”
Declining prestige? I thought, then out loud I said, “It’s a tartelande. From back then.”
“Which I studied up on all last week,” he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona’s ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
In between measures I stole looks at my partner, bracing for some annihilating comment about my red face, but he seemed preoccupied as we paced our way through the dance. The Renselaeuses, completely separate from Remalna five hundred years before, had dressed differently, just as they had spoken a different language. In keeping, Shevraeth wore a long tunic that was more like a robe, colored a sky blue, with black and white embroidery down the front and along the wide sleeves. It was flattering to his tall, slender form. His hair was tied back with a diamond-and-nightstar clasp, and a bluefire gem glittered in his ear.
We turned and touched hands, and I realized he had broken his reverie and was looking at me somewhat quizzically. I had been caught staring.
I said with as careless a smile as I could muster, “I’ll wager you’re the most comfortable of the men here tonight.”
“Those tight waistcoats do look uncomfortable, but I rather like the baldrics,” he said, surveying my brother, whom the movement of the dance had placed just across from us. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
708:In a slow, pleasant voice, Prince Alaerec asked mild questions--weather, travel, Bran’s day and how he’d filled it. I stayed silent as the three of them worked away at this limping conversation. The Renselaeus father and son were skilled enough at nothing-talk, but poor Bran stumbled over half his words, sending frequent glances at me. In the past I’d often spoken for both of us, for truth was he felt awkward with his tongue and was somewhat shy with new people, but I did not feel like speaking until I’d sorted my emotions out--and there was no time for that.
To bridge his own feelings, my brother gulped at the very fine wine they offered. Soon a servant came in and announced that dinner was ready, and the old Prince rose slowly, leaning heavily on a cane. His back was straight, though, as he led the way to a dining room. Bran and I fell in behind, I treading cautiously, with my skirts bunched in either hand.
Bran snickered. I looked up, saw him watching me, his face flushed. “Life, Mel, are you supposed to walk like that?” He snickered again, swallowed the rest of his third glass of wine, then added, “Looks like you got eggs in those shoes.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk,” I mumbled, acutely aware of that bland-faced, elegantly dressed Marquis right behind us, and elbowed Bran in the side. “Stop laughing! If I drop these skirts, I’ll trip over them.”
“Why didn’t you just ask for riding gear?”
“And a coach-and-six while I was at it? This is what they gave me.”
“Well, it looks right enough,” he admitted, squinting down at me. “It’s just--seeing you in one of those fancy gowns reminds me of--”
I didn’t want to hear what it reminded him of. “You’re drunk as four skunks, you idiot,” I muttered, and not especially softly, either. “You’d best lay it aside until you get some food into you.”
He sighed. “Right enough. I confess, I didn’t think you’d really get here--thought that there’d be another bad hit.”
“Well, I don’t see we’re all that safe yet,” I said under my breath. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
709:Sie wollen pflanzen für die Ewigkeit,
Und säen Tod? Ein so erzwungnes Werk
Wird seines Schöpfers Geist nicht überdauern.
Dem Undank haben Sie gebaut - umsonst
Den harten Kampf mit der Natur gerungen,
Umsonst ein großes königliches Leben
Zerstörenden Entwürfen hingeopfert.
Der Mensch ist mehr, als Sie von ihm gehalten.
(...)
Gehn Sie Europens Königen voran.
Ein Federzug von dieser Hand, und neu
Erschaffen wird die Erde. Geben Sie
Gedankenfreiheit.
(...)
Sehen Sie sich um
In seiner herrlichen Natur! Auf Freiheit
Ist sie gegründet - und wie reich ist sie
Durch Freiheit! Er, der große Schöpfer, wirft
In einen Tropfen Thau den Wurm und läßt
Noch in den todten Räumen der Verwesung
Die Willkür sich ergötzen - Ihre Schöpfung,
Wie eng und arm! Das Rauschen eines Blattes
Erschreckt den Herrn der Christenheit - Sie müssen
Vor jeder Tugend zittern. Er - der Freiheit
Entzückende Erscheinung nicht zu stören -
Er läßt des Uebels grauenvolles Heer
In seinem Weltall lieber toben - ihn,
Den Künstler, wird man nicht gewahr, bescheiden
Verhüllt er sich in ewige Gesetze;
Die sieht der Freigeist, doch nicht ihn. Wozu
Ein Gott? sagt er: die Welt ist sich genug.
Und keines Christen Andacht hat ihn mehr,
Als dieses Freigeists Lästerung, gepriesen.
(...)
Weihen Sie
Dem Glück der Völker die Regentenkraft,
Die - ach, so lang - des Thrones Größe nur
Gewuchert hatte - stellen Sie der Menschheit
Verlornen Adel wieder her. Der Bürger
Sei wiederum, was er zuvor gewesen,
Der Krone Zweck - ihn binde keine Pflicht,
Als seiner Brüder gleich ehrwürd'ge Rechte.
Wenn nun der Mensch, sich selbst zurückgegeben,
Zu seines Werths Gefühl erwacht - der Freiheit
Erhabne, stolze Tugenden gedeihen -
Dann, Sire, wenn Sie zum glücklichsten der Welt
Ihr eignes Königreich gemacht - dann ist
Es Ihre Pflicht, die Welt zu unterwerfen.
(Marquis von Posa; 3. Akt, 10. Szene) ~ Friedrich Schiller,#NFDB
710:There’s a Good Book about goodness and how to be good and so forth, but there’s no Evil Book about evil and how to be bad. The Devil has no prophets to write his Ten Commandments and no team of authors to write his biography. His case has gone completely by default. We know nothing about him but a lot of fairy stories from our parents and schoolmasters. He has no book from which we can learn the nature of evil in all its forms, with parables about evil people, proverbs about evil people, folk-lore about evil people. All we have is the living example of the people who are least good, or our own intuition. ‘So,’ continued Bond, warming to his argument, ‘Le Chiffre was serving a wonderful purpose, a really vital purpose, perhaps the best and highest purpose of all. By his evil existence, which foolishly I have helped to destroy, he was creating a norm of badness by which, and by which alone, an opposite norm of goodness could exist. We were privileged, in our short knowledge of him, to see and estimate his wickedness and we emerge from the acquaintanceship better and more virtuous men.’ ‘Bravo,’ said Mathis. ‘I’m proud of you. You ought to be tortured every day. I really must remember to do something evil this evening. I must start at once. I have a few marks in my favour – only small ones, alas,’ he added ruefully – ‘but I shall work fast now that I have seen the light. What a splendid time I’m going to have. Now, let’s see, where shall I start, murder, arson, rape? But no, these are peccadilloes. I must really consult the good Marquis de Sade. I am a child, an absolute child in these matters.’ His face fell. ‘Ah, but our conscience, my dear Bond. What shall we do with him while we are committing some juicy sin? That is a problem. He is a crafty person this conscience and very old, as old as the first family of apes which gave birth to him. We must give that problem really careful thought or we shall spoil our enjoyment. Of course, we should murder him first, but he is a tough bird. It will be difficult, but if we succeed, we could be worse even than Le Chiffre. ~ Ian Fleming, #NFDB
711:a spider and a fly
i heard a spider
and a fly arguing
wait said the fly
do not eat me
i serve a great purpose
in the world
you will have to
show me said the spider
i scurry around
gutters and sewers
and garbage cans
said the fly and gather
up the germs of
typhoid influenza
and pneumonia on my feet
and wings
then i carry these germs
into households of men
and give them diseases
all the people who
have lived the right
sort of life recover
from the diseases
and the old soaks who
have weakened their systems
with liquor and iniquity
succumb it is my mission
to help rid the world
of these wicked persons
i am a vessel of righteousness
scattering seeds of justice
and serving the noblest uses
it is true said the spider
that you are more
useful in a plodding
material sort of way
than i am but i do not
serve the utilitarian deities
i serve the gods of beauty
look at the gossamer webs
i weave they float in the sun
like filaments of song
if you get what i mean
i do not work at anything
i play all the time
i am busy with the stuff
of enchantment and the materials
of fairyland my works
transcend utility
i am the artist
a creator and demi god
it is ridiculous to suppose
that i should be denied
the food i need in order
to continue to create
beauty i tell you
plainly mister fly it is all
damned nonsense for that food
to rear up on its hind legs
and say it should not be eaten
you have convinced me
said the fly say no more
and shutting all his eyes
he prepared himself for dinner
and yet he said i could
have made out a case
for myself too if i had
had a better line of talk
of course you could said the spider
clutching a sirloin from him
but the end would have been
just the same if neither of
us had spoken at all
boss i am afraid that what
the spider said is true
and it gives me to think
furiously upon the futility
of literature
archy ~ Don Marquis,#NFDB
712:PROLOGUE
Soon after Father’s death we discovered the latest, and worst, of King Galdran’s acts: He was going to betray our Covenant with the mysterious and magical Hill Folk in order to harvest and sell the fabulous colorwood trees, which grow nowhere else in the world. The forests have been home to the Hill Folk since long before humans settled in Remalna. The Covenant made with the Hill Folk centuries before our time guaranteed that so long as we left the forests--common trees as well as our fabulous colorwoods--uncut, they would give us magical Fire Sticks each fall, which burned warmly until at least midsummer.
So, untrained and ill prepared, Branaric and I commenced our revolt.
It was a disaster.
Oh, we were successful enough at first, when the huge army the King sent against us was led by his cowardly, bullying cousin Baron Debegri. But when the Marquis of Shevraeth--son of the Prince and Princess of Renselaeus--replaced Debegri, we lost ground steadily. I stumbled into a steel trap our side had set out in a desperate attempt to slow up Shevraeth’s army, was caught, and was taken by the Marquis to the capital, where the King condemned me to death without permitting me to speak a word in my defense.
But I escaped--with help--and limped my way back toward home, chased by two armies. Both Branaric and I nearly got killed before we found out that some of King Galdran’s Court aristocrats--led by the Marquis of Shevraeth--had actually been working to get rid of the King without launching civil war.
King Galdran and Baron Debegri forced us into a final battle, in which they were killed. After that Branaric rode with the Marquis and his allies to the royal palace Athanarel in Remalna-city, the capital, and I retreated home. As a reward for our aid, Shevraeth--who was favored to become the new king--turned over Galdran’s personal fortune to Branaric and me.
That much, I know, is in the records.
What the scribes don’t tell, because they don’t know, is exactly how--and why--I subsequently got mixed up again in royal affairs.
It began with a letter from the Marquise of Merindar--sister of the late King Galdran. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
713:I sat up, fought against dizziness. Somewhere in the distance a single bell rang out the pattern for gold-candles and the beginning of another day.
“Drink.”
The cup was near to hand. I rose on one elbow and reached for it. Some sips later I felt immeasurably better. My eyesight cleared, and so did my thoughts.
I remembered the interlude during the night, and frowned across the fire at my companion. He looked exactly the same as ever--as if he’d sat up for a single time measure and not for an entire night. The plain hat, simply tied hair, ordinary clothing unmarked by any device; I squinted, trying to equate this slight figure with that arrogant plume-helmed commander riding on the ridge above the last battle. But if he is who I think he is, they’re used to being up all night at their stupid Court parties, I thought grimly.
“You seem to know who I am,” I said. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter?”
His use of my own words the night before surprised me a little. Did he expect flattery? Supposedly those so-refined Court aristocrats lived on it as anyone else lives on bread and drink. I considered my answer, wanting to make certain it was not even remotely complimentary. “I’m exactly as unlikely to blab our secrets to an anonymous flunky as I am to a Court decoration with a reputation as a gambler and a fop,” I said finally.
“’Court decoration’?” he repeated, with a faint smile. The strengthening light of dawn revealed telltale marks under his eyes. So he was tired. I was obscurely glad.
“Yes,” I said, pleased to expand on my insult. “My father’s term.”
“You’ve never wished to meet a…Court decoration for yourself?”
“No.” Then I added cheerily, “Well, maybe when I was a child.”
The Marquis of Shevraeth, Galdran’s commander-in-chief, grinned. It was the first real grin I’d seen on his face, as if he were struggling to hold in laughter. Setting his cup down, he made a graceful half-bow from his seat on the other side of the fire and said, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Meliara.”
I sniffed.
“And now that I’ve been thoroughly put in my place,” he said, “let us leave my way of life and proceed to yours. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
714:What seemed to be the entire staff of the place turned out, all bowing and scurrying, to make our debarkation as easy as possible. As I watched this--from beneath the rain canopy that two eager young inn-helpers held over our heads--I couldn’t help remember last spring’s sojourn at various innyards, as either a prisoner or a fugitive, and it was hard not to laugh at the comparison.
We had a splendid dinner in a private room overlooking the river. From below came the merry sounds of music, about as different from the haunting rhythms of the Hill Folk’s music as can be, yet I loved it too.
When we had finished, Nee said, “Come! Let’s go dance.”
“Not me,” Bran said. He lolled back on his cushions and grabbed for his mulled wine. “In the saddle all day. I’ll finish this, then I’m for bed.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said to Nee, rising to my feet.
Nee turned to Shevraeth, who sat with both hands round his goblet. “Lord Vidanric? Will you come with us?”
I looked out the window, determined to say nothing. But I was still angry, convinced as I was that he had been spying on me.
“Keep me company,” Bran said. “Don’t want to drink by myself.”
The Marquis said to Nee, “Another time.”
I kept my face turned away to hide the relief I was sure was plain to see, and Nee and I went downstairs to the common room, which smelled of spicy drinks and braised meats and fruit tarts.
In one corner four musicians played, and the center of the room was clear save for a group of dancers, the tables and cushions having been pushed back to make space. Nee and I went to join, for we had come in on a circle dance. These were not the formal Court dances with their intricate steps, where each gesture has to be just so, right down to who asks for a partner and how the response is made. These were what Nee called town dances, which were based on the old country dances--line dances for couples, and circles either for men or for women--that people had stamped and twirled and clapped to for generations.
Never lacking for partners, we danced until we were hot and tired, and then went up to the spacious bedrooms. I left my windows wide open and fell asleep listening to the sound of the river. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
715:I turned around--and nearly bumped into a small group of soldiers in Renselaeus colors. They all stopped, bowed silently, and would have stepped out of my way, but I recognized one of them from my ride to Renselaeus just before the end of the war, and I cried, “Captain Nessaren!”
“My lady.” Nessaren smiled, her flat cheeks tinged slightly with color.
“Is your riding assigned here now?”
“As you see, my lady.”
The others bowed and withdrew silently, leaving us alone.
“Are you not supposed to talk to the civs?” Raindrops stung my face.
Her eyes crinkled. “They usually don’t talk to us.”
“Is this a good duty, or is it boring now that nothing is going on?”
Her eyes flickered to my face then down to the ground, and her lips just parted. After a moment she said, “We’re well enough, my lady.”
Which wasn’t quite what I had asked. Resolving to think that over later, I said, “You know what I miss? The practice sessions we had when we were riding cross-country last year. I did some practice at home…but there doesn’t seem to be opportunity anymore.”
“We have open practice each day at dawn, in the garrison court when the weather’s fine, the gym when it isn’t. You’re welcome to join us. There’s no hierarchy, except that of expertise, by order of the Marquis himself.”
“The Marquis?” I repeated faintly, realizing how close I’d come to making an even worse fool of myself than my spectacular attempts so far.
“There every day,” she said. “Others as well--Lady Renna. Duke of Savona there most days, same as Baron Khialem. You wouldn’t be alone.”
I won’t be there at all. But out loud I just thanked her.
She bowed. Her companions were still waiting at a discreet distance, despite the spatter of rain, so I said, “I won’t keep you any longer.”
As she rejoined her group, I started back toward the Residence. The wind had turned chill, and the rain started falling faster, but I scarcely noticed. Was there still some kind of danger? Instinct attributed Nessaren’s deliberate vagueness to a military reason.
If the threat was from the borders, it seemed unlikely that I’d find Renselaeus warriors roaming around the royal palace Athanarel. So, was there a threat at home? ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
716:He was right! Said you’d go straight after ‘em, sword and knife. What’s with you?”
“You said, ‘A trap.’ I thought it was them,” I muttered through suddenly numb lips. “Wasn’t it?”
“Didn’t you see the riding of greeners?” Bran retorted. “It was Debegri, right enough. He had paid informants in those inns, for he was on the watch for your return. Why d’you think Vidanric sent the escort?”
“Vidanric?”
“His name,” Branaric said, still staring at me with that odd gaze. “You could try to use it--only polite. After all, Shevraeth is just a title, and he doesn’t go about calling either of us Tlanth.”
I’d rather cut out my tongue, I thought, but I said nothing.
“Anyway--life, sister--if he’d wanted me dead, why not in the comfort of his own home, where he could do a better job?”
I shook my head. “It made sense to me.”
“It makes sense when you have a castle-sized grudge.” He sighed. “It was the Renselaeus escort, hard on their heels, that attacked Debegri’s gang and saved my life. Our friend the Marquis wasn’t far behind--he’d just found out about the spies, he said. Between us we pieced together what happened, and what I said, and what you’d likely do. I thought you’d stay home. He said you’d ride back down the mountain breathing fire and hunting his blood. He was right.” He stared to laugh, but it came out a groan, and he closed his eyes for a long breath. Then, “Arrow clipped me on the right, or I’d be finished. But I can’t talk long--I’m already feeling sick. Galdran is just behind Debegri. He’s coming up to make an example of Tlanth himself. Talk all over the country-side…” He stopped, taking several slow breaths, then he squinted at me. “Ask Vidanric. He’s the one explained it to me.”
“First tell me, are we prisoners, or not?”
“No,” Bran said. “But mark my words: The end is nigh. And we’re either for Renselaeus or for Galdran.”
“You mean Shevraeth is coming into the open?”
“Yes.”
“Then--he’s going to face the whole army?”
Bran breathed deeply again. “Galdran has very few friends,” he murmured, then closed his eyes. “Go change. Eat.”
I nodded, the numbness spreading from my lips to my brain, and to my heart. “Get your rest. We’ll talk when you feel better. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
717:There’s no use in talking about the plan, because of course nothing went the way it was supposed to. Even the passage of time was horribly distorted. At first the ride to the hill seemed endless, with me sneaking looks at my brother, who was increasingly unsteady in his saddle.
The Marquis insisted on riding in front of us the last little distance, where we saw a row of four horse riders waiting--the outer two bearing banners, dripping from the rain, but the flags’ green and gold still brilliant, and the inner two riders brawny and cruel faced and very much at ease, wearing the plumed helms of command.
“I just wanted to see if you traitors would dare to face me,” Galdran said, his caustic voice making me feel sick inside. Sick--and angry.
The Marquis bowed low over his horse’s withers, every line of his body indicative of irony.
Galdran’s face flushed dark purple.
“I confess,” Shevraeth drawled, “we had a small wager on whether you would have the courage to face us.”
“Kill them!” Galdran roared.
And that’s the moment when time changed and everything happened at once. At the edge of my vision I saw arrows fly, but none reached us. A weird humming vibrated through my skull; at first I thought it was just me, then I realized all the war horses, despite their training, were in a panic. For a few short, desperate breaths, all my attention was spent calming my own mount.
Galdran’s reared, and he shouted orders at his equerries as he fought to keep his seat. The two banner-bearing warriors flipped up the ends of their poles, flicked away some kind of binding, and aimed sharp steel points at the Marquis as they charged. All around me was chaos--the hiss and clang of steel weapons being drawn, the nickering of horses, grunts and shouts and yells.
“To me! To me!” That was Bran’s cry.
Four Renselaeus warriors came to his aid. I kneed my mount forward and brandished my weapon, trying to edge up on Bran’s weak side. Horseback fighting was something we’d drilled in rarely, for this was not mountain-type warfare. I met the blade of one of Bran’s attackers, and shock rang up my arm. Thoughts chased through my brain; except for those few days with Nessaren’s riding, I hadn’t practiced for weeks, and now I was going to feel it. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
718:Our horses plunged up the trail.
“Go on…Go!” Bran jerked one hand toward the mountains, then swayed in his saddle.
Another arrow sang overhead.
“I won’t leave you,” I snapped.
“Go. Our people…Carry on the fight.”
“Bran--”
In answer he yanked the reins on his terrified horse, which lunged toward mine. Gritting his teeth, he leaned out and whipped the ends of his reins across the mare’s shoulder. “Go!”
My mount panicked, leaped forward. My neck snapped back. I clutched to the horse’s mane with all my strength. The last glimpse I had of Bran was of his white face and his anxious eyes watching me as he and his mount fell back.
And then I was on my own.
For a time the mare raced straight up the trail while the only thought I could hold in my mind was, A trap? A trap? And then the image, seen endlessly, of Bran being shot.
Then a scrap of memory floated up before my inner eye. Again I saw the elegant Renselaeus dining room, heard the Marquis’s refined drawling voice: My people are taking and holding the Vesingrui fortress on your border. For now they are wearing the green uniform…
A trap. Cold fury washed through me. They have betrayed us.
It was then that I recovered enough presence of mind to realize that I was in my home territory at last, and I could leave the trail anytime. The horse had recovered from the panic and was trotting. So I recaptured the reins, leading the horse across the side of the mountain toward the thickest, oldest part of the local forest. It didn’t take me long to lose the pursuit, and then I turned my tired mare north, permitting her to slow as I thought everything through.
It made perfect sense, after all. Bran and I were certainly an inconvenience, especially since we’d refused to ally. For a moment guilt tweaked at my thoughts--if it hadn’t been for me, we’d both be alive and well in their capital. And in their hands, I told myself. If they could cold-bloodedly plan this kind of treachery, wasn’t this sort of end waiting for us anyway?
And now Bran is dead. Branaric, my fun-loving, trusting brother, the one who pleaded with me to give them a fair chance. Who wanted to be their friend.
All my emotions narrowed to one arrow of intent: revenge. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
719:Next was the foursome I had been bracing myself to face all along: Tamara, Savona, the newly met Lady Elenet, and the Marquis of Shevraeth. Very conscious of Olervec’s pale eyes following me, I forced myself to greet the Marquis first: “Good morning,” I said, as if we’d been talking just the day before. “How much I wish to thank you for putting me in the way of finding the proper books for my project.”
Again that laughter was evident in his glance as he sketched a bow. “If you have any further questions,” he said, “it would be my pleasure to accommodate you.”
“I’d be honored.” I curtsied, my hands making the fan gesture of Unalloyed Gratitude. The shadow of humor in the corners of his mouth deepened.
Then I turned to the others. Savona grinned at me, one hand moving slightly in the fencer’s salute of a good hit. I fought the urge to blush as Tamara murmured, “You’ll be in the race tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said, lifting my hands. “I have to prove whether my wins last time were luck, skill--or the kindness of well-wishers.”
Tamara smiled a little. “And once you’ve proved which it is?”
“Why then I either celebrate, commiserate--or fulminate!”
They all laughed at that, even the quiet Elenet, though her laughter was so soft I scarcely heard it.
I turned to Shevraeth and said, “Will you be there?”
“I hope to be,” he said.
“Riding your gray?”
“Is that a challenge?” he replied with a hint of a smile.
I opened my mouth, then a stray memory brought back our private wager before we reached Athanarel and nothing could prevent the heat that burned up my neck into my face; so I quickly bent over, making a business of ordering one of the flounces on my gown. After I had straightened up I’d have an excuse for a red face, or at least enough of one to pass the notice of the three who (presumably) knew nothing of that unpaid wager.
“I think,” I said, retying a ribbon and patting it into place, then unbending with what I hoped was an expression of nonchalance, “I’d better find out if my luck is due to skill or kindness before I make any pledges.”
“Very well,” he said. “A friendly race will suffice.”
When the conversation came to a natural close, I retreated to Nee’s side and finished the rest of the picnic with her and Bran. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
720:I also received a note from the Unknown, the first in two days. I pounced on it eagerly, for receiving his letters had come to be the most important part of my day.
Instead of the long letter I had come to anticipate, it was short.
I thank you for the fine ring. It was thoughtfully chosen and I appreciate the generous gesture, for I have to admit I would rather impute generosity than mere caprice behind the giving of a gift that cannot be worn.
Or is this a sign that you wish, after all, to alter the circumscriptions governing our correspondence?
I thought--to make myself clear--that you preferred your admirer to remain secret. I am not convinced you really wish to relinquish this game and risk the involvement inherent in a contact face-to-face.
I dropped the note on my desk, feeling as if I’d reached for a blossom and had been stung by an unseen nettle.
My first reaction was to sling back an angry retort that if gifts were to inspire such an ungallant response, then he could just return it. Except it was I who had inveighed, and at great length, against mere gallantry. In a sense he’d done me the honor of telling the truth--
And it was then that I had the shiversome insight that is probably obvious by now to any of my progeny reading this record: that our correspondence had metamorphosed into a kind of courtship.
A courtship.
As I thought back, I realized that it was our discussion of this very subject that had changed the tenor of the letters from my asking advice of an invisible mentor to a kind of long-distance friendship. The other signs were all there--the gifts, the flowers. Everything but physical proximity. And it wasn’t the unknown gentleman who could not court me in person--it was I who couldn’t be courted in person, and he knew it.
So in the end I sent back only two lines:
You have given me much to think about.
Will you wear the ring, then, if I ask you to?
I received no answer that day, or even that night. And so I sat through the beautiful concert of blended children’s voices and tried not to stare at Elenet’s profile next to the Marquis of Shevraeth, while feeling a profound sense of unhappiness, which I attributed to the silence from my Unknown.
The next morning brought no note, but a single white rose. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
721:His readiness to answer my questions caused my mind to glitter with new ideas, like a fountain in the sunlight. I was suddenly eager to try my own theories of government, formed during my half year of reading. I launched a barrage of questions related to the merits of an all volunteer army paid from crown revenues, versus each noble being responsible for a certain number of trained and equipped soldiers should the need arise. To each question Shevraeth readily responded, until we had a conversation--not quite a debate--going about the strengths and weaknesses of each method of keeping the country safe.
Very soon I began to see where my lapses of knowledge were, for he knew the books I quoted from. Further, he knew the sources’ strengths and weaknesses, whereas I had taken them as authorities. Still, I was enjoying myself, until I remembered what he’d said about listening to busybodies. Immediately full of self-doubt at the thought, I wondered if I sounded like one of those busybodies. Or worse, had I betrayed my secret quest?
Abruptly I stopped talking and turned my attention to my dinner, which lay cold and untouched on my plate. Stealing a quick glance up, I realized that I’d also kept Shevraeth talking so that his dinner was equally cold. I picked up my fork, fighting against another surge of those old feelings of helpless anger.
Into the sudden silence Branaric laughed, then said, “You’ve left me behind. What have you been reading, Mel? Life! You should go up to Erev-li-Erval and help take the field against the Djurans. Unless you’re planning another revolution here!”
“Were you thinking of taking the field against me?” the Marquis addressed me in his usual drawl.
Aghast, I choked on a bite of food. Then I saw the gleam of humor in his eyes, and realized he’d been joking. “But I’m not,” I squawked. “Not at all! I just like, well, reading and thinking about these things.”
“And testing your knowledge, Danric,” Bran added.
“Whether you are testing mine or your own, you really will get your best information firsthand,” Shevraeth said to me. “Come to Athanarel. Study the records. Ask questions.”
Was he really inviting me straight out to do what I’d resolved so secretly? I had no idea what to make of this. “I promised Nimiar I’d come,” I mumbled, and that ended the subject. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
722:If you’re rebelling, then you must have someone in mind for the throne. Who?”
Bran pointed across the table at Shevraeth. “He seems to want to do it, and I have to say, he’d be better at it than I.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I said without thinking.
Bran winced and rubbed his chin. “Mel…”
“Please, my dear Lord Branaric,” the Prince murmured. “Permit the lady to speak. I am interested to hear her thoughts on the matter.”
Rude as I’d been before, my response had shocked even me, and I hadn’t intended to say anything more. Now I sneaked a peek at the Marquis, who just sat with his goblet in his fingers, his expression one of mild questioning.
I sighed, short and sharp. “You’d be the best because you aren’t Court trained,” I said to Bran. It was easier than facing those other two. “Court ruined, I’d say. You don’t lie--you don’t even know how to lie in social situations like this. I think it’s time the kingdom’s leader is known for honesty and integrity, not for how well he gambles or how many new fashions he’s started. Otherwise we’ll just be swapping one type of bad king for another.”
Bran drummed his fingers on the table, frowning. “But I don’t want to do it. Not alone, anyway. If you are with me--“
“I’m not going to Remalna-city,” I said quickly.
All three of them looked at me--I could feel it, though I kept my own gaze on my brother’s face. His eyes widened. I said, “You’re the one who always wanted to go there. I’ve been. Once. It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. You’d be fine on your own,” I finished weakly, knowing that he wouldn’t--that I’d just managed, through my own anger, to ruin his chances.
“Mel, I don’t know what to say. Where t’start, burn it!” Bran ran his fingers through his hair, snarling it up--a sure sign he was upset. “Usually it’s you with the quick mind, but this time I think you’re dead wrong.”
“On the contrary,” the Prince said, with a glance at his son. “She makes cogent points. And there will be others aside from the loyalists in Tlanth who will, no doubt, share a similar lack of partisanship.”
“Your point is taken, Father,” Shevraeth said. “It is an issue that I will have to address.”
Sensing that there was more meaning to their words than was immediately obvious, I looked from one to the other for clues, but of course there were none that I could descry. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
723:So what’s the plan?”
“I believe that our best plan is to flush them out. If we can capture them both, there will be little reason for the others to fight.”
“But if they’re in the midst of the army--” Bran started.
“Bait,” I said, seeing the plan at once. “There has to be bait to bring them to the front.” Thinking rapidly, I added, “And I know who’s to be the bait. Us, right? Only, how to get them to meet us?”
“The letter,” Branaric said. “They know now that we have it.”
Both looked at me, but I said nothing.
“Even if we don’t have it,” the Marquis said easily, “it’s enough to say we do to get them to meet us. If they break the truce or try anything untoward, a chosen group will grab them, and my warriors will disperse in all directions and reassemble at a certain place on my border a week later, at which time we will reassess. I can give you all the details of the plan if you wish them.”
Bran snorted a laugh. “I’m in. As if we had a choice!”
“Do we have a choice?” I asked, instantly hostile.
“I am endeavoring to give you the semblance of one,” Shevraeth replied in his most polite voice.
“And if we don’t agree?” I demanded.
“Then you will remain here in safety until events are resolved.”
“So we are prisoners, then.”
Bran was chuckling and wiping his eyes. “Life, sister, how you remind me of that old spaniel of Khesot’s, Skater, when he thought someone was going to pinch his favorite chew-stick. Remember him?”
“Bran--” I began, now thoroughly exasperated.
“Well, it isn’t the goals, Mel, for we’ve the same ones, in essentials. It’s you being stubborn, just like old Skater. Admit it!”
“I admit only that I don’t trust him as far as I can throw a horse,” I fumed. “We’re still prisoners, and you just sit there and laugh! Well, go ahead. I think I’ll go back to sleep. The company is better.” And I stalked to the door, went out, and slammed it.
Of course I could still hear Bran wheezing with laughter. The ancient doors were not of tapestry but of wood, extremely flimsy and ill-fitted wood, serving no real purpose beyond blocking the room from sight. Tapestry manners required I move away at once, but I hesitated until I heard Bran say, “She won’t rat out on us. Let me talk to her, and she’ll see reason.”
“I’d give her some time before you attempt it,” came the wry answer. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
724:At one end of the room was a group of young teens busy with swordplay, and at the other a swarm of children circled round on ancient carved horses mounted on cart wheels or played at stick-and-ball.
I wandered toward my friends and was soon hailed by Renna, who offered me a bout. Time passed swiftly and agreeably. I finished my last engagement with one of Nee’s cousins and was just beginning to feel the result of sustained effort in my arm and back when a practice blade thwacked my shoulder. I spun around, and gaped.
Shevraeth stood there smiling. At his elbow my brother grinned, and next to him, Savona watched with appreciation apparent in his dark eyes.
“Come, Lady Meliara,” the Marquis said. “Let’s see how much you’ve learned since you took on Galdran.”
“I didn’t take on Galdran,” I protested, feeling hot and cold at once.
“I don’t know what you’d call it, then, Mel.” Bran leaned on his sword, still grinning. “Looked like you went have-at-’im to me.”
“I was just trying to defend you,” I said, and the others all laughed. “And a fat lot of good it did, too,” I added when they stopped. “He knocked me right out of the saddle!”
“Hit you from behind,” Shevraeth said. “Apparently he was afraid to confront so formidable a foe face-to-face.”
They laughed again, but I knew it was not at me so much as at the hated King Galdran.
Before I could speak again, Shevraeth raised his point and said, “Come now. Blade up.”
I sighed. “I’ve already been made into cheese by Derec, there, and Renna, and Lornav, but if you think I merit another defeat…”
Again they laughed, and Savona and my brother squared off as Shevraeth and I saluted. My bout with the Marquis was much like the others. Even more than usual I was hopelessly outclassed, but I stuck grimly to my place, refusing to back up, and took hit after hit, though my parrying was steadily improving. Of course I lost, but at least it wasn’t so easy a loss as I’d had when I first began to attend practice--and he didn’t insult me with obvious handicaps, such as never allowing his point to hit me.
Bran and Savona finished a moment later, and Bran was just suggesting we exchange partners when the bells for third-gold rang, causing a general outcry. Some would stay, but most, I realized, were retreating to their various domiciles to bathe and dress for open Court. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
725:If you want information,” he said in his low tones, “I am willing to take up my old connections and provide it. You need write to no one or speak to no one. It’s common enough for people to summon their own artisans for special projects.” He patted his satchel. “You are wealthy enough to enable me to sustain the cover.”
“You mean I should order some jewelry made?”
He nodded. “If you please, my lady.”
“Of course--that’s easy enough. But to backtrack a bit, what you said about spies on both sides worries me. What if the Renselaeuses find out you’re here? Will they assume I’m plotting?”
“I have taken great care to avoid their coverts,” he said. “The two who met me face-to-face last year are not in Athanarel. And none of the family has actually seen me.”
Once again I sighed with relief. Then an even more unwelcome thought occurred. “If my movements are known, then other things have been noticed,” I said slowly. “Are there any I ought to know about?”
He gave his nod. “It is known, among those who observe, that you do not attend any private social functions that are also attended by the Marquis of Shevraeth.”
So much for my promise, I thought dismally. Yet Shevraeth hadn’t said anything. “So…this might be why Flauvic granted me that interview?”
“Possibly,” he said.
“I take it servants talk.”
“Some,” he agreed. “Others don’t.”
“I suppose the Merindar ones don’t.”
He smiled. “They are very carefully selected and trained, exceedingly well paid--and if they displease, they have a habit of disappearing.”
“You mean they’re found dead, and no one does anything?”
He shook his head, his mouth now grim. “No. They disappear.”
I shuddered.
“So whatever I find out must be by observation and indirection.”
“Well, if you can evaluate both sides without endangering yourself,” I said, deciding suddenly, “then go ahead. The more I think about it, the less I like being ignorant. If something happens that might require us to act, you can help me choose the correct thing to do and the way to do it.”
He bowed. “Nothing would please me more, my lady,” he promised.
“Good,” I said, rising to fetch my letter from the Marquise. “Here’s her letter. Read it--and as far as I care, destroy it.” I handed it to him, relieved to have it gone. “So, what’s in your bag? I will want something special,” I said, and grinned. “For someone special. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
726:It was a relief when we reached the village of Lumm. We did not go into it but rode on the outskirts. When the great mage-built bridge came into view I felt Shevraeth’s arm tighten as he looked this way and that.
On a grassy sward directly opposite the approach to the bridge a plain carriage waited with no markings on its sides, the wheels and lower portions muddy. The only sign that this might not be some inn’s rental equipment were the five high-bred horses waiting nearby, long lines attached to their bits. A boy wearing the garb of a stable hand sat on a large rock holding the horses’ lines; nearby a footman and a driver, both in unmarked clothing but wearing servants’ hats, stood conversing in between sips from hip flagons. Steady traffic, mostly merchants, passed by, but no one gave them more than a cursory glance.
The gray threaded through a caravan of laden carts. As soon as the waiting servants saw us, the flagons were hastily stowed, the horse boy leaped to his feet, and all three bowed low.
“Hitch them up,” said the Marquis.
The boy sprang to the horses’ mouths and the driver to the waiting harnesses as the footman moved to the stirrup of the gray.
No one spoke. With a minimum of fuss the Marquis dismounted, pulled me down himself, and deposited me in the carriage on a seat strewn with pillows. Then he shut the door and walked away.
By then the driver was on her box, and the horse boy was finishing the last of the harnesses, helped by the footman. Levering myself up on the seat, I watched through the window as the footman hastily transferred all the gear on the gray to the last waiting horse, and then the Marquis swung into the saddle, leaning down to address a few words to the footman. Then the gray was led out of sight, and without any warning the carriage gave a great jolt and we started off.
Not one of the passerby showed the least interest in the proceedings. I wondered if I had missed yet another chance at escape, but if I did yell for help, who knew what the partisanship of the Lumm merchants was? I might very well have gotten my mouth gagged for my pains.
This did not help my spirits any, for now that the immediate discomforts had eased, I realized again that I was sick. How could I effect an escape when I had as much spunk as a pot of overboiled noodles?
I lay back down on the pillows, and before long the warmth and swaying of the carriage sent me off to sleep. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
727:The riders fanned out, but my immediate escort rode straight to the overhanging rusty roof that formed a rudimentary barn. The Marquis dismounted and stretched out his hand to grip the bridle of my horse.
“Inside,” he said to me.
I dismounted. Again the ground seemed to heave beneath my feet, but I leaned against the shoulders of my mount until the world steadied, and then I straightened up.
The Marquis walked toward the open doorway.
In a kind of blank daze, I followed the sweeping black cloak inside and down a tiny hall, to a door made of old, rickety twigs bound together. The Marquis opened this and waved me into a little room. I took two steps inside it, looked--
And there, lying on a narrow bed, with books and papers strewn about him, was my brother, Branaric.
“Mel!” he exclaimed. “Burn it, you were right,” he said past me. “Ran her to ground at Vesingrui, eh?”
A voice spoke behind me. “They were just about to drop on us.”
I turned, saw the Marquis leaning in the doorway, a growing puddle of rainwater at his feet.
For a long moment I could do nothing except stand as if rooted. The world seemed about to dissolve for a sickening moment, but I sucked in a ragged breath and it righted again, and I threw myself down on my knees next to the bed, knocking my soggy, shapeless hat off, and hugged Branaric fiercely.
“Mel, Mel,” Bran said, laughing, then he groaned and fell back on his pillows. “Softly, girl. Curse it! I’m weak as a newborn kitten.”
“And will be for a time,” came the voice from the doorway. “Once your explanations have been made, I exhort you to remember Mistress Kylar’s warning.”
“Aye, I’ve it well in mine,” Bran said. And as the door closed, he looked up at me from fever-bright eyes. “He was right! Said you’d go straight after ‘em, sword and knife. What’s with you?”
“You said, ‘A trap.’ I thought it was them,” I muttered through suddenly numb lips. “Wasn’t it?”
“Didn’t you see the riding of greeners?” Bran retorted. “It was Debegri, right enough. He had paid informants in those inns, for he was on the watch for your return. Why d’you think Vidanric sent the escort?”
“Vidanric?”
“His name,” Branaric said, still staring at me with that odd gaze. “You could try to use it--only polite. After all, Shevraeth is just a title, and he doesn’t go about calling either of us Tlanth.”
I’d rather cut out my tongue, I thought, but I said nothing. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
728:The less said about that morning’s ride, the better. I would have been uncomfortable even if I’d been riding with Branaric, for my leg ached steadily from the jarring of the horse’s pace. To be riding along in the clasp of an enemy just made my spirits feel the worse.
We only had one conversation, right at the start, when he apologized for the discomfort of the ride and reminded me that there would be a carriage--and reasonable comfort--before the day was gone.
I said, in as surly a tone as possible, “You might have thought of that before we left. I mean, since no one asked my opinion on the matter.”
“It was purely an impulse of disinterested benevolence that precipitated our departure,” he responded equably--as if I’d been as polite as one of his simpering Court ladies.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it seemed very likely that your brother and his adherents were going to mount another rescue attempt, and this time there was no chance of our being taken by surprise.”
He paused, letting me figure that out. He meant the King’s warriors would have killed everyone, or else taken them all prisoner, and he had forestalled such a thing. Why he should want to prevent this opportunity to defeat all our people at once didn’t make sense to me; I kept quiet.
He went on after a moment, “Since the King requires a report on our progress, and as it seemed expedient to remove you, I decided to combine the two. It appears to have worked, at least for a time.”
Which meant he’d stalled Branaric--with what? Threats against my life if our people tried anything? The thought made me wild with anger, with a determination to escape so strong that for a time it took all my self-control not to fling myself from that horse and run, bad leg or no.
For at last I faced the real truth: that by my own carelessness, I might very well have graveled our entire cause. I knew my brother. Branaric would not risk my life--and this man seemed to have figured that much out.
The Marquis made a couple other attempts at conversation, but I ignored him. I have to confess that, for a short time, hot tears of rage and self-loathing stung my eyes and dripped down my face. I didn’t trust my voice; the only consolation I had for my eroding self-respect was that my face couldn’t be seen.
When the tears had dried at last, and I had taken a surreptitious swipe at my nose and eyes with my sleeve, I gritted my teeth and turned my thoughts back to escape. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
729:When the guards cut me loose I fell like an old bundle of laundry onto the stone courtyard, and once again hands gripped my upper arms and yanked me upright.
This time I made no pretense of walking as I was borne into a dank tunnel, then down steep steps into an even danker, nasty-smelling chamber.
And what I saw around me was a real, true-to-nightmare dungeon. Shackles, iron baskets, various prods and knives and whips and other instruments whose purpose I didn’t know--and didn’t want to know--were displayed on the walls around two great stained and scored tables.
A huge, ugly man in a bespattered blackweave apron motioned for the soldiers to put me into a chair with irons at arms and feet. As they did, he said, “What am I supposed to be finding out?”
Behind, the Baron said harshly, “I want to shed these wet clothes. Don’t touch her until I return. This is going to last a long, long time.” His gloating laugh echoed down a stone passageway.
The huge man pursed his lips, shrugged, then turned to his fire, selecting various pincers and brands to lay on a grate in the flames.
Then he came back, lifted one bushy brow at the soldiers still flanking me, and said in a low voice, “Kinda little and scrawny, this one, ain’t she? What she done?”
“Countess of Tlanth,” one said in a flat vice.
The man whistled, then grinned. He had several teeth missing. Then he bent closer, peered at me, and shook his head. “Looks to me like she’s half done for already. Grudge or no grudge, she won’t last past midnight.” He grinned again, motioning to the nearest warrior. “Go ahead and put the irons on. Shall we just have a little fun while we’re waiting?”
He pulled one of his brands out of the fire and stepped toward me, raising it. The sharp smell of red-hot metal made me sneeze--and when I looked up, the man’s mouth was open with surprise.
My gaze dropped to the knife embedded squarely in his chest, which seemed to have sprouted there. But knives don’t sprout, even in dungeons, I thought hazily, as the torturer fell heavily at my feet. I turned my head, half rising from the chair--
And saw the Marquis of Shevraeth standing framed in the doorway. At his back were four of his liveried equerries, with swords drawn and ready.
The Marquis strolled forward, indicated the knife with a neatly gloved hand, and gave me a faint smile. “I trust the timing was more or less advantageous?”
“More or less,” I managed to say before the rushing in my ears washed over me, and I passed out cold right on top of the late torturer. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
730:I was sicker than I’d ever been in a short but healthy life, so sick I couldn’t sleep but lay watching imaginary bugs crawl up the walls. And of course it had to be while I was like this--just about the lowest I’d sunk yet--that the Marquis of Shevraeth chose to reappear in my life.
It was not long after the single bell toll that means midnight and first-white-candle. Very suddenly the door opened, and a tall, glittering figure walked in, handing something to the silent guard at the door, who then went out. I heard footsteps receding as I stared, without at first comprehending, at the torch-bearing aristocrat before me.
I blinked at the resplendent black and crimson velvet embroidered over with gold and set with rubies, and at the rubies glittering on fingers and in pale braided hair. My gaze rose to the rakish hat set low over the familiar gray eyes.
He must have been waiting for me to recognize him.
“The King will summon you at first-green tomorrow,” the Marquis said quickly, all trace of the drawl gone. “It appears that your brother has been making a fool of Debegri, leading him all over your mountains and stealing our horses and supplies. The King has changed his mind: Either you surrender, speaking for your brother and your people, or he’s going to make an example of you in a public execution tomorrow. Not a noble’s death, but a criminal’s.”
“Criminal’s?” I repeated stupidly, my voice nearly gone.
“It will last all day,” he said with a grimace of distaste. It was the first real expression I’d ever seen from him, but by then I was in no mood to appreciate it.
Sheer terror overwhelmed me then. All my courage, my firm resolves, had worn away during the time-measures of illness, and I could not prevent my eyes from stinging with tears of fear--and shame. “Why are you telling me this?” I said, hiding my face in my hands.
“Will you consider it? It might…buy you time.”
This made no sense to me. “What time can I buy with dishonor?” All I could imagine was the messengers flying westward, and the looks on Bran’s and Khesot’s faces--and on Julen’s and Calaub’s and Devan’s, people who had risked their lives twice trying to rescue me--when they found out. “I know why you’re here.” I snuffled into my palms. “Want to gloat? See me turn coward? Well, gloat away…” But I couldn’t say anything more, and after about as excruciating a pause as I’d ever endured, I heard his heels on the stone.
The door shut, the footsteps withdrew, and I was left in silence.
It was then that I hit the low point of my life. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
731:We’re to have no communication with anyone outside of our own people,” she said.
My first reaction was disbelief. Then I thought of that letter of thanks I’d planned on writing, and even though I had not told anyone, humiliation burned through me, followed by anger all the more bright for the sense of betrayal that underlay it all. Why betrayal? Shevraeth had never pretended to be on my side. Therefore he had saved my life purely for his own ends. Worse, my brother was somehow involved with his plans; I remembered Nessaren’s subtle reaction to his mention, and I wondered if there had been some sort of reference to Bran in that letter Nessaren had just received. What else could this mean but that I was again to be used to force my brother to surrender?
Fury had withered all my good feelings, but I was determined not to show any of it, and I sat with my gaze on my hands, which were gripped in my lap, until I felt that I had my emotions under control again.
When I realized that the silence had grown protracted, I looked up and forced a polite smile. “I don’t suppose you know where your Marquis is?” I asked, striving for a tone of nonchalance.
A quick exchange of looks, then Nessaren said, “I cannot tell you exactly, for I do not know, but he said that if you were to ask, I was to tender his compliments and regrets, but say events required him to move quickly.”
And we’re not? I thought about us waiting out the rain, and those nice picnics, and realized that Nessaren had been watching me pretty carefully. It was no accident that we’d stopped for rests, then; Nessaren had very accurately gauged my strength. A fast run would have meant riding through rain and through nights, stopping only to change horses. We hadn’t even had to do that.
Once again my emotions took a spin. I had had a taste of the way prisoners could be conveyed when the Baron had me thrown over a saddle for the trip to Chovilun. Nessaren and her riding had made certain that my journey so far was as pleasant as they could make it.
Is this, I wondered acidly, possibly an attempt to win me to Shevraeth’s side in whatever game he’s playing with the King and the Baron? Just the thought made me wild to face their Marquis once again and give him the benefit of my opinions.
But none of this could be shown now, I told myself. My quarrel was not with Nessaren and the equerries, who were just following orders. It was with their leader.
I glanced up, saw that they seemed to be waiting. For a reaction?
“Anyone know a good song?” I asked. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
732:As I watched, two equerries in Renselaeus livery strode along the path, overtook the man, and addressed him. I watched with my heart thumping like a drum as the man spoke at some length, brushed his fingers against his face--the scratches from the trees!--and then gestured in the direction I had gone.
Expecting the two equerries to immediately take off after me, I braced for a run. Why had I babbled so much? I thought, annoyed with myself. Why didn’t I just say “No” and leave?
But the equerries both turned and walked swiftly back in the direction they’d come, and the old man continued on his way.
What does that mean?
And the answer was not long in coming: They were going back to report.
Which meant a whole lot of them searching. And soon.
Yes, I’d really widened my perimeter, I thought furiously, cursing the Baron, music, inns, resorts, food, and the Baron again, throwing in Galdran Merindar and the Marquis of Shevraeth for good measure. I slipped back through the garden to the street. Spotting an alley behind a row of houses, I ducked into that.
And when I heard the thunder of approaching horses’ hooves, I dove toward the first door, which was miraculously open. Slipping inside, a sickly smile on my face, I concocted a wild story about deliveries and the wrong address as I looked about for inhabitants angered at my intrusion.
But my luck had turned a little: The hallway was empty. Behind me was a stairway leading upward, and next to it one leading to a basement. For a moment I wanted to fling myself down that, to hide in the dark, but I restrained myself: There was generally only one way out of a basement.
At my right a plain door-tapestry opened onto a storeroom of some sort. I peeked inside. There were two windows with clouded glass, and a jumble of dishes, small pieces of furniture, trays, and a row of hooks with aprons and caps on them. That outer door was the servants’ entrance, I realized, and this room was their storeroom.
Colors flickering in the clouded glass brought my attention around. Moving right up next to the window, I listened, and heard the slow clopping of hooves. The rhythm broke, then stopped; from another direction came more hooves, which swiftly got closer.
The house I was in was a corner house, the first in a row. Two search parties met right outside my window, where the alley conjoined with the street.
“Nothing this way, my lord,” someone said.
A horse sidled; another whickered.
Then a familiar voice said, not ten paces from me: “Search the houses. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
733:My gaze fell on a plain door-tapestry at the other end of the room. A service access? I turned and saw a narrow, discreet outline of a door tucked in the corner between two bookshelves; that was the service door, then. Might I find some kind of archive beyond that tapestry?
I crossed the room, heard no noise beyond, so I lifted the tapestry.
The room was small, filled with light. It was a corner room, with two entrances, floor-to-ceiling windows in two walls, and bookshelves everywhere else. In the slanting rays of the morning sun I saw a writing table angled between the windows--and kneeling at the table, dressed in riding clothes, was the Marquis of Shevraeth.
He put down his pen and looked up inquiringly.
Feeling that to run back out would be cowardly, I said, “Your mother invited me to use the library. I thought this might be an archive.”
“It is,” he said. “Memoirs from kings and queens addressed specifically to heirs. Most are about laws. A few are diaries of Court life. Look around.” He picked up the pen again and waved it toward the shelves. “Over there you’ll find the book of laws by Turic the Third, he of the twelve thousand proclamations. Next to it is his daughter’s, rescinding most of them.” He pushed a pile of papers in my direction. “Or if you’d like to peruse something more recent, here are Galdran’s expenditure lists and so forth. They give a fairly comprehensive overview of his policies.”
I stepped into the room and bent down to lift up two or three of the papers. Some were proposals for increases in taxes for certain nobles; the fourth was a list of people “to be watched.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You found these just lying around?”
“Yes,” he said, sitting back on his cushion. The morning light highlighted the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. “He did not expect to be defeated. Your brother and I rode back here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent looting; but such was Galdran’s hold on the place that, even though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms completely undisturbed. I don’t think anyone believed he was really dead--they expected one of his ugly little ploys to catch out ‘traitors.’”
I whistled, turning over another paper. “Wish I could have been there,” I said.
“You could have been.”
This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I could have been there--but I had left without warning, without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to retreat to home and sanity. And memory.
I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and shake his head. Was that regret? For his words--or for my actions that day? ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
734:I went straight back to my room, surprising Mora and one of her staff in the act of packing up my trunk. Apologizing, I hastily unlaced the traveling gown and reached for my riding gear.
Mora gave me a slight smile as she curtsied. “That’s my job, my lady,” she said. “You needn’t apologize.”
I grinned at her as I pulled on the tunic. “Maybe it’s not very courtly, but I feel bad when I make someone do a job twice.”
Mora only smiled as she made a sign to the other servant, who reached for the traveling gown and began folding it up. I thrust my feet into my riding boots, smashed my fancy new riding hat onto my head, and dashed out again.
The Marquis was waiting in the courtyard, standing between two fresh mares. I was relieved that he did not have that fleet-footed gray I remembered from the year before. On his offering me my pick, I grabbed the reins of the nearest mount and swung up into the saddle. The animal danced and sidled as I watched Bran and Nimiar come out of the inn hand in hand. They climbed into the coach, solicitously seen to by the innkeeper himself.
The Marquis looked across at me. “Let’s go.”
And he was off, with me right on his heels.
At first all I was aware of was the cold rain on my chin and the exhilaration of speed. The road was paved, enabling the horses to dash along at the gallop, sending mud and water splashing.
Before long I was soaked to the skin everywhere except my head, which was hot under my riding hat, and when we bolted down the road toward the Akaeriki, I had to laugh aloud at how strange life is! Last year at this very time I was running rain-sodden for my life in the opposite direction, chased by the very same man now racing neck and neck beside me.
The thought caused me to look at him, though there was little to see beyond flying light hair under the broad-brimmed black hat and that long black cloak. He glanced over, saw me laughing, and I looked away again, urging my mount to greater efforts.
At the same pace still, we reached the first staging point. Together we clattered into the innyard and swung down from the saddle. At once two plain-dressed young men came out of the inn, bowed, and handed Shevraeth a blackweave bag. It was obvious from their bearing that they were trained warriors, probably from Renselaeus. For a moment the Marquis stood conversing with them, a tall mud-splashed and anonymously dressed figure. Did anyone else know who he was? Or who I was? Or that we’d been enemies last year?
Again laughter welled up inside me. When I saw stablehands bring forth two fresh mounts, I sprang forward, taking the reins of one, and mounted up. Then I waited until Shevraeth turned my way, stuck my tongue out at him, and rode out at the gallop, laughing all the way. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
735:Curse it,” Bran said the next morning, standing before the fire in shirt and trousers with his shoulder stiffy bandaged. “You think this necessary?”
He pointed at the mail coats lying on the table, their linked steel rings gleaming coldly in the light of two glowglobes. It was well before dawn. The Marquis had woken us himself, with the news that Galdran’s forces were nigh. And his messengers had brought from Renselaeus the mail coats, newly made and expensive.
“Treachery--” Shevraeth paused to cough and to catch his breath. He, too, stood there in only shirt and trousers and boots, and I looked away quickly, embarrassed. “We should be prepared for treachery. It was his idea to send archers against you in the mountains. He will have them with him now.” He coughed again, the rattling cough of a heavy cold.
I sighed. My own fever and aches had all settled into my throat, and my voice was gone.
Bran was the worst off. Besides the wound in his shoulder, he coughed, sneezed, and sounded hoarse. His eyes and nose watered constantly. Luckily the Renselaeus munificence extended to a besorceled handkerchief that stayed dry and clean despite its heavy use.
Groaning and wincing, Bran lifted his arm just high enough for a couple of equerries to slip the chain mail over his head. As it settled onto him, chinging softly, he winced and said, “Feels like I’ve got a horse lying athwart my shoulders.”
I picked up the one set aside for me and retreated to my room to put it on, and then the tunic they’d given me. Branaric’s wallet containing Debegri’s letter lay safe and snug in my waistband.
When I came back, Branaric started laughing. “A mouse in mail!” he said, pointing. He and Shevraeth both had battle tunics on, and swords belted at their sides; they looked formidable, whereas I felt I looked ridiculous. My mail shirt was the smallest of the three, but it was still much too large, and it bunched and folded beneath my already outsized tunic, making me feel like an overstuffed cushion.
But the Marquis said nothing at all as he indicated a table where a choice of weapons lay, with belts and baldrics of various sizes and styles. In silence I belted on a short sword similar to the one I’d thrown down in surrender above the Vesingrui fortress. I found a helm that fit pretty well over my braid coronet, and then I was ready.
Within a short time we were mounted on fresh chargers that were also armored. Despite the chill outside I started warm, for we’d each drunk an infusion of listerblossoms against illness.
Our way was lit by torches as we raced over the ancient road, under trees that had been old before my family first came to Tlanth. Except for the rhythm of hooves there was no sound, but I sensed that forest life was watching us. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
736:Your brother is a dear, and I do love him for the way he never fears to tell the truth. But he really doesn’t understand some things, does he?”
“No,” I squeaked. My voice seemed to come from someone else.
Nimiar ran her fingers along the harp strings and cocked her head, listening to the sounds they produced. “No one,” she said, “--well, no ordinary person-sits down to a harp and plays perfectly. It takes time and training.”
I nodded stupidly.
She dropped her hands. “When Branaric came to Athanarel, he knew nothing of etiquette or Court custom. Arrived wearing cast-off war gear belonging to Lord Vidanric, his arm in a dirty sling, his nose red from a juicy cold. There are those at Court who would have chewed him like jackals with a bone, except he freely admitted to being a rustic. Thought it a very good joke. Then he’d been brought by the Marquis, who is a leader of fashion, and Savona took to him instantly. The Duke of Savona is another leader. And…” She hesitated. “And certain women who also lead fashion liked him. Added was the fact that you Astiars have become something of heroes, and it became a fad to teach him. His blunt speech was a refreshing change, and he doesn’t care at all what people think of him. But you do, don’t you?” She peered into my face. “You care--terribly.”
I bit my lip.
She touched my wrist. “Let us make a pact. If you will come to Athanarel and dance at my wedding, I will undertake to teach you everything you need to know about Court life. And I’ll help you select a wardrobe--and no one need ever know.”
I swallowed, then took a deep, unsteady breath.
“What is it?” She looked unhappy. “Do you mistrust me?”
I shook my head so hard my coronet came loose, and a loop settled over one eye. “They would know,” I whispered, waving a hand.
“They? Your servants? Oh. You mean Branaric and Lord Vidanric?”
I nodded. “They’ll surely want to know my reasons. Since I didn’t come to Court before.” I thought of that letter hidden in my room and wondered if its arrival and Shevraeth’s on the same day had some sinister political meaning.
She smiled. “Don’t worry about Bran. All he wants, you must see, is to show you off at Athanarel. He knew you were refurbishing this castle, and I rather think he assumed you were--somehow--learning everything he was learning and obtaining a fashionable wardrobe as well. And every time he talks of you it’s always to say how much more clever you are than he is. I really think he expected to bring us here and find you waiting as gowned and jeweled as my cousin Tamara.”
I winced. “That sounds, in truth, like Branaric.”
“And as for Vidanric, well, you’re safe there. I’ve never met anyone as closemouthed, when he wants to be. He won’t ask your reasons. What?”
“I said, ‘Hah. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
737:Nee and I walked on in silence for a time, then she said in a guarded voice, “What think you of my cousin?”
“So that is the famous Lady Tamara Chamadis! Well, she really is as pretty as I’d heard,” I said. “But…I don’t know. Somehow she embodies everything I’d thought a courtier would be.”
“Fair enough.” Nee nodded. “Then I guess it’s safe for me to say--at risk of appearing a detestable gossip--watch out.”
I touched the top of my hand where I could still feel the Duke of Savona’s kiss. “All right. But I don’t understand why.”
“She is ambitious,” Nee said slowly. “Even when we were young she never had the time for any of lower status. I believe that if Galdran Merindar had shown any interest in sharing his power, she would have married him.”
“She wants to rule the kingdom?” I asked, glancing behind us. The secluded little pool was bounded by trees and hidden from view.
“She wants to reign over Court,” Nee stated. “Her interest in the multitudes of ordinary citizens extends only to the image of them bowing down to her.”
I whistled. “That’s a pretty comprehensive judgment.”
“Perhaps I have spoken ill,” she said contritely. “You must understand that I don’t like my cousin, having endured indifference or snubs since we were small, an heir’s condescension for a third child of a secondary branch of the family who would never inherit or amount to much.”
“She seemed friendly enough just now.”
“The first time she ever addressed me as cousin in public,” Nee said. “My status appears to have changed since I went away to Tlanth, affianced to a count, with the possible new king riding escort.” Her voice took on an acidic sort of humor.
“And what about the Duke of Savona?” I asked, his image vivid in my mind’s eye.
“In what sense?” She paused, turning to study my face. “He is another whose state of mind is impossible to guess.”
I was still trying to disentangle all my observations from that brief meeting. “Is he, well, twoing with Lady Tamara?”
She smiled at the term. “They both are experts at dalliance, but until last year I had thought they had more interest in each other than in anyone else,” she said carefully. “Though even that is difficult to say for certain. Interest and ambition sometimes overlap and sometimes not.”
As we wound our way along the path back toward Athanarel in the deepening gloom, I saw warm golden light inside the palace windows. With a glorious flicker, glowglobes appeared along the pathway, suspended in the air like great rainbow-sheened bubbles, their light soft and benevolent.
“I’m not certain what you mean by that last bit,” I said at last. “As for the first, you said ‘until last year.’ Does that mean that Lady Tamara has someone else in view?”
“But of course,” Nee said blandly. “The Marquis of Shevraeth.”
I laughed all the way up the steps into the Residence. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
738:At some unseen signal the long line of guards around me stopped and their spears thudded to the floor with a noise that sounded like doom.
Then a tall figure with a long black cloak walked past us, plumed and coroneted helm carried in his gloved right hand. For a moment I didn’t recognize the Marquis; somewhere along the way he’d gotten rid of his anonymous clothing and was now clad in a long black battle tunic, Remalna’s crowned sun stitched on its breast. At his side hung his sword; his hair was braided back. He passed by without so much as a glance at me. His eyes were slack lidded, his expression bored.
He stopped before a dais, on which was a throne made of carved wood--a piece of goldwood so beautifully veined with golds and reds and umbers it looked like fire--and bowed low.
I was tempted to try hopping on my one good foot in order to get a glimpse of the enemy on the throne, but I didn’t--and a moment later was glad I hadn’t, for I saw the flash of a ring as Galdran waved carelessly at the guards. The four in front promptly stepped to each side, affording a clear field of vision between the King and me. I saw a tall, massively built man whose girth was running to portliness. Long red hair with gems braided into it, large nose, large ears, high forehead, pale blue eyes. He wore a long, carefully cultivated mustache. His mouth stretched in a cruel smile.
“So you won your wager, Shevraeth, eh?” he said. The tone was jovial, but there was an ugly edge to the voice that scared me.
“As well, Your Majesty,” the Marquis drawled. “The dirt, the stretches of boredom…really, had it taken two days more, I could not have supported it, much as I’d regret the damage to my reputation for reneging on a bet.”
Galdran fingered his mustache, then waved at me. “Are you certain someone hasn’t been making a game of you? That looks like a scullery wench.”
“I assure you, Your Majesty, this is Lady Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth.”
Galdran stepped down from his dais and came within about five paces of me, and looked me over from head to heels. The cruel smile widened. “I never expected much of that half-mad old man, but this is really rich!” He threw back his head and laughed.
And from all sides of the room laughter resounded up the walls, echoing from the rafters.
When it had died, Galdran said, “Cheer up, wench. You’ll have your brother soon for company, and your heads will make a nice matched set over the palace gates.” Once again he went off into laughter, and he gestured to the guards to take me away.
I opened my mouth to yell a parting insult but I was jerked to one side, which hurt my leg so much all I could do was gasp for breath. The echoes of the Court’s laughter followed into the plain-walled corridor that the soldiers took me down, and then a heavy steel door slammed shut, and there was no sound beyond the marching of the guard and my own harsh breathing. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
739:We stepped into the very inn in which we’d had our initial conversation; we passed the little room I had stood outside of, and I shuddered. Now we had a bigger one, but I was too tired to notice much beyond comfortable cushions and warmth. As I sank down, I saw glowing rings around the candles and rubbed my eyes.
When I looked up at Shevraeth, it was in time to catch the end of one of those assessing glances. Then he smiled, a real smile of humor and tenderness.
“I knew it,” he said. “I knew that by now you would have managed to see everything as your fault, and you’d be drooping under the weight.”
“Why did you do it?” I answered, too tired to even try to keep my balance. Someone set down a tray of hot chocolate, and I hiccupped, snorted in a deep breath, and with an attempt at the steadying influence of laughter, added, “Near as I can see I’ve been about as pleasant to be around as an angry bee swarm.”
“At times,” he agreed. “But I take our wretched beginning as my own fault. I merely wanted to intimidate you--and through you, your brother--into withdrawing from the field. What a mess you made of my plans! Every single day I had to re-form them. I’d get everyone and everything set on a new course, and you’d manage to hare off and smash it to shards again, all with the best of motives, and actions as gallant as ever I’ve seen, from man or woman.” He smiled, but I just groaned into my chocolate. “By the time I realized I was going to have to figure you into the plans, you were having none of me, or them. At the same time, you managed to win everyone you encountered--save the Merindars--to your side.”
“I understand about the war. And I even understand why you had to come to Tlanth.” I sighed. “But that doesn’t explain the letters.”
“I think I fell in love with you the day you stood before Galdran in the Throne Room, surrounded by what you thought were enemies, and glared at him without a trace of fear. I knew it when you sat across from me at your table in Tlanth and argued so passionately about the fairest way to disperse an army, with no other motive besides testing your theories. It also became clear to me on that visit that you showed one face to all the rest of the world, and another to me. But after you had been at Athanarel a week, Russav insisted that my cause was not hopeless.”
“Savona? How did he know?”
The Marquis shook his head. “You’d have to address that question to him.”
I rubbed my eyes again. “So his flirtation was false.”
“I asked him to make you popular,” Shevraeth admitted. “Though he will assure you that he found the task thoroughly enjoyable. I wanted your experience of Court to be as easy as possible. Your brother just shrugged off the initial barbs and affronts, but I knew they’d slay you. We did our best to protect you from them, though your handling of the situation with Tamara showed us that you were very capable of directing your own affairs. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
740:What?” I yelled. And I opened my mouth to complain Nobody told me anything, but I recalled a certain interview, not long ago, that had ended rather abruptly when a candleholder had--ah--changed hands. Grimacing, I said in a more normal voice, “When did this happen?”
“That’s the joke on us.” Bran laughed. “They’ve been at it as long as we have. Longer, even.”
I looked from father to son and read nothing in those bland, polite faces. “Then…why…didn’t you respond to our letter?”
As I spoke the words, a lot of things started making sense.
I thought back to what Ara’s father had said, and then I remembered Shevraeth’s words about the purpose of a court. When I glanced at Prince Alaerec, he saluted me with his wineglass; just a little gesture, but I read in it that he had comprehended a good deal of my thoughts.
Which meant that my face, as usual, gave me away--and of course this thought made my cheeks burn.
He said, “We admire--tremendously--your courageous efforts to right the egregious wrongs obtaining in Remalna.”
Thinking again of Ara’s father and Master Kepruid the innkeeper, I said, “But the people don’t welcome armies trampling through their houses and land, even armies on their side. I take it you’ve figured out some miraculous way around this?”
Bran slapped his palm down on the table. “That’s it, Mel--where we’ve been blind. We were trying to push our way in from without, but Shevraeth, here, has been working from within.” He nodded in the Prince’s direction. “Both--all three of ‘em, in fact.”
I blinked, trying to equate with a deadly plot an old, imperious voice whose single purpose seemed to be the safety of her clothing. “The Princess is part of this, too?”
“She is the one who arranged your escape from Athanarel,” Shevraeth said to me. “The hardest part was finding your spy.”
“You knew about Azmus?”
“I knew you had to have had some kind of contact in Remalna-city, from some of the things you said during our earlier journey. We had no idea who, or what, but we assumed that this person would display the same level of loyalty your compatriots had when you first fell into our hands, and I had people wait to see who might be lurking around the palace, watching.”
Questions crowded my thoughts. But I pushed them all aside, focusing on the main one. “If you’re rebelling, then you must have someone in mind for the throne. Who?”
Bran pointed across the table at Shevraeth. “He seems to want to do it, and I have to say, he’d be better at it than I.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I said without thinking.
Bran winced and rubbed his chin. “Mel…”
“Please, my dear Lord Branaric,” the Prince murmured. “Permit the lady to speak. I am interested to hear her thoughts on the matter.”
Rude as I’d been before, my response had shocked even me, and I hadn’t intended to say anything more. Now I sneaked a peek at the Marquis, who just sat with his goblet in his fingers, his expression one of mild questioning. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
741:I can believe that things are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen – I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
742:I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen—I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theatres from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, life is a cruel joke and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
743:I crossed the garden, staying near the hedgerow borders until the pathway debouched onto one of the lovely brick streets. A quick glance down the street revealed scarcely any traffic--but way up at the other end were two tall, armed individuals wearing blue and black-and-white livery.
Which meant the Marquis was somewhere around.
For a moment I indulged in a brief but satisfying daydream of scoring him off as I had off the Baron the night before. But amusing as the daydream was, I was not about to go searching him out.
First of all, while I didn’t look like I had before, the dress wasn’t much of a disguise; and second…I frowned. Despite his reputation as a fop and a gamester, I wasn’t all that certain he would react as slowly as Debegri had.
I retreated back to the garden to think out my next step. Mist was falling, boding ill weather for the remainder of the day. And my stomach felt as if it had been permanently pressed against the back of my spine.
I pulled the laces of the bodice tighter, hoping that would help, then sat on a rock and propped my elbows on my knees.
“Are you lost?”
The voice, a quiet one, made me start violently. My shoulders came up defensively as I turned to face an elderly man. He was elegantly dressed, wearing a fine hat in the latest fashion, and carried no weapons.
“Oh no. I was supposed to meet someone here, and…” I shrugged, thinking wildly. “A-a flirt,” I added, I don’t know why. “I guess he changed his mind.” I got to my feet again.
The man smiled a little. “It happens more frequently than not when one is young, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”
“Oh, I know.” I waved my hands as I backed up one step, then another. “They smile, and dance, and then go off with someone else. But I’ll just find someone better. So I’ll be on my way,” I babbled.
He nodded politely, almost a bow, and I whirled around and scurried down the path.
Even more intensely than before, I felt that crawling sensation down my spine, so I dropped off the path and circled back. I was slightly reassured when I saw the old man making his way slowly along the path as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened; but my relief was very short lived.
As I watched, two equerries in Renselaeus livery strode along the path, overtook the man, and addressed him. I watched with my heart thumping like a drum as the man spoke at some length, brushed his fingers against his face--the scratches from the trees!--and then gestured in the direction I had gone.
Expecting the two equerries to immediately take off after me, I braced for a run. Why had I babbled so much? I thought, annoyed with myself. Why didn’t I just say “No” and leave?
But the equerries both turned and walked swiftly back in the direction they’d come, and the old man continued on his way.
What does that mean?
And the answer was not long in coming: They were going back to report.
Which meant a whole lot of them searching. And soon. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
744:When I woke the air was hot and stuffy, and I was immediately aware of being shut up in a small painted-canvas box. But before I could react with more than that initial flash of distress, I realized that the carriage had stopped. I struggled up, wincing against a thumping great headache, just as the door opened.
There was the Marquis, holding his hand out. I took it, making a sour face. At least, I thought as I recognized an innyard, he looks as wind tousled and muddy as I must.
But there was no fanfare, no groups of gawking peasants and servants. He picked me up and carried me through a side door, and thence into a small parlor that overlooked the innyard. Seated on plain hemp-stuffed pillows, I looked out at the stable boy and driver busily changing the horses. The longshadows of late afternoon obscured everything; a cheap time-candle in a corner sconce marked the time as green-three.
Sounds at the door brought my attention around. An inn servant entered, carrying a tray laden with steaming dishes. As she set them out I looked at her face, wondering if I could get a chance to talk to her alone--if she might help a fellow-female being held prisoner?
“Coffee?” the Marquis said, splintering my thoughts.
I looked up, and I swear there was comprehension in those gray eyes.
“Coffee?” I repeated blankly.
“A drinkable blend, from the aroma.” He tossed his hat and riding gloves onto the cushion beside him and leaned forward to pour a brown stream of liquid into two waiting mugs. “A miraculous drink. One of the decided benefits of our world-hopping mages,” he said.
“Mages.” I repeated that as well, trying to marshal my thoughts, which wanted to scamper, like frightened mice, in six different directions.
“Coffee. Horses.” A careless wave toward the innyard. “Chocolate. Kinthus. Laimun. Several of the luxuries that are not native to our world, brought here from others.”
I could count the times we’d managed to get ahold of coffee, and I hadn’t cared for its bitterness. But as I watched, honey and cream were spooned into the dark beverage, and when I did take a cautious sip, it was delicious. With the taste came warmth, a sense almost of well-being. For a short time I was content to sit, with my eyes closed, and savor the drink.
The welcome smell of braised potatoes and clear soup brought my attention back to the present. When I opened my eyes, there was the food, waiting before me.
“You had probably better not eat much more than that,” said the Marquis. “We have a long ride ahead of us tonight, and you wouldn’t want to regret your first good meal in days.”
In weeks, I thought as I picked up a spoon, but I didn’t say it out loud--it felt disloyal somehow.
Then the sense of what he’d said sank in, and I almost lost my appetite again. “How long to the capital?”
“We will arrive sometime tomorrow morning,” he said.
I grimaced down at my soup, then braced myself up, thinking that I’d better eat, hungry or not, for I’d need my strength. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
745:Ah, my dear,” Princess Elestra said to me in her fluting voice--that very same voice I remembered so well from my escape from Athanarel the year before. “How delighted we are to have you join us here. Delighted! I understand there will be a ball in your honor tomorrow, hosted by my nephew Russav.” She nodded toward the other side of the room, where the newly arrived Duke of Savona stood in the center of a small group. “He seldom bestirs himself this way, so you must take it as a compliment to you!”
“Thank you,” I murmured, my heart now drumming.
I was glad to move aside and let Branaric take my place. I didn’t hear what he said, but he made them both laugh; then he too moved aside, and the Prince and Princess presented us to the red-haired woman, who was indeed the Marquise of Merindar. She nodded politely but did not speak, nor did she betray the slightest sign of interest in us.
We were then introduced to the ambassadors from Denlieff, Hundruith, and Charas al Kherval. This last one, of course, drew my interest, though I did my best to observe her covertly. A tall woman of middle age, her manner was polite, gracious, and utterly opaque.
“Family party, you say?” Branaric’s voice caught at my attention. He rubbed his hands. “Well, you’re related one way or another to half the Court, Danric, so if we’ve enough people to hand, how about some music?”
“If you like,” said Shevraeth. He’d appeared quietly, without causing any stir. “It can be arranged.” The Marquis was dressed in sober colors, his hair braided and gemmed for a formal occasion; though as tall as the flamboyantly dressed Duke of Savona, he was slender next to his cousin.
He remained very much in the background, talking quietly with this or that person. The focus of the reception was on the Prince and Princess, and on Bran and me, and, in a strange way, on the ambassador from Charas al Kherval. I sensed that something important was going on below the surface of the polite chitchat, but I couldn’t discern what--and then suddenly it was time to go in to dinner.
With a graceful bow, the Prince held out his arm to me, moving with slow deliberation. If it hurt him to walk, he showed no sign, and his back was straight and his manner attentive. The Princess went in with Branaric, Shevraeth with the Marquise, Savona with the Empress’s ambassador, and Nimiar with the southern ambassador. The others trailed in order of rank.
I managed all right with the chairs and the high table. After we were served, I stole a few glances at Shevraeth and the Marquise of Merindar. They conversed in what appeared to be amity. It was equally true of all the others. Perfectly controlled, from their fingertips to their serene brows, none of them betrayed any emotion but polite attentiveness. Only my brother stood out, his face changing as he talked, his laugh real when he dropped his fork, his shrug careless. It seemed to me that the others found him a relief, for the smiles he caused were quicker, the glances brighter--not that he noticed. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
746:I can believe things that are true and things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not.
I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.
I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.
I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.
I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.
I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.
I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.
I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.
I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.
I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
747:Loss of prestige? In what way?” I asked.
He sat back, his eyes glinting with amusement. “First there was the matter of a--very--public announcement of a pending execution, following which the intended victim escapes. Then…didn’t you stop to consider that the countryside folk who endured many long days of constant martial interference in the form of searches, curfews, and threats might have a few questions about the justice of said threats--or the efficacy of all these armed and mounted soldiery tramping through their fields and farms unsuccessfully trying to flush a single unarmed, rather unprepossessing individual? Especially when said individual took great care not to endanger anyone beyond the first--anonymous--family to give her succor, to whom she promised there would be no civil war?”
I gasped. “I never promised that. How could I? I promised that Bran and I wouldn’t carry our fight into their territory.”
Shevraeth’s smile was wry. “But you must know how gossip gets distorted when it burns across the countryside, faster than a summer hayfire. And you had given the word of a countess. You have to remember that a good part of our…influence…is vouchsafed in our status, after the manner of centuries of habit. It is a strength and a weakness, a good and an evil.”
I winced, thinking of Ara, who knew more about history than I did.
“Though you seem to be completely unaware of it, you have become a heroine to the entire kingdom. What is probably more important to you is that your cause is now on everyone’s lips, even if--so far--it’s only being whispered about. With the best will in the world, Galdran’s spies could only find out what was being said, but not by whom. Imagine, if you can, the effect.”
I tried. Too tired to actually think of much beyond when I might lay my head down, and where, I looked across the room at that bed--then away quickly--and said as stoutly as I could, “I hope it skewered him good.”
“He’s angry enough to be on his way to face us, but we shall discuss it later. Permit me to suggest that you avail yourself of the room next to your brother’s, which was hastily excavated last night. We’ll be using this place as our command post for the next day or so.”
I wavered to my feet, swayed, leaned against the wall. “Yes. Well.” I tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing came to mind.
So I walked out and found my way to the room, unlatched the door. A tiny corner hearth radiated a friendly heat from a fire. A fire--they used a Fire Stick just for me. Was there a family somewhere doing without? Or did the Hill Folk know--somehow--of the Marquis’s cause, and had they tendered their approval by giving his people extras? I shook my head, beyond comprehending anything. Near the fireplace was a campbed, nicely set up, with a bedroll all stretched out and waiting, and a folded cloak for a pillow.
Somehow I got my muddy, soggy clothes off and slid the wallet with Debegri’s letter under the folded-cloak pillow. Then I climbed into that bed, and I don’t remember putting my head down. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
748:Having proven that solitary pleasures are as delicious as any others and much more likely to delight, it becomes perfectly clear that this enjoyment, taken in independence of the objectwe employ, is not merely of a nature very remote from what could be pleasurable to thatobject, but is even found to be inimical to that object’s pleasure: what is more, it may becomean imposed suffering, a vexation, or a torture, and the only thing that results from this abuse isa very certain increase of pleasure for the despot who does the tormenting or vexing; let usattempt to demonstrate this.”Voluptuous emotion is nothing but a kind of vibration produced in our soul by shockswhich the imagination, inflamed by the remembrance of a lubricious object, registers uponour senses, either through this object’s presence, or better still by this object’s being exposedto that particular kind of irritation which most profoundly stirs us; thus, our voluptuoustransport Ä this indescribable convulsive needling which drives us wild, which lifts us to thehighest pitch of happiness at which man is able to arrive Ä is never ignited save by twocauses: either by the perception in the object we use of a real or imaginary beauty, the beautyin which we delight the most, or by the sight of that object undergoing the strongest possiblesensation; now, there is no more lively sensation than that of pain; its impressions are certainand dependable, they never deceive as may those of the pleasure women perpetually feign andalmost never experience; and, furthermore, how much self-confidence, youth, vigor, healthare not needed in order to be sure of producing this dubious and hardly very satisfyingimpression of pleasure in a woman. To produce the painful impression, on the contrary,requires no virtues at all: the more defects a man may have, the older he is, the less lovable,the more resounding his success. With what regards the objective, it will be far more certainlyattained since we are establishing the fact that one never better touches, I wish to say, that onenever better irritates one’s senses than when the greatest possible impression has been produced in the employed object, by no matter what devices; therefore, he who will cause themost tumultuous impression to be born in a woman, he who will most thoroughly convulsethis woman’s entire frame, very decidedly will have managed to procure himself the heaviest possible dose of voluptuousness, because the shock resultant upon us by the impressionsothers experience, which shock in turn is necessitated by the impression we have of thoseothers, will necessarily be more vigorous if the impression these others receive be painful,than if the impression they receive be sweet and mild; and it follows that the voluptuousegoist, who is persuaded his pleasures will be keen only insofar as they are entire, willtherefore impose, when he has it in his power to do so, the strongest possible dose of painupon the employed object, fully certain that what by way of voluptuous pleasure he extractswill be his only by dint of the very lively impression he has produced. ~ Marquis de Sade, #NFDB
749:longer; it cannot deceive them too much." Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation. "As to you," said she, "you would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?" "Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment." "If you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?" "Truly yes, madame." "Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?" "It is true, madame." "You have seen both dolls and birds to-day," said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent; "now, go home!" XVI. Still Knitting Madame Defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees. Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. A rumour just lived in the village—had a faint and bare existence there, as its people had—that when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain; also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty feet above the fountain, they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear for ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there. Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well—thousands of acres of land—a whole province of France—all France itself—lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line. So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible ~ Charles Dickens, #NFDB
750:«It's not easy to believe.»
«I» she told him, «I can believe anything. You have no idea what I can believe.»
«Really?»
«I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in "War of the Worlds". I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kind of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.» ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
751:Why hadn’t he told me? Because I’d called him a liar and untrustworthy, and had made it plain I wasn’t going to change my opinion, no matter what. Then why hadn’t he told my brother, who did trust him?
That I couldn’t answer. And in a sense it didn’t matter. What did matter was that I had been wrong about Shevraeth. I had been so wrong I had nearly gotten a lot of people killed for no reason.
Just thinking it made me grit my teeth, and in a way it felt almost as bad as cleaning the fester from my wounded foot. Which was right, because I had to clean out from my mind the fester caused by anger and hatred. I remembered suddenly that horrible day in Galdran’s dungeon when the Marquis had come to me himself and offered me a choice between death and surrender. “It might buy you time,” he’d said.
At that moment I’d seen surrender as dishonor, and it had taken courage to refuse. He’d seen that and had acknowledged it in many different ways, including his words two days before about my being a heroine. Generous words, meant to brace me up. What I saw now was the grim courage it had taken to act his part in Galdran’s Court, all the time planning to change things with the least amount of damage to innocent people. And when Branaric and I had come crashing into his plans, he’d included us as much as he could in his net of safety. My subsequent brushes with death were, I saw miserably now, my own fault.
I had to respect what he’d done. He’d come to respect us for our ideals, that much was clear. What he might think of me personally…
Suddenly I felt an overwhelming desire to be home. I wanted badly to clean out our castle, and replant Mama’s garden, and walk in the sunny glades, and think, and read, and learn. I no longer wanted to face the world in ignorance, wearing castoff clothing and old horse blankets.
But first there was something I had to do.
I slipped out the door; paused, listening. From Branaric’s room came the sound of slow, deep breathing. I stepped inside the room Shevraeth had been using, saw a half-folded map on the table, a neat pile of papers, a pen and inkwell, and a folded pair of gloves.
Pulling out the wallet from my clothes, I opened it and extracted Debegri’s letter. This I laid on the table beside the papers. Then I knelt down and picked up the pen. Finding a blank sheet of paper, I wrote in slow, careful letters: You’ll probably need this to convince Galdran’s old allies.
Then I retreated to my room, pulled the borrowed tunic over my head, bound up my ratty braid, settled the overlarge hat onto my head, and slipped out the door.
At the end of the little hall was another door, which opened onto a clearing. Under a dilapidated roof waited a string of fine horses, and a few Renselaeus stable hands sat about.
When they saw me, they sprang to their feet.
“My lady?” One bowed.
“I should like a ride,” I said, my heart thumping.
But they didn’t argue, or refuse, or send someone to warn someone else. Working together, in a trice they had a fine, fresh mare saddled and ready.
And in another trice I was on her back and riding out, on my way home. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
752:Posso acreditar em coisas que são verdade e posso acreditar em coisas que não são verdade. E posso acreditar em coisas que ninguém sabe se são verdade ou não. Posso acreditar no Papai Noel, no coelhinho da Páscoa, na Marilyn Monroe, nos Beatles, no Elvis e no Mister Ed. Ouça bem... Eu acredito que as pessoas evoluem, que o saber é infinito, que o mundo é comandado por cartéis secretos de banqueiros e que é visitado por alienígenas regularmente -uns legais, que se parecem com lêmures enrugados, e uns maldosos, que mutilam gado e querem nossa água e nossas mulheres. Acredito que o futuro é um saco e que é demais, e acredito que um dia a Mulher Búfalo Branco vai ficar preta e chutar o traseiro de todo mundo. Também acho que todos homens não passam de meninos crescidos com profundos problemas de comunicação e que o declínio da qualidade do sexo nos Estados Unidos coincide com o declínio dos cinemas drive-in de um Estado ao outro. Acredito que todos os políticos são canalhas sem princípios, mas ainda assim melhores do que as outras alternativas. Acho que a Califórnia vai afundar no mar quando o grande terremoto vier, ao mesmo tempo em que a Flórida vai se dissolver em loucura, em jacarés, em lixo tóxico. Acredito que sabonetes antibactericidas estão destruindo nossa resistência à sujeira e às doenças, de modo que algum dia todos seremos dizimados por uma gripe comum, como aconteceu com os marcianos em Guerra dos Mundos. Acredito que os melhores poetas do século passado foram Edith Sitwell e Don Marquis, que o jade é esperma de dragão seco, e que há milhares de anos em uma vida passada eu era uma xamã siberiana de um braço só. Acho que o destino da humanidade está escrito nas estrelas, que o gosto dos doces era mesmo melhor quando eu era criança, que aerodinamicamente é impossível pra uma abelha grande voar, que a luz é uma onda e uma partícula, que tem um gato em uma caixa em algum lugar que está vivo e que está morto ao mesmo tempo (apesar de que, se não abrirem a caixa algum dia e alimentarem o bicho, ele no fim vai ficar só morto de dois jeitos), e que existem estrelas no universo bilhões de anos mais velhas do que o próprio universo. Acredito em um deus pessoal que cuida de mim e se preocupa comigo e que supervisiona tudo que eu faço, em uma deusa impessoal que botou o universo em movimento e saiu fora pra ficar com as amigas dela e nem sabe que estou viva. Eu acredito em um universo vazio e sem deus, um universo com caos causal, um passado tumultuado e pura sorte cega. Acredito que qualquer pessoa que diz que o sexo é supervalorizado nunca fez direito, que qualquer um que diz saber o que está acontecendo pode mentir a respeito de coisas pequenas. Acredito na honestidade absoluta e em mentiras sociais sensatas. Acredito no direito das mulheres à escolha, no direito dos bebês de viver, que, ao mesmo tempo em que toda vida humana é sagrada, não tem nada de errado com a pena de morte se for possível confiar no sistema legal sem restrições, e que ninguém, a não ser um imbecil, confiaria no sistema legal. Acredito que a vida é um jogo, uma piada cruel e que a vida é o que acontece quando se está vivo e o melhor é relaxar e aproveitar. ~ Neil Gaiman, #NFDB
753:The forestland thickened at one point, and without warning it opened onto a road. Fading back behind a screen of ferns, I watched the traffic. It appeared I’d reached a major crossroads. A stone marker at the intersection indicated the Akaeriki road downhill, and to the north lay the town of Thoresk.
A town. Surely one anonymous female could lose herself in a town? And while she was at it, find some shelter?
Big raindrops started plopping in the leaves around me. The coming storm wouldn’t be warded by tree branches and leaves, that was for certain. Clutching my half-empty basket to my side, I started up the road, careful not to limp if anyone came into view from the opposite direction.
I saw a line of slow wagons up ahead, with a group of small children gamboling around them. I hurried my pace slightly so I would look like I belonged with them; I had nearly caught up when a deep thundering noise seemed to vibrate up from the ground.
“Cavalcade! Cavalcade!” a high childish voice shrieked.
The farmers clucked at their oxen and the wagons hulked and swung, metal frames creaking, over to one side. The children ran up the grassy bank beside the road, hopping and shrieking with excitement.
Feeling my knees go suddenly watery, I scrambled up the bank as well, then sat in the grass with my basket on my lap. I checked my kerchief surreptitiously and snatched my hand down as two banner-carrying outriders galloped into view around the bend I’d walked so shortly before.
Behind them a single rider cantered on a nervous white horse. The rider was short but strongly built. A gray beard, finicky mustache, and long hair marked him as a noble; his mouth and eyes were narrowed, whether in habit or in anger I didn’t know--but my instinctive reaction to him was fear.
He wore the plumed helm of a commander, and his battle tunic was brown velvet. He had passed by before I realized that I had very nearly come face-to-face with Baron Nenthar Debegri, Galdran Merindar’s former--and now present--commander.
Then behind him came row on row of soldiers, all formidably armed, riding three abreast. Dust and mud flew from the horses’ hooves, and the noise was enough to set the oxen bellowing in distress and pulling at their traces. Seven, eight, nine ridings--a full wing.
A full wing of warriors, all to search for me? I didn’t know whether to laugh or to faint in terror. So I just sat there numbly and watched them all ride by--a very strange kind of review.
As the end of the cavalcade at last drew nigh, the children were already skidding down the bank. My eyes, caught by a change in color, lifted. Instead of rows of brown-and-green battle gear, the last portion were in blue with black and white, their device three stars above a coronet. As my astonished mind registered that this was the Renselaeus device, my gaze was drawn to the single rider leading their formation.
A single rider on a dapple-gray. Tall in the saddle, long blond hair flying in the wind, hat so low it shadowed the upper portion of his face, the Marquis of Shevraeth rode by.
And as he drew abreast, his head lifted slightly, turned, and he stared straight into my eyes. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
754:I," she told him, "can believe anything. You have no idea what I can believe."
"Really?"
"I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theatres from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in this universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, life is a cruel joke and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." She stopped, out of breath.
Shadow almost took his hands off the wheel to applaud. ~ Neil Gaiman,#NFDB
755:He caught it one-handed, set it gently back in its place.
I clenched my teeth together to keep from screaming.
The Marquis stepped to the door, opened it. “Please bring Lord Branaric here.”
Then he sat down in one of the window seats and looked out as though nothing had happened. I turned my back and glared out the other window, and a long, terrible silence drained my wits entirely until the door was suddenly thrust open by an impatient hand; and there was my brother, tall, thinner than I remembered, and clean. “Mel!” he exclaimed.
“Bran,” I squawked, and hurled myself into his arms.
After a moment of incoherent questions on my part, he patted my back then held me out at arm’s length. “Here, Mel, what’s this? You look like death’s cousin! Where’d you get that black eye? And your hands--“ He turned over my wrists, squinting down at the healing rope burns. “Curse it, what’s toward?”
“Debegri,” I managed, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Bran, that’s not the worst of it. Look at this!” I stuck out my bare foot to show the purple scars. “That horrid trap--“
“We pulled ‘em all out,” he said, and grimaced. “It was the Hill Folk sent someone to tell us about you--that’s a first, and did it scare me!--but by the time we got down the mountain, you were gone. I’m sorry, Mel. You were right.”
“I was s-s-s-stupid. I got caught, and now we’re both in trouble,” I wailed into his shoulder.
The carved door snicked shut, and I realized we were alone. I gave a great sob that seemed to come up from my dusty bare toes, and all those pent-up emotions stormed out. Bran sighed and just held me for a long time, until at last I got control again and pulled away, hiccoughing. “T-Tell me how everyone is, and what happened?”
“Khesot, Julen, both are fine. Hrani cut up bad, but coming through. We lost young Omic and two of those Faluir villagers. That was when we tried a couple of runs on the greenie camp. Afterward, though, we got up Debegri’s nose but good,” he said with a grin. “Ho! I don’t like to remember those early days. Our people were absolutely wild, mostly mad at me about those accursed traps. After our second run, Shevraeth sent a warning under truce. Said you were on your way to Remalna-city, and we should hole up against further communication. Then we found out that the King had gone off on one of his tantrums--apparently wasn’t best pleased to find that this fop of a marquis had done better in two weeks than his cousin had in two months, and gave the command back to Debegri. We enjoyed that.” He grinned again, then winced. “Until Azmus appeared. Nearly killed himself getting to our camp. Told us about the King’s threat, and your escape, and that you’d disappeared and he couldn’t find you. Debegri left, with half his army, and we knew it was to search for you. We waited for word. Bad time, there.”
“You think it was bad…” I started.
“Mmm.” He hugged me again. “Tell me.”
Vivid images chased through my mind: Shevraeth over the campfire; Galdran’s throne room and that horrible laughter; the escape; what Ara’s mother said; that fortress. I didn’t know how to begin, so I shook my head and said, “Never mind it now. Tell me more. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
756:Khesot was looking not at the map but at us, his old eyes sad.
I winced, knowing what he’d say if asked: that he had not been trained for his position any more than nature had suited Bran and me for war.
But there was no other choice.
“So if Hrani takes her riding up here on Mount Elios, mayhap they can spy out Galdran’s numbers better,” Branaric said slowly. “Then we send out someone to lure ‘em to the Ghost Fall Ravine.”
I forced my attention back to the map. “Even if the Marquis fails to see so obvious a trap,” I said, finally, smoothing a wrinkle with my fingers, “they’re necessarily all strung out going through that bottleneck. I don’t see how we can account for many of them before they figure out what we’re at, and retreat. I say we strike fast, in total surprise. We could set fire to their tents and steal all their mounts. That’d set ‘em back a little.”
Bran frowned. “None of our attempts to scare ‘em off have worked, though--even with Debegri. He just sent for more reinforcements, and now there’s this new commander. Attacking their camp sounds more risky to us than to them.”
Khesot still said nothing, leaning over only to tap out and reload his pipe. I followed the direction of his gaze to my brother’s face. Had Branaric been born without title or parental plans, he probably would have found his way into a band of traveling players and there enjoyed a life’s contentment. Did one not know him by sight, there was no sign in his worn dress or in his manner that he was a count--and this was even more true for me. I looked at Khesot and wondered if he felt sad that though today was my Flower Day there would be no dancing--no music, or laughter, or family to celebrate the leaving of childhood behind. Among the aristocrats in the lowlands, Flower Day was celebrated with fine dresses and satin slippers and expensive gifts. Did he pity us?
He couldn’t understand that I had no regrets for something I’d never known--and believed I never would know. But I controlled my impatience, and my tongue, because I knew from long experience that he was again seeing our mother in us--in our wide, dark-lashed eyes and auburn hair--and she had dearly loved pretty clothing, music, her rose garden.
And Galdran had had her killed.
“What do you think?” Bran addressed Khesot, who smiled ruefully.
“You’ll pardon an old man, my lord, my lady. I’m more tired than I thought. My mind wandered and I did not hear what you asked.”
“Can you second-guess this Shevraeth?” Branaric asked. “He seems to be driving us back into our hills--to what purpose? Why hasn’t he taken over any of our villages? He knows where they lie--and he has the forces. If he does that, traps or no traps, arrows or no arrows, we’re lost. We won’t be able to retake them.”
Khesot puffed again, watching smoke curl lazily toward the tent roof.
In my mind I saw, clearly, that straight-backed figure on the dapple-gray horse, his long black cloak slung back over the animal’s haunches, his plumed helm of command on his head. With either phenomenal courage or outright arrogance he had ignored the possibility of our arrows, the crowned sun stitched on his tunic gleaming in the noonday light as he directed the day’s battle. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
757:Beyond those to another hall, with four doors--not woven doors, but real colorwood ones--redwood, bluewood, goldwood, greenwood--beautifully carved and obviously ancient.
The servants opened one and bowed me into a round-walled room that meant we were in a tower; windows on three sides looked out over the valley. The room was flooded with light, so much that I was dazzled for a moment and had to blink. Shading my eyes, I had a swift impression of a finely carved and gilded redwood table surrounded by blue satin cushions. Then I saw that the room was occupied.
Standing between two of the windows, almost hidden by slanting rays of sun, was a tall figure with pale blond hair.
The Marquis was looking down at the valley, hands clasped behind him. At the sound of the door closing behind me he looked up and came forward, and for a moment was a silhouette in the strong sunlight.
I stood with my back to the door. We were alone.
“Welcome to Renselaeus, Lady Meliara.” And when I did not answer, he pointed to a side table. “Would you like anything to drink? To eat?”
“Why am I here?” I asked in a surly voice, suddenly and acutely aware of how ridiculous I must look dressed in his livery. “You may as well get the threats out at once. All this politeness seems about as false as…” As a courtier’s word, I thought, but speech wouldn’t come and I just shook my head.
He returned no immediate answer; instead seemed absorbed in pouring wine from a fine silver decanter into two jewel-chased goblets. One he held out silently to me.
I wanted to refuse, but I needed somewhere to look and something to do with my hands, and I thought hazily that maybe the wine would clear my head. All of the emotions of the past days seemed to be fighting for prominence in me, making rational thought impossible.
He raised his cup in salute and took a drink. “Would you like to sit down?” He indicated the table. The light fell on the side of his face, and, like on that first morning after we came down from the mountain, I saw the marks of fatigue under his eyes.
“No,” I said, and gulped some wine to fortify myself. “Why aren’t you getting on with the sinister speeches?” I had started off with plenty of bravado, but then a terrible thought occurred, and I squawked, “Bran--”
“No harm has come to your brother,” he said, looking up quickly. “I am endeavoring to find the best way to express--”
Having finished the wine, I slammed the goblet down onto a side table, and to hide my sudden fear--for I didn’t believe him--I said as truculently as possible, “If you’re capable of simple truth, just spit it out.”
“Your brother has agreed to a truce,” the Marquis started.
“Truce? What do you mean, a ‘truce’?” I snarled. “He wouldn’t surrender, he wouldn’t, unless you forced him by threats to me--”
“I have issued no threats. It was only necessary to inform him that you were on your way here. He agreed to join us, for purposes of negotiation--”
A sun seemed to explode behind my eyes. “You’ve got Bran? You used me to get my brother?”
“He’s here,” the Marquis said, but he didn’t get any further.
Giving a wail of sheer rage, I plucked a heavy silver candleholder and flung it straight at his head. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
758:And you really are the Countess of Tlanth?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Emis over on Nikaru Farm is going to be soooo jealous when she finds out. She thinks she’s so very fine a lady, just because she has a cousin in service at Athanarel and her brother in the Guard. There is no news from Athanarel if she doesn’t know it first, or more of it than anyone.”
“What is the news?” I asked, feeling the old fear close round me.
She pursed her lips. “Maybe Mama is right about my tongue running like a fox in the wild. Are you certain you want all this now?”
“Very much,” I said.
“It comes to this: The Duke of Savona and the Marquis of Shevraeth have another wager, on which one can find you first. The King thinks it great sport, and they have people on all the main roads leading west to the mountains.”
“Did they say anything about my escape?”
She shook her head. “Luz overheard some merchants at the Harvest--that’s the inn down the road at Garval--saying they thought it was wizard work or a big conspiracy. I went with Papa when he returned to the Three Rings in Remalna-city, and everyone was talking about it.” She grinned. “Elun Kepruid--he’s the innkeeper’s son at Three Rings, and he likes me plenty--was telling me all the real gossip from the palace. The King was very angry, and at first wanted to execute all the guards who had duty the night you got out, except the ones he really wanted had disappeared, and everyone at Court thought there was a conspiracy, and they were afraid of attack. But then the lords started the wagers and turned it all into a game. Savona swore he’d fling you at the King’s feet inside of two weeks. Baron Debegri, who was just returned from the mountains, said he’d bring your head--then take it and fling it at your brother’s feet. He’s a hard one, the Baron, Emis’s brother said.” She grimaced. “Is this too terrible to hear?”
“No…No. I just need…to think.”
She put her chin on her hands. “Did you see the Duke?”
“Which duke?”
“Savona.” She sighed. “Emis has seen him--twice. She gets to visit her cousin at Winter Festival. She says he’s even more handsome than I can imagine. Four duels…Did you?”
I shook my head. “All I saw was the inside of my cell. And the King. And that Shevraeth,” I added somewhat bitterly.
“He’s supposed to have a head for nothing but clothes. And gambling.” Ara shrugged dismissively. “Everybody thinks it’s really Debegri who--well, got you.”
“What got me was a trap. And it was my own fault.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Mama says I ought not to ask much about what happened. She says the less I know, the less danger there is to my family. You think that’s true?”
Danger to her family. It was a warning. I nodded firmly. “Just forget it, and I’ll make you a promise. If I live through this mess, and things settle down, I’ll tell you everything. How’s that?”
Ara clapped her hands and laughed. “That’s nacky! Especially if you tell me all about your palace in Tlanth. How Emis’s nose will turn purple from envy--when I can tell her, that is!”
I thought of our old castle, with its broken windows and walls, the worn, shabby furnishings and overgrown garden, and sighed. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
759:Now, tell me everything.”
He chuckled and leaned against the door. “That’s a comprehensive command! Where to begin?”
“With Galdran. How did he die?”
“Vidanric. Sword,” Bran said, waving his index finger in a parry-and-thrust. “Just after Galdran tried to brain you from the back. Neatest work I’ve ever seen. He promised to introduce me to his old sword master when we get to Athanarel.”
“’We’? You and the Marquis?”
“We can discuss it when we meet for supper, soon’s he gets back. Life! I don’t think he’s sat down since we returned yestereve. I’m tied here by the heels, healer’s orders, but there’ll be enough for us all to do soon.”
I opened my mouth to say that I did not want to go to Athanarel, but I could almost hear his rallying tone--and the fact, bitterly faced but true, that part of my image as the ignorant little sister guaranteed that Bran seldom took me seriously. So I shook my head instead. “Tell me more.”
“Well, that’s the main of it, in truth. They were all pretty disgusted--both sides, I think--when Galdran went after you. He didn’t even have the courage to face me, and I was weavin’ on my horse like a one-legged rooster. One o’ his bully boys knocked me clean out of the saddle just after Galdran hit you. Anyway, Vidanric went after the King, quick and cool as ice, and the others went after Debegri--but he nearly got away. I say ‘nearly’ because it was one of his own people got him squarely in the back with an arrow--what’s more, that one didn’t sprout. Now, if that ain’t justice, I don’t know what is!” He touched his shoulder.
“What? Arrow? Sprout? Was that somehow related to that strange humming just as everything started--or did I imagine that?”
“Not unless we all did.” Bran looked sober for a moment. “Magic. The Hill Folk were right there, watching and spell casting! First time I ever heard of them interfering in one of our human brangles, but they did. Those arrows from Galdran’s archers all sprouted leaves soon’s they left the bow, and they fell to the ground, and curse me if they didn’t start takin’ root. Soon’s the archers saw that, they threw away their bows and panicked. Weirdest thing I ever saw. That hilltop will be all forest by winter, or I’m a lapdog.”
“Whoosh,” I said, sitting down.
He then remembered the cloth under his arm and tossed it into my lap.
I held up yet another tunic that was shapeless and outsized, but I was glad to see it was plain, thick, and well made.
“Found that in someone’s kit. Knew you hated wearing these.” Bran indicated his own tunic, another of the Renselaeus ones.
Thinking of appearing yet again as a ridiculous figure in ill-fitting, borrowed clothing, I tried to summon a smile. “Thanks.”
He touched his shoulder with tentative fingers, then winced. “I’ll lie down until Vidanric gets back. Then, mind, we’re all to plan together, and soon’s we’re done here, we ride for Athanarel--all three of us.”
“Why all three of us?”
“There’s work that needs doing,” Branaric said, serious again.
“What can I possibly do besides serve as a figure of fun for the Court to laugh at again? I don’t know anything--besides how to lose a war; and I don’t think anyone is requiring that particular bit of knowledge.” I tried to sound reasonable, but even I could hear the bitterness in my own voice. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
760:The news that she had gone of course now spread rapidly, and by lunch time Riseholme had made up its mind what to do, and that was hermetically to close its lips for ever on the subject of Lucia. You might think what you pleased, for it was a free country, but silence was best. But this counsel of perfection was not easy to practice next day when the evening paper came. There, for all the world to read were two quite long paragraphs, in "Five o'clock Chit-Chat," over the renowned signature of Hermione, entirely about Lucia and 25 Brompton Square, and there for all the world to see was the reproduction of one of her most elegant photographs, in which she gazed dreamily outwards and a little upwards, with her fingers still pressed on the last chord of (probably) the Moonlight Sonata. . . . She had come up, so Hermione told countless readers, from her Elizabethan country seat at Riseholme (where she was a neighbour of Miss Olga Bracely) and was settling for the season in the beautiful little house in Brompton Square, which was the freehold property of her husband, and had just come to him on the death of his aunt. It was a veritable treasure house of exquisite furniture, with a charming music-room where Lucia had given Hermione a cup of tea from her marvellous Worcester tea service. . . . (At this point Daisy, whose hands were trembling with passion, exclaimed in a loud and injured voice, "The very day she arrived!") Mrs. Lucas (one of the Warwickshire Smythes by birth) was, as all the world knew, a most accomplished musician and Shakespearean scholar, and had made Riseholme a centre of culture and art. But nobody would suspect the blue stocking in the brilliant, beautiful and witty hostess whose presence would lend an added gaiety to the London season.
Daisy was beginning to feel physically unwell. She hurried over the few remaining lines, and then ejaculating "Witty! Beautiful!" sent de Vere across to Georgie's with the paper, bidding him to return it, as she hadn't finished with it. But she thought he ought to know. . . . Georgie read it through, and with admirable self restraint, sent Foljambe back with it and a message of thanks--nothing more--to Mrs. Quantock for the loan of it. Daisy, by this time feeling better, memorised the whole of it.
Life under the new conditions was not easy, for a mere glance at the paper might send any true Riseholmite into a paroxysm of chattering rage or a deep disgusted melancholy. The Times again recorded the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas had arrived at 25 Brompton Square, there was another terrible paragraph headed 'Dinner,' stating that Mrs. Sandeman entertained the following to dinner. There was an Ambassador, a Marquis, a Countess (dowager), two Viscounts with wives, a Baronet, a quantity of Honourables and Knights, and Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas. Every single person except Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas had a title. The list was too much for Mrs. Boucher, who, reading it at breakfast, suddenly exclaimed:
"I didn't think it of them. And it's a poor consolation to know that they must have gone in last."
Then she hermetically sealed her lips again on this painful subject, and when she had finished her breakfast (her appetite had quite gone) she looked up every member of that degrading party in Colonel Boucher's "Who's Who. ~ E F Benson,#NFDB
761:Please don’t think you have to change your direction for my sake,” I said. “I’m just out wandering about, and my steps took me past Merindar House.”
“And lose an opportunity to engage in converse without your usual crowd of swains?” Savona said, bowing.
“Crowd? Swains?” I repeated, then laughed. “Has the rain affected your vision? Or am I the blind one? I don’t see any swains. Luckily.”
A choke of laughter on my right made me realize--belatedly--that my comment could be taken as an insult. “I don’t mean you two!” I added hastily and glanced up at Savona (I couldn’t bring myself to look at Shevraeth). His dark eyes narrowed in mirth.
“About your lack of swains,” Savona murmured. “Deric would be desolated to hear your heartless glee.”
I grinned. “I suspect he’d be desolated if I thought him half serious.”
“Implying,” Savona said with mendacious shock, “that I am not serious? My dear Meliara! I assure you I fell in love with you last year--the very moment I heard that you had pinched a chicken pie right from under Nenthar Debegri’s twitchy nose, then rode off on his favorite mount, getting clean away from three ridings of his handpicked warriors.”
Taken by surprise, I laughed out loud.
Savona gave me a look of mock consternation. “Now don’t--please don’t--destroy my faith in heroism by telling me it’s not true.”
“Oh, it’s true enough, but heroic?” I scoffed. “What’s so heroic about that? I was hungry! Only got one bite of the pie,” I added with real regret. I was surprised again when both lords started laughing.
“And then you compounded your attractions by keeping my lazy cousin on the hop for days.” He indicated Shevraeth with an airy wave of the hand.
Those memories effectively banished my mirth. For it wasn’t just Galdran’s bullying cousin Baron Debegri who had chased me halfway across the kingdom after my escape from Athanarel. Shevraeth had been there as well. I felt my shoulders tighten against the old embarrassment, but I tried not to show it, responding as lightly as I could. “On the contrary, it was he who kept me on the hop for days. Very long days,” I said. And because the subject had been broached and I was already embarrassed, I risked a quick look at the Marquis and asked, “When you said to search the houses. In the lake town. Did you know I was inside one?”
He hesitated, looking across at Savona, who merely grinned at us both. Then Shevraeth said somewhat drily, “I…had a sense of it.”
“And outside Thoresk. When you and Debegri rode by. You looked right at me. Did you know that was me?”
“Will it make you very angry if I admit that I did? But the timing seemed inopportune for us to, ah, reacquaint ourselves.” All this was said with his customary drawl. But I had a feeling he was bracing for attack.
I sighed. “I’m not angry. I know now that you weren’t trying to get me killed, but to keep me from getting killed by Debegri and Galdran’s people. Except--well, never mind. The whole thing is stupid.”
“Come then,” Savona said immediately. “Forgive me for straying into memories you’d rather leave behind, and let us instead discuss tonight’s prospective delights.”
He continued with a stream of small talk about the latest entertainments--all easy, unexceptionable conversation. Slowly I relaxed, though I never dared look at Shevraeth again. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
762:What can I possibly do besides serve as a figure of fun for the Court to laugh at again? I don’t know anything--besides how to lose a war; and I don’t think anyone is requiring that particular bit of knowledge.” I tried to sound reasonable, but even I could hear the bitterness in my own voice.
My brother sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do, either, except I’ll put my hand to anything I’m asked. That’s what our planning session is to be about, soon’s they return. So save your questions for then, and I don’t want any more of this talk of prisoners and grudges and suchlike. Vidanric saved your life--he’s been a true ally, can’t you see it now?”
“He saved it twice,” I corrected without thinking.
“He what?” My brother straightened up.
“In Chovilun dungeon. Didn’t I tell you?” Then I remembered I hadn’t gotten that far before Debegri’s trap had closed about us.
Bran pursed his lips, starting at me with an uncharacteristic expression. “Interesting. I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you got in the way of an arrow before I got a chance to finish the story,” I explained.
“Except, Vidanric didn’t tell me, either.” Branaric opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head. “Well, it seems we all have some talking to do. I’m going to lie down first. You drink your tea.” He went out, and I heard the door to his room shut and his cot creak.
I looked away, staring at the merry fire, my thoughts ranging back over the headlong pace of the recent days. Suddenly I knew that Shevraeth had recognized me outside that town, and I knew why he hadn’t done anything about it: because Debegri was with him then. The Marquis and his people had searched day and night in order to find me before Debegri did--searched not to kill me, but in order to save me from certain death at Debegri’s hands.
Why hadn’t he told me? Because I’d called him a liar and untrustworthy, and had made it plain I wasn’t going to change my opinion, no matter what. Then why hadn’t he told my brother, who did trust him?
That I couldn’t answer. And in a sense it didn’t matter. What did matter was that I had been wrong about Shevraeth. I had been so wrong I had nearly gotten a lot of people killed for no reason.
Just thinking it made me grit my teeth, and in a way it felt almost as bad as cleaning the fester from my wounded foot. Which was right, because I had to clean out from my mind the fester caused by anger and hatred. I remembered suddenly that horrible day in Galdran’s dungeon when the Marquis had come to me himself and offered me a choice between death and surrender. “It might buy you time,” he’d said.
At that moment I’d seen surrender as dishonor, and it had taken courage to refuse. He’d seen that and had acknowledged it in many different ways, including his words two days before about my being a heroine. Generous words, meant to brace me up. What I saw now was the grim courage it had taken to act his part in Galdran’s Court, all the time planning to change things with the least amount of damage to innocent people. And when Branaric and I had come crashing into his plans, he’d included us as much as he could in his net of safety. My subsequent brushes with death were, I saw miserably now, my own fault.
I had to respect what he’d done. He’d come to respect us for our ideals, that much was clear. What he might think of me personally… ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
763:Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
“My dear Countess,” he said with a grand bow. “Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance.”
Declining prestige? I thought, then out loud I said, “It’s a tartelande. From back then.”
“Which I studied up on all last week,” he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona’s ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
In between measures I stole looks at my partner, bracing for some annihilating comment about my red face, but he seemed preoccupied as we paced our way through the dance. The Renselaeuses, completely separate from Remalna five hundred years before, had dressed differently, just as they had spoken a different language. In keeping, Shevraeth wore a long tunic that was more like a robe, colored a sky blue, with black and white embroidery down the front and along the wide sleeves. It was flattering to his tall, slender form. His hair was tied back with a diamond-and-nightstar clasp, and a bluefire gem glittered in his ear.
We turned and touched hands, and I realized he had broken his reverie and was looking at me somewhat quizzically. I had been caught staring.
I said with as careless a smile as I could muster, “I’ll wager you’re the most comfortable of the men here tonight.”
“Those tight waistcoats do look uncomfortable, but I rather like the baldrics,” he said, surveying my brother, whom the movement of the dance had placed just across from us.
At that moment Bran made a wrong turn in the dance, paused to laugh at himself, then hopped back into position and went on. Perhaps emboldened by his heedless example, or inspired by the unusual yet pleasing music, more of the people on the periphery who had obviously not had the time, or the money, or the notion of learning the dances that went along with the personas and the clothes, were moving out to join. At first tentative, with nervously gripped fans and tense shoulders here and there betraying how little accustomed to making public mistakes they were, the courtiers slowly relaxed.
After six or seven dances, when faces were flushed and fans plied in earnest, the first of my mime groups came out to enact an old folktale. The guests willingly became an audience, dropping onto waiting cushions.
And so the evening went. There was an atmosphere of expectation, of pleasure, of relaxed rules as the past joined the present, rendering both slightly unreal.
I did not dance again but once, and that with Savona, who insisted that I join Shevraeth and Elenet in a set. Despite his joking remarks from time to time, the Marquis seemed more absent than merry, and Elenet moved, as always, with impervious serenity and reserve. Afterward the four of us went our ways, for Shevraeth did not dance again with Elenet.
I know, because I watched. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
764:She won’t rat out on us. Let me talk to her, and she’ll see reason.”
“I’d give her some time before you attempt it,” came the wry answer.
“She usually doesn’t stay mad long,” Bran said carelessly.
Again habit urged me to move. I knew to stay made me a spy-ears, which no one over the age of four is excused in being, yet I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. So I stood there and listened--and thus proved the old proverb about eavesdroppers getting what they deserve.
Shevraeth said, “I’m very much afraid it’s my fault. We met under the worst of circumstances, and we seem to have misunderstood one another to a lethal degree.”
Bran said, “No, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s ours--my parents’ and mine. You have to realize our mother saw Tlanth as a haven from her Court life. All she had to do was potter around her garden and play her harp. I don’t think Mel even knows Mother spent a few years at Erev-li-Erval, learning Kheras in the Court of the Empress. Mel scarcely talked before she started hearing stories on the immoral, rotten, lying Court decorations. Mama liked seeing her running wild with Oria and the village brats. Then Mama was killed, and Papa mostly lived shut in his tower, brooding over the past. He didn’t seem to know what to do with Mel. She couldn’t read or write, wouldn’t even sit still indoors--all summer she would disappear for a week at a time, roaming in the hills. I think she knows more about the ways of the Hill Folk than she does about what actually happens at Court. Anyhow, I taught her her letters just a year or so ago, mostly as an excuse to get away from my books. She liked it well enough, except there isn’t much to read up there anymore, beyond what Papa thought I ought to know for preparing a war.”
“I see. Yet you’ve told me she shared in the command of your rebels.”
Bran laughed again. “That’s because after she learned to read, Mel learned figuring, on her own, and took it over.”
“You mean, she took charge of your business affairs?”
“Such as they were, yes. Taxes, all that. It’s why I told her she had half the title. Life! She could’ve had the title, and the leadership, for all of me, except we promised Papa when he died that we’d go it together. And working toward the war--it was easier when we did it together. She turned it into a game, though I think she saw it as real before I did.” He sighed. “Well, I know she did. Curst traps prove it.”
“Your family was reputed to have a good library.”
“Until Papa burned it, after Mama died. Everything gone, and neither of us knowing what we’d lost. Or, I knew and didn’t care, but Mel didn’t even know. Curse it, her maid is sister to the blacksmith. Julen’s never been paid, but sees to Mel because she’s sorry for her.”
“There has been, I take it, little contact with family, then?”
“Papa had no family left in this part of the world. As for Mama’s royal cousins, when they moved north to Cheras al Kherval, my parents lost touch, and I never did see any reason to try…”
I slipped away then, raging against my brother and the Marquis, against Julen for pitying me when I’d thought she was my friend, against nosy listeners such as myself…against Papa, and Galdran, and war, and Galdran again, against the Empress and every courtier ever born.
I sat in the room they’d given me and glared into the roaring fire, angry with the entire universe. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
765:Wondering how I would make it through a hand-to-hand duel, I glanced around--and just then I saw one of Galdran’s equerries fall from his saddle, his banner-spear spinning through the air toward me. Instinctively my free hand reached up and I caught the spear by the shaft. Ignoring the sting in my hand, I jammed my sword into its sheath and started whirling the spear round and round, making the banner snap and stream as my prancing, sidling horse circled round my brother. Horses turned their heads and backed away; no one was able to edge up and get in a good blow at Bran, who swayed in his saddle, his bad arm hanging limp. The warriors fell back, and no one swung at me.
Dimly I became aware of an ugly, harsh voice shouting over the crash and thuds of battle. Keeping the banner whirling, I guided my horse with my knees and risked a glance back over my shoulder--and looked straight into Galdran’s rage-darkened face. He said something, spittle flying from his mouth, as he pointed straight at me.
A moment later a flicker of movement on my immediate left caused me to glance round. Shevraeth was there, next to me. “Fall back,” he ordered, his voice sharp.
“No. Got to protect Bran--”
There was no time for more. The Marquis was beset by furious attackers as the King shouted orders from a short distance away. Then more riders appeared from somewhere, and for a moment everything was too chaotic to follow. I found myself suddenly on the edge of the battle; there were too many fighters on both sides between my brother and me. Too many fighters in the liveries of the Baron and the King. Despair burned through me, cold as winter ice.
We were losing.
Then my horse plunged aside, I shifted in the saddle, and I found myself face-to-face with Galdran. He glared at me with hatred; I had this sudden, strange feeling that if we had both been small children facing each other in a village squabble he would have screamed at me, It’s all your fault!
His lips drew back from his teeth. “You, I will kill myself,” he snarled, and he raised his great, flat-bladed sword.
I cast away the flimsy spear and drew my sword just a scarce moment before Galdran struck. The first blow nearly knocked me out off the horse. I parried it--just barely--pain shooting up my arm into my back. My arm was numb, so I used both hands to raise my blade against the expected next blow.
But as Galdran’s sword came down toward my head, it was met by a ringing strike that sent sparks arcing through the air. I looked--saw the Marquis, hair flying, horse dancing, circling round Galdran and forcing his attention away. Then the two were fighting desperately, the King falling back. I watched in fascination until two of the King’s guards rode to Galdran’s aid, and Shevraeth was suddenly fighting against three.
It seemed that the Marquis was going to lose, and I realized I couldn’t watch. Remembering my brother I forced my mount round so I could ride to his aid. But when I spotted him in the chaos of lunging horses and crashing weapons, he was staring past my shoulder, his eyes distended.
“Meliara!” he yelled, trying to ride toward me.
I turned my head, saw the Marquis now fighting against three guards; and once again the King was coming directly at me, sword swinging in a blur. I flung my sword at him and ducked. A blow caught me painfully across the back of my helm, and darkness rushed up to swallow me. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
766:When it was done and he took the mess away to bury, I lay back and breathed deeply, doing my best to settle my boiling stomach.
“All right,” he said, “that’s that. Now it’s time to go, if we’re to reach Lumm by green-change.” He whistled, and the dapple-gray trotted obediently up, head tossing.
I realized I ought to have been more observant about chances for escape, and I wondered if there were any chance of taking him by surprise now.
First to see if I could even stand. As he went about the chore of resaddling the horse, I eased myself to my feet. I took my time at it, too, not just because my ankle was still protesting its recent rebandaging; I wanted to seem as decrepit as possible. My head felt weirdly light when I made it to my feet, and I had to hang on to a branch of the oak--my foot simply wouldn’t take any weight. As soon as I tried it, my middle turned to water and I groped for the branch again.
Which meant if I did try anything, it was going to have to be within reach of the horse. I watched for a moment as he lashed down the saddlebags then rammed the rapier into the saddle sheath. There was already that knife at his belt. This did not look promising, I thought, remembering all the lessons on close fighting that Khesot had drilled into us. If your opponent is better armed and has the longer reach, then surprise is your only ally. And then you’d better hope he’s half asleep. Well, the fellow had to be tired if he’d sat up all night, I thought, looking around for any kind of weapon.
The branch he’d handed me to hang on to was still lying at my feet. I stooped--cautiously--and snatched it up. Dropping one end, I discovered that it made a serviceable cane, and with its aid I hobbled my way a few paces, watching carefully for any rocks or roots that might trip me.
Then a step in the grass made me look up. The Marquis was right in front of me, and he was a lot taller than he looked seated across a campfire. In one hand were the horse’s reins, and he held the other hand out in an offer to boost me up. I noticed again that his palm was crossed with calluses, indicating years of swordwork. I grimaced, reluctantly surrendering my image of the Court-bred fop who never lifted anything heavier than a fork.
“Ready?” His voice was the same as always--or almost the same.
I tipped my head back to look at his face, instantly suspicious. Despite his compressed lips he was clearly on the verge of laughter.
For a moment I longed, with all my heart, to swing my stick right at his head. My fingers gripped…and his palm turned, just slightly; but I knew a block readying when I saw one. The strong possibility that anything I attempted would lead directly to an ignominious defeat did not improve my mood at all, but I dropped the stick and wiped my hand down the side of my rumpled tunic.
Vowing I’d see that smile wiped off his cursed face, I said shortly, “Let’s get it over with.”
He put his hands on my waist and boosted me up onto the horse--and I couldn’t help but notice it didn’t take all that much effort.
All right, defeat so far, I thought as I winced and gritted my way through arranging my leg much as it had been on the previous ride. All I have to do is catch him in a single unwary moment…He mounted behind me and we started off, while I indulged myself with the image of grabbing that stick and conking him right across his smiling face. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
767:I’m exactly as unlikely to blab our secrets to an anonymous flunky as I am to a Court decoration with a reputation as a gambler and a fop,” I said finally.
“’Court decoration’?” he repeated, with a faint smile. The strengthening light of dawn revealed telltale marks under his eyes. So he was tired. I was obscurely glad.
“Yes,” I said, pleased to expand on my insult. “My father’s term.”
“You’ve never wished to meet a…Court decoration for yourself?”
“No.” Then I added cheerily, “Well, maybe when I was a child.”
The Marquis of Shevraeth, Galdran’s commander-in-chief, grinned. It was the first real grin I’d seen on his face, as if he were struggling to hold in laughter. Setting his cup down, he made a graceful half-bow from his seat on the other side of the fire and said, “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Meliara.”
I sniffed.
“And now that I’ve been thoroughly put in my place,” he said, “let us leave my way of life and proceed to yours. I take it your revolt is not engineered for the benefit of your fellow-nobles, or as an attempt to reestablish your mother’s blood claim through the Calahanras family. Wherefore is it, then?”
I looked up in surprise. “There ought to be no mystery obscuring our reasons. Did you not trouble to read the letter we sent to Galdran Merindar before he sent Debegri against us? It was addressed to the entire Court, and our reasons were stated as plainly as we could write them--and all our names signed to it.”
“Assume that the letter was somehow suppressed,” he said dryly. “Can you summarize its message?”
“Easy,” I said promptly. “We went to war on behalf of the Hill Folk, whose Covenant Galdran wants to break. But not just for them. We also want to better the lives of the people of Remalna: the ordinary folk who’ve been taxed into poverty, or driven from their farms, or sent into hastily constructed mines, all for Galdran’s personal glory. And I guess for the rest of yours as well, for whose money are you spending on those fabulous Court clothes you never wear twice? Your father still holds the Renselaeus principality--or has he ceded it to Galdran at last? Isn’t it, too, taxed and farmed to the bone so that you can outshine all the rest of those fools at Court?”
All the humor had gone out of his face, leaving it impossible to read. He said, “Since the kind of rumor about Court life that you seem to regard as truth also depicts us as inveterate liars, I will not waste time attempting to defend or deny. Let us instead discuss your eventual goal. Supposing,” he said, reaching to pour more tea into my cup--as if we were in a drawing room, and not sitting outside in the chill dawn, in grimy clothes, on either side of a fire just as we were on either side of a war--“Supposing you were to defeat the King. What then? Kill all the nobles in Athanarel and set yourselves up as rustic King and Queen?”
I remembered father’s whisper as he lay dying: You can take Remalna, and you will be better rulers than any Merindar ever was.
It had sounded fine then, but the thought of giving any hint of that to this blank-faced Court idler made me uncomfortable. I shook my head. “We didn’t want to kill anyone. Not even Galdran, until he sent Debegri to break the Covenant and take our lands. As for ruling, yes we would, if no one else better came along. We were doing it not for ourselves but for the kingdom. Disbelieve it all you want, but there’s the truth of it. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
768:I’d been proud of the parlor, over which I had spent a great deal of time. The ceiling had inlaid tiles in the same summer-sky blue that comprised the main color of the rugs and cushions and the tapestry on the wall opposite the newly glassed windows. Now I sneaked a look at the Marquis, dreading an expression of amusement or disdain. But his attention seemed to be reserved for the lady as he led her to the scattering of cushions before the fireplace, where she knelt down with a graceful sweeping of her skirts. Bran went over and opened the fire vents.
“If I’d known of your arrival, it would have been warm in here.”
Bran looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Well, where d’you spend your days? Not still in the kitchens?”
“In the kitchens and the library and wherever else I’m needed,” I said; and though I tried to sound cheery, it came out sounding resentful. “I’ll be back after I see about food and drink.”
Feeling very much like I was making a cowardly retreat, I ran down the long halls to the kitchen, cursing my bad luck as I went. There I found Julen, Oria, the new cook, and his assistant all standing in a knot talking at once. As soon as I appeared, the conversation stopped.
Julen and Oria turned to face me--Oria on the verge of laughter.
“The lady can have the new rose room, and the lord the corner suite next to your brother. But they’ve got an army of servants with them, Countess,” Julen said heavily. Whenever she called me Countess, it was a sure sign she was deeply disturbed over something. “Where’ll we house them? There’s no space in our wing, not till we finish the walls.”
“And who’s to wait on whom?” Oria asked as she carefully brought my mother’s good silver trays out from the wall-shelves behind the new-woven coverings. “Glad we’ve kept these polished,” she added.
“I’d say find out how many of those fancy palace servants are kitchen trained, and draft ‘em. And then see if some of the people from that new inn will come up, for extra wages. Bran can unpocket the extra pay,” I said darkly, “if he’s going to make a habit of disappearing for half a year and reappearing with armies of retainers. As for housing, well, the garrison does have a new roof, so they can all sleep there. We’ve got those new Fire Sticks to warm ‘em up with.”
“What about meals for your guests?” Oria said, her eyes wide.
I’d told Oria last summer that she could become steward of the house. While I’d been ordering books on trade, and world history, and governments, she had been doing research on how the great houses were currently run; and it was she who had hired Demnan, the new cook. We’d eaten well over the winter, thanks to his genius.
I looked at Oria. “This is it. No longer just us, no longer practice, it’s time to dig out all your plans for running a fine house for a noble family. Bran and his two Court guests will need something now after their long journey, and I have no idea what’s proper to offer Court people.”
“Well, I do,” Oria said, whirling around, hands on hips, her face flushed with pleasure. “We’ll make you proud, I promise.”
I sighed. “Then…I guess I’d better go back.”
As I ran to the parlor, pausing only to ditch my blanket in an empty room, I steeled myself to be polite and pleasant no matter how much my exasperating brother inadvertently provoked me--but when I pushed aside the tapestry at the door, they weren’t there.
And why should they be? This was Branaric’s home, too. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
769:My dear Countess,” a fluting voice said at my right ear, and Lady Tamara’s soft hand slid along my arm, guiding me toward the lowest tier near the fireplace. Several people moved away, and we sank down onto the cushions there. Tamara gestured to one of the hovering foot-servants, and two glasses of wine were instantly brought. “Did I not predict that you would show us the way at the races as well?”
“I won only once,” I said, fighting against embarrassment.
Deric was grinning. “Beat me,” he said. “Nearly beat Renna.”
“I had the best horse,” I countered.
For a moment the conversation turned from me to the races the week before. It had been a sudden thing, arranged on the first really nice day we’d had, and though the course was purported to be rough, I had found it much easier than riding mountain trails.
As Deric described the last obstacles of the race in which I had beaten him, I saw the shy red-haired Lord Geral listening with a kind of ardent expression in his eyes. He was another who often sought me out for dances but rarely spoke otherwise. Might my rose and ring have come from him?
Tamara’s voice recalled my attention “…the way with swords as well, dear Countess?”
I glanced at her, sipping at my wine as I mentally reached for the subject.
“It transpires,” Tamara said with a glinting smile, “that our sharpest wits are also experts at the duel. Almost am I willing to rise at dawn, just to observe you at the cut and the thrust.”
I opened my mouth to disclaim any great prowess with the sword, then realized that I’d walk right into her little verbal trap if I did so. Now, maybe I’m not any kind of a sharp wit, but I wasn’t going to hand myself over for trimming so easily. So I just smiled and sipped at my wine.
Fialma’s faint, die-away voice was just audible on Tamara’s other side. “Tamara, my love, that is not dueling, but mere swordplay.”
Tamara’s blue eyes rounded with perplexity. “True, true, I had forgotten.” She smiled suddenly, her fan waving slowly in query mode. “An academic question: Is it a real duel when one is favored by the opponent?”
Fialma said, “Is it a real contest, say, in a race when the better rider does not ride?” She turned her thin smile to Shevraeth. “Your grace?”
The Marquis bowed slightly, his hands at an oblique angle. “If a stake is won,” he said, “it is a race. If the point draws blood, it is a duel.”
A murmur of appreciative laughter met this, and Fialma sighed ever so slightly. “You honor us,” she murmured, sweeping her fan gracefully in the half circle of Intimate Confidence, “with your liberality…” She seated herself at the other side of the fireplace and began a low-voiced conversation with Lady Dara, the heir to a northern duchy.
Just beyond Fialma’s waving fan, Lord Flauvic’s metal-gold eyes lifted from my face to Shevraeth’s to Tamara’s, then back to me.
What had I missed? Nee’s cheeks were glowing, but that could have been her proximity to the fire.
Branaric spoke then, saluting Shevraeth with his wineglass. “Duel or dabble, I’d hie me to those practices, except I just can’t stomach rough work at dawn. Now, make them at noon, and I’m your man!”
More laughter greeted this, and Bran turned to Flauvic. “How about you? Join me in agitating for a decent time?”
Lord Flauvic also had a fan, but he had not opened it. Holding it horizontally between his fingers in the mode of the neutral observer, he said, “Not at any time, Tlanth. You will forgive me if I am forced to admit that I am much too lazy? ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
770:Didn’t Azmus say Galdran promised the Court our heads on poles after two days?”
“So Debegri swore,” Bran said, smiling a little.
“That means we’ve held out all these weeks despite the enormous odds against us, and word of this has to be reaching the rest of the kingdom. Maybe those eastern Counts will decide to join us--and some of the other grass-backed vacillators as well,” I finished stoutly.
Bran grinned. “Maybe so,” he said. “And you’re right. The higher Shevraeth drives us, the more familiar the territory. If we plan aright, we can lead them on a fine shadow chase and pick them off as they run. Maybe more traps…”
Khesot’s lips compressed, and I shivered again. “More traps? You’ve already put out a dozen. Bran, I really hate those things.”
Branaric winced, then he shook his head, his jaw tightening. “This is war. Baron Debegri was the first to start using arrows, despite the Code of War, and now Shevraeth has got us cut off from our own castle--and our supplies. We have to use every weapon to hand, and if that means planting traps for their unwary feet, so be it.”
I sighed. “It is so…dishonorable. We have outlawed the use of traps against animals for over a century. And what if the Hill Folk stumble onto one?”
“I told you last week,” Bran said, “my first command to those placing the traps is to lay sprigs of stingflower somewhere nearby. The Hill Folk won’t miss those. Their noses will warn them to tread lightly long before their eyes will.”
“We are also using arrows,” I reminded him. “So that’s two stains on our honor.”
“But we are vastly outnumbered. Some say thirty to one.”
I looked up at Khesot. “What think you?”
The old man puffed his pipe alight. The red glow in the bowl looked warm and welcome as pungent smoke drifted through the tent. Then he lowered the pipe and said, “I don’t like them, either. But I like less the thought that this Marquis is playing with us, and anytime he wishes he could send his force against us and smash us in one run. He has to know pretty well where we are.”
“At least you can make certain you keep mapping those traps, so our folk don’t stumble into them,” I said, giving in.
“That I promise. They’ll be marked within a day of being set,” Branaric said.
Neither Branaric nor Khesot displayed any triumph as Branaric reached for and carefully picked up the woven tube holding our precious map. Branaric’s face was always easy to read--as easy as my own--and though Khesot was better at hiding his emotions, he wasn’t perfect. They did not like using the traps, either, but had hardened themselves to the necessity.
I sighed. Another effect of the war. I’ve been raised to this almost my entire life. Why does my spirit fight so against it?
I thrust away the nagging worries, and the dissatisfactions, and my own physical discomfort, as Bran’s patient fingers spread out my map on the rug between us. I focused on its neatly drawn hills and forests, dimly lit by the glowglobe, and tried hard to clear my mind of any thoughts save planning our next action.
But it was difficult. I was worried about our single glowglobe, whose power was diminishing. With our supplies nearly gone and our funds even lower, we no longer had access to the magic wares of the west, so there was no way to obtain new glowglobes.
Khesot was looking not at the map but at us, his old eyes sad.
I winced, knowing what he’d say if asked: that he had not been trained for his position any more than nature had suited Bran and me for war.
But there was no other choice. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
771:And as I watched the dancers moving unheeded around him, an idea formed in my mind, a reckless, useless, stupid idea, but one that promised such fun I could almost hear Bran’s laughter.
It’s been too long since I heard him laugh, I realized grimly. I was gloriously angry at the whole world--at the commander sitting there at his ease, at his numerous soldiery all looking for my dockside-rat self, at the Marquis for scorning us and our ideals, at the ordinary people for not caring that Bran had worn himself tired and grim on their behalf when he should have been laughing and moving right along with all these dancers.
The dancers had been a brightly colored mass, but now I watched individuals. One in particular drew my eye: a big bull of a man, obviously half-drunk. His partner could hardly stop laughing when he lurched and staggered as the others twirled and stamped. I watched the figures of the dance, learning the pattern. The observers seemed to know it well, for when the stomping and clapping occurred, those who wished to cross the room threaded their way among the dancers; then when the couples did hands-high, the floor cleared for the resulting whirls and partner trades.
The drunk man was starting to look tired. He’d want to stop soon, I knew. I’d have to move now, or not at all.
My heart clumped in counterpoint to the music as I slipped through the crowd around the perimeter of the room and then, just as the clap-stamp-clap-stamp commenced, eased my way out among the dancers, ducking a tray here and a swinging arm there. My basket handle was over my elbow, so both hands were free.
When the horns signaled the next hands-high, I remembered my lessons from Khesot on Using Your Opponent’s Weight Against Him. Steadying my hand against the drunken man’s shoulder, I hooked my good foot around his ankle and yanked, pushing his shoulder at the same time.
He spun, bellowing, his fingers clutching at air, and fell--right across the commander’s table. His partner shrieked, waving her arms. I dodged between her and Debegri, who had leaped up, cursing, as he mopped at the wine splashed down his front. With one hand I nipped a chicken pie and with the other a cup of mulled dessert wine, just before the table crashed over on its side, flinging the food everywhere. People screamed and shouted, pushing and shoving to get away from the mess. I ducked between two dancers and backed, laughing breathlessly, toward the door.
The drunken man was yelling, “Where is she? Where is she? Where’s the little snipe that tripped me?”
“Calm yourself, sir,” Debegri grated, his voice harsh and somehow familiar. “Guards! Right this table…”
Trying to smother my laughter, I turned around on the doorstep and saw another chance. A single warrior stood holding the reins of the beautiful white horse. As I watched, the soldier stifled a yawn and looked over at the door, to where the two guards were busy with Debegri’s table.
Flinging the mulled wine squarely into her face, I jumped up across the horse’s back, and as it bucked and sidled, I jammed my heels in its ribs and it leaped forward.
The reins went flying. I grabbed at them with my free hand and thrust the meat pie into my mouth with the other.
The warrior sprang to stop me but the horse was too fast. I dashed my basket against the warrior’s head and slapped the reins on the horse’s white neck.
A spear whizzed right past my shoulder, and a few moments later something sharp pricked my neck. Ducking as low as I could, I clung desperately to the reins. The horse stretched its legs into a gallop, and then a canter. Behind I heard the blare of a summons horn.
The chase was on! ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
772:I hopped over a little flower border. The blooms--ghostly white in the soft glow from the lamps around the park’s circumference--ran up the brick walkway and gripped the stone lip of the fountain. I opened my mouth, leaned in, and took a deep gulp.
And heard hooves. Boots.
“You, there, girl! Halt!”
Who in the universe ever halts when the enemy tells them to?
Of course I took off in the opposite direction, as fast as I could: running across grass, leaping neatly tended flowers. But the park was a circle, which made it easy for the riders to gallop around both ways and cut me off. I stopped, looked back. No retreat.
Meanwhile another group came running across the lawns, swords drawn. I backed up a step, two; looked this way and that; tried to break for it in the largest space, which of course was instantly closed.
There must have been a dozen of them ringing me, all with rapiers and heavier weapons gleaming gold tipped in the light from the iron-posted glowglobes and the windows of the houses.
“Report,” someone barked; and then to me, “Who are you? Don’t you know there is a sunset curfew?”
“Ah, I didn’t know.” I smoothed my skirts nervously. “Been sick. No one mentioned it…”
“Who are you?” came the question again.
“I just wanted a drink. I was sick, I think I mentioned, and didn’t get any water…”
“Who are you.” This time it wasn’t even a question.
The game was up, of course, but who said I had to surrender meekly? “Just call me Ranisia.” I named my mother, using my hardest voice. “I’m a ghost, one of Galdran Merindar’s many victims.”
Noises from behind caused the ring to tighten, the weapons all pointing a finger’s breadth from my throat. My empty hands were at my sides, but these folks were taking no chances. Maybe they thought I was a ghost.
No one spoke, or moved, until the sound of heels striking the brick path made the soldiers withdraw silently.
Baron Debegri strode up, his rain cape billowing. Under his foppish mustache his teeth gleamed in a very cruel grin. He stopped within a pace of me, and with no warning whatever, backhanded me right across the face. I went flying backward, landing flat in a flower bed. The Baron stepped onto my left knee and motioned a torch bearer over. He stared down at the half-healed marks on my ankle and laughed, then jerked his thumb in a gesture of command. Two soldiers sprang to either side of me, each grabbing an arm and pulling me to my feet.
“What have you to say now, my little hero?” the Baron gloated.
“That you are a fool, the son of a fool, and the servant of the biggest--“
He swung at me again, and I tried to duck, but he grabbed me by the hair and then hit me. The world seemed to explode in stars--for a long time all I could do was gasp for breath and fight against dizziness.
When I came out of it, someone was binding my hands; then two more someones grabbed my arms again, and I was half carried back to the street. My vision was blurry. I realized hazily that a gem on his embroidered gloves must have cut my forehead, for a warm trickle ran nastily down the side of my face, which throbbed even worse than my ankle.
I got thrown over the back of a horse, my hands and feet bound to stirrups. From somewhere I heard Debegri’s harsh voice: “Lift the curfew, but tell those smug-faced Elders that if anyone harbored this criminal, the death penalty still holds. You. Tell his lordship the Marquis that his aid is no longer necessary, and he can return to Remalna-city, or wherever he wants.”
Quick footsteps ran off, and then the Baron said, “Now, to Chovilun. And don’t dawdle.”
Chovilun…
One of the four Merindar fortresses.
I closed my eyes. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
773:I was still brooding over this question when I heard a polite tap outside the tapestry, and a moment later, there was the equally quiet impact of a boot heel on the new tile floor, then another.
A weird feeling prickled down my spine, and I twisted around to face the Marquis of Shevraeth, who stood just inside the room. He raised his hands and said, “I am unarmed.”
I realized I was glaring. “I hate people creeping up behind me,” I muttered.
He glanced at the twenty paces or so of floor between us, then up at the shelves, the map, the new books. Was he comparing this library with the famed Athanarel one--or the equally (no doubt!) impressive one at his home in Renselaeus? I folded my arms and waited for either satire or condescension.
When he spoke, the subject took me by surprise. “You said once that your father burned the Astiar library. Did you ever find out why?”
“It was the night we found out that my mother had been killed,” I said reluctantly. The old grief oppressed me, and I fought to keep my thoughts clear. “By the order of Galdran Merindar.”
“Do you know why he ordered her murder?” he asked over his shoulder, as he went on perusing the books.
I shook my head. “No. There’s no way to find out that I can think of. Even if we discovered those who carried out the deed, they might not know the real reasons.” I added sourly, “Well do I remember how Galdran issued lies to cover his misdeeds: Last year, when he commenced the attack against us, he dared to say that it was we who were breaking the Covenant!” I couldn’t help adding somewhat accusingly, “Did you believe that? Not later, but when the war first started.”
“No.” I couldn’t see his face. Only his back, and the long pale hair, and his lightly clasped hands were in view as he surveyed my shelves.
This was the first time the two of us had conversed alone, for I had been careful to avoid such meetings during his visit. Not wanting to prolong it, I still felt compelled to amplify.
I said, “My mother was the last of the royal Calahanras family. Galdran must have thought her a threat, even though she retired from Court life when she adopted into the Astiar family.”
Shevraeth was walking along the shelves now, his hands still behind his back. “Yet Galdran had taken no action against your mother previously.”
“No. But she’d never left Tlanth before, not since her marriage. She was on her way to Remalna-city. We only know that it was his own household guards, disguised as brigands, that did the job, because they didn’t quite kill the stablegirl who was riding on the luggage coach and she recognized the horses as Merindar horses.” I tightened my grip on my elbows. “You don’t believe it?”
Again he glanced back at me. “Do you know your mother’s errand in the capital?” His voice was calm, quiet, always with that faint drawl as if he chose his words with care.
Suddenly my voice sounded too loud, and much too combative, to my ears. Of course that made my face go crimson with heat. “Visiting.”
This effectively ended the subject, and I waited for him to leave.
He turned around then, studying me reflectively. The length of the room still lay between us. “I had hoped,” he said, “that you would honor me with a few moments’ further discourse.”
“About what?” I demanded.
“I came here at your brother’s invitation.” He spoke in a conversational tone, as though I’d been pleasant and encouraging. “My reasons for accepting were partly because I wanted an interlude of relative tranquility, and partly for diplomatic reasons.”
“Yes, Nimiar told me about your wanting to present a solid front with the infamous Astiars. I understand, and I said I’d go along.”
“Please permit me to express my profound gratitude.” He bowed gracefully. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
774:There were no shouts, no trumpets, nothing but the ringing of iron-shod boots on the stones of the bridge, and the clank of ready weaponry.
Could we rescue them? I could not see Khesot’s face, but in the utter stillness with which they stood, I read hopelessness.
I readied myself once again--
Then from the center of their forces stepped a single equerry, with a white scarf tied to a pole. He started up the path that we meant to descend. As he walked the light strengthened, now illuminating details. Still with that weird detachment I looked at his curly hair, the freckles on his face, his small nose. We could cut him down in moments, I thought, and then winced the thought away. We were not Galdran. I waited.
He stopped not twenty-five paces from me and said loudly, “Countess, we request a parley.”
Which made it obvious they knew we were there.
Questions skittered through my mind. Had Khesot talked? How otherwise could the enemy have seen us? The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent indifference of nature for the tangled passions of humans.
I stood up. “Here. State your message.”
“A choice. You surrender, and your people can then disperse to their homes. Otherwise, we start with them.” He pointed to the bridge. “Then everyone else.” He lifted his hand, indicating the ridge up behind us.
I turned, and shock burned through me when I saw an uncountable host lined along the rocks we’d descended from half a night ago.
They had us boxed.
Which meant that we had walked right into a waiting trap.
I looked down at the bridge again. Through the curtain of rain the figures were clearer now. Khesot, in the center, stood next to a tall slim man with pale yellow hair.
I closed my eyes, fought for control, then opened my eyes again. “Everyone goes to their homes? Including Khesot and the four down there?”
“Everyone,” the boy said flatly, “except you, Countess.”
Which meant I was staking my life against everyone else’s. And of course there was no answer but one to be made to that.
With black murder in my heart, I flung my sword down rather than hand it over. Stepping across it, I walked past the equerry, whose footfalls I then heard crunching behind me.
Wild vows of death and destruction flowed through my mind as I walked down the trail. No one moved. Only the incessant rain came down, a silver veil, as I slipped down the pathway, then reached the bridge, then crossed it, stalking angrily between the lines of waiting warriors.
When I neared the other end of the bridge, the Marquis turned his back and walked inside the fortress, and the others followed, Khesot and the four scouts still some distance from me. I could not see their faces, could not speak to them.
I walked through the big gates, which closed. Across the courtyard the south gates stood open, and before them mounted warriors waited.
With them were two saddled, riderless horses, one a familiar gray.
In silence the entourage moved toward them, and the Marquis mounted the gray, who sidled nervously, newly shod hooves ringing on the stones.
Khesot and the others were now behind me, invisible behind the crowd of warriors in Renselaeus colors, all of whom watched and waited in silence.
It was weird, dreamlike, the only reality the burning rage in my heart.
Someone motioned me toward the single riderless horse, and I climbed up. For a moment the ground seemed to heave under the animal’s feet, but I shook my head and the world righted itself, and I glared through the softly falling rain to the cold gray gaze of the Marquis of Shevraeth, heir to Renselaeus.
His horse danced a few steps. He looked over his shoulder at me, the low brim of his hat now hiding his eyes.
“Ride,” he said. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
775:My bout with the Marquis was much like the others. Even more than usual I was hopelessly outclassed, but I stuck grimly to my place, refusing to back up, and took hit after hit, though my parrying was steadily improving. Of course I lost, but at least it wasn’t so easy a loss as I’d had when I first began to attend practice--and he didn’t insult me with obvious handicaps, such as never allowing his point to hit me.
Bran and Savona finished a moment later, and Bran was just suggesting we exchange partners when the bells for third-gold rang, causing a general outcry. Some would stay, but most, I realized, were retreating to their various domiciles to bathe and dress for open Court.
I turned away--and found Shevraeth beside me. “You’ve never sampled the delights of Petitioners’ Court,” he said.
I thought of the Throne Room again, this time with Galdran there on the goldenwood throne, and the long lines of witnesses. I repressed a shiver.
Some of my sudden tension must have exhibited itself in my countenance because he said, “It is no longer an opportunity for a single individual to practice summary justice such as you experienced on your single visit.”
“I’m certain you don’t just sit around happily and play cards,” I muttered, looking down at the toes of my boots as we walked.
“Sometimes we do, when there are no petitioners. Or we listen to music. But when there is business, we listen to the petitioners, accept whatever they offer in the way of proof, and promise a decision at a later date. That’s for the first two greens. The last is spent in discussing impressions of the evidence at hand; sometimes agreement is reached, and sometimes we decide that further investigation is required before a decision can be made.”
This surprised me so much I looked up at him. There was no amusement, no mockery, no threat in the gray eyes. Just a slight question.
I said, “You listen to the opinions of whoever comes to Court?”
“Of course,” he said. “It means they want to be a part of government, even if their part is to be merely ornamental.”
I remembered that dinner when Nee first brought up Elenet’s name, and how Shevraeth had lamented how most of those who wished to give him advice had the least amount worth hearing.
“Why should I be there?” I asked. “I remember what you said about worthless advisers.”
“Do you think any opinion you would have to offer would be worthless?” he countered.
“It doesn’t matter what I think of my opinion,” I retorted, and then caught myself. “I mean to say, it is not me making the decisions.”
“So what you seem to be implying is that I think your opinion worthless.”
“Well, don’t you?”
He sighed. “When have I said so?”
“At the inn in Lumm, last year. And before that. About our letter to Galdran, and my opinion of courtiers.”
“It wasn’t your opinion I pointed up, it was your ignorance,” he said. “You seem to have made truly admirable efforts to overcome that handicap. Why not share what you’ve learned?”
I shrugged, then said, “Why don’t you have Elenet there?”--and hated myself for about as stupid a bit of pettiness as I’d ever uttered.
But he took the words at face value. “An excellent suggestion, and one I acted on immediately after she arrived at Athanarel. She’s contributed some very fine insights. She’s another, by the way, who took her own education in hand. Three years ago about all she knew was how to paint fans.”
I had talked myself into a corner, I realized--all through my own efforts. So I said, “All right, then. I’ll go get Mora to dig out that Court dress I ordered and be there to blister you all with my brilliance.”
He bowed, lifted his gray-gloved hand in a casual salute, and walked off toward the Royal Wing.
I retreated in quick order to get ready for the ordeal ahead. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
776:Where are we going?” I asked as he helped me down the stairs.
“Stable. One chance of getting out is there--if we’re fast.”
Neither of us wasted any more breath. He had to look around constantly while bearing my weight. I concentrated on walking.
At the stable, servants were running back and forth on errands, but we made our way slowly along the wall of a long, low building toward a row of elegant town carriages.
I murmured, “Don’t tell me…I’m to steal one of these?”
Azmus gave a breathless laugh. “You’ll steal a ride--if we can get you in. Your best chance is the one that belongs to the Princess of Renselaeus--if we can, by some miracle, get near it. The guards will never stop it, even if the hue and cry is raised. And she doesn’t live within Athanarel, but at the family palace in the city.”
“Renselaeus…” I repeated, then grinned. The Princess was the mother of the Marquis. The Prince, her husband, who was rumored to have been badly wounded in the Pirate Wars, never left their land. I loved the idea of making my escape under the nose of Shevraeth’s mother. Next thing to snapping my fingers under his nose.
Suddenly there was an increase in noise from the direction of the palace. A young girl came running toward us, torch hissing and streaming in the rain. “Savona!” she yelled. “Savona!”
A carriage near the front of the line was maneuvered out, rolling out of the courtyard toward the distant great hall.
Keeping close to the walls, we moved along the line until we were near a handsome equipage that looked comfortable and well sprung, even in the dark and rain. All around it stood a cluster of servants dressed in sky blue, black, and white.
Two more names were called out by runners, and then came, “Renselaeus!”
But before the carriage could roll, the runner dashed up and said, “Wait! Wait! Get canopies! She won’t come out without canopies--says her gown will be ruined.”
One of the servants groaned; they all, except the driver, dashed inside the stable.
Next to me, Azmus drew in his breath in a sharp hiss. “Come,” he said. “This is it.”
And we crossed the few steps to the carriage. A quick look. Everyone else was seeing to their own horses, or wiping rain from windows, or trying to stay out of the worst of the wet. At the back of the coach was a long trunk; Azmus lifted the lid and helped me climb up and inside. “I do not know if I can get to the Renselaeus palace to aid you,” he warned as he lowered the lid.
“I’ll make it,” I promised. “Thanks. You’ll be remembered for this.”
“Down with Merindar,” he murmured. “Farewell, my lady.”
And the lid closed.
Lying flat was a relief, though the thick-woven hemp flooring scraped at my cheek. Around me muffled voices arrived. The carriage rocked as the foot servants grabbed hold. Then we moved, slowly, smoothly. Then stopped.
Faintly, beckoning and lovely, I heard two melodic lines traded back and forth between sweet wind instruments, and the thrumming of metallic harp strings.
A high, imperious voice drowned the music: “Come, come! Closer together! Step as one, now. I mustn’t ruin this gown…The King himself spoke in praise of it…I can only wear it again if it is not ruined…Step lively there, and have a care for puddles. There!”
I could envision a crowd of foot servants holding rain canopies over her head, like a moving tent, as the old lady bustled across the mud. She arrived safely in the carriage, and when she was closed in, once again we started to roll.
“Ware, gate!” the driver called presently. “Ware for Renselaeus!” The carriage scarcely slowed. I heard the creak of the great iron gates--the ones that were supposed to be sporting my head within a day. They swung shut with a graunching of protesting metal, and the carriage rolled out of Athanarel and into the city. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
777:So there I was, light-headed with hunger, footsore, with the perimeter of safety having closed to about ten paces around me, and the Marquis of Shevraeth standing just on the other side of the wall.
At least he didn’t--yet--know it.
As if in answer, I heard the klunk of footsteps on the tiled floor directly above me. Someone else had been listening at a window and was now moving about. To come downstairs? Would the searchers go to the front or come to the back?
I thought about, then dismissed, the idea of begging safety from the inhabitants. If they were not mercifully inclined, all they’d need to do was shout for help and I’d be collared in a wink. And if they were merciful, they faced a death sentence if caught hiding me.
No, what I had to do was get out without anyone knowing I’d been inside the house. And nippily, too.
Hearing the clatter of hooves and the jingle of harnesses and weapons, I edged close to the window and peered out again. All I could see was the movement of smeary colors, but it sounded like one riding had moved on. To divide up and start on the houses?
What about the other group?
Dark-hued stalks stood directly outside the window. Did one of them have a pale yellow top?
I could just see him standing there narrow eyed, looking around. Then maybe he’d glance at the window and see something flesh-colored and blue just inside the edge…
I closed my eyes, feeling a weird vertigo. Of course he couldn’t see me--it was dark inside and light out. That meant the window would be a blank, dark square to him. If he even gave it a look. I was letting fancy override my good sense, and if I didn’t stop it, his searchers would find me standing there daydreaming.
I took a deep breath--and the stalks outside the window began to move. Soon they were gone from sight, and nothing changed in the window at all. I heard no more feet or hooves or swords clanking in scabbards.
It was time for me to go.
My heart thumped in time to the pang in my temples as I opened the storeroom door, peeked out, then eased the outside door open. Nothing…nothing…I slipped out into the alley.
And saw two posted guards at the other end. They were at that moment looking the other way. I whisked myself behind a flowering shrub that bordered the street, wincing as I waited for the yells of “Stop! You!”
Nothing.
Breathing hard, I ran full speed back across the street and into the garden where I’d spent the night before. And with no better plan in mind, I sped along the paths to the shady section, found my fern, and crawled back in. The soil was still muddy and cold, but I didn’t mind; I curled up, closed my eyes, and tried to calm my panicking heart and aching head.
And slept.
And woke to the marching of feet and jingling of weaponry. Before I could move, there was a crackling of foliage and a spearhead thrust its way into my bush, scarcely an arm’s length above my head. It was withdrawn, the steps moved on, and I heard the smashing sound of another poke into the shrubbery there.
“This is my third time through here,” a low voice muttered.
“I tell you, if we don’t get a week’s leave when this is over, I’m going back to masonry. Just as much work, but at least you get enough time to sleep,” another voice returned.
There was a snorting laugh, then the footsteps moved on.
I lay in frightened relief, wondering what to do next. My tongue was sticky in my mouth, for I’d had nothing to drink since the night before, and of course nothing to eat but those few bites of the meat pie.
How much longer can I do this?
Until I get home, I told myself firmly.
I’d wait until dark, sneak out of that town, and never return. I’ll travel by night and go straight west, I decided. How I was to get food I didn’t know, but I was already so light-headed from hunger, all I could think of was getting away. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
778:As I trod down the hall, I made and discarded plausible excuses. When I reached the tapestry I decided against speaking at all. I’d just take a quick peek, and if the livery was Merindar, then I’d have to hire someone to ride back and warn the Renselaeuses.
I pulled my soggy cloak up around my eyes, stuck out my gloved finger, and poked gently at the edge of the tapestry.
Remember the surmise I recorded on my arrival at the Residence that day in early spring--that if anyone were to know everyone’s business, it would be the servants?
I glanced inside in time to see a pale, familiar face jerk up.
And for a long, amazing moment, there we were, Meliara and Shevraeth, mud-spattered and wet, just like last year, looking at one another in silence. Then I snatched my hand back, now thoroughly embarrassed, and spun around intending retreat. But I moved too fast for my tired head and fell against the wall, as once again the world lurched around me.
I heard the faint metallic ching of chain mail, and suddenly he was there, his hand gripping my arm. Without speaking, he drew me inside the bare little parlor and pointed silently at a straw-stuffed cushion. My legs folded abruptly, and I plopped down.
“Azmus--” I croaked. “How could you--I sent him--”
“Drink.” Shevraeth put a mug into my hands. “Then we can talk.”
Obediently I took a sip, felt sweet coffee burn its way pleasantly down my throat and push back the fog threatening to enfold my brain. I took a longer draught, then sighed.
The Marquis looked back at me, his face tense and tired, his eyes dark with an intensity that sent a complexity of emotions chasing through me like darting starlings.
“How did you get ahead of me so fast?” I said. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes widened in surprise, as if he’d expected to hear anything but that. “How,” he asked slowly, “did you know I was here? We told no one when I was leaving, or my route, outside of two servants.”
“I didn’t know you were here,” I said. “I sent Azmus to you. With the news. About the Merindars. You mean you already knew?”
“Let us backtrack a little,” he said, “if you will bear with my lamentable slowness. I take it, then, that you were not riding thus speedily to join me?” With his old sardonic tone he added, “Because if you were, your retreat just now is somewhat puzzling, you’ll have to admit.”
I said indignantly, “I peeked in because I thought you might be one of the Merindars, and if so, I’d send a warning back to you. I mean, you if you were there. Does that make sense?” I frowned, shook my head, then gulped down the rest of the coffee.
He smiled just slightly, but the intensity had not left his eyes.
The serving maid came in, carrying a bowl of food and some fresh bread. “Will you have some as well?” she said to me.
“Please,” Shevraeth said before I could speak. “And more coffee.” He waited until she went out, then said, “Now, begin again, please. What is it you’re trying to tell me, and where are you going?”
“I’m going to Orbanith,” I said, and forced myself to look away from the steam curling up from the stew at his elbow. My mouth watered. I swallowed and turned my attention to pulling off my sodden gloves. “I guess I am trying to tell you what you already seem to know--that the Merindars are going on the attack, with hired mercenaries from Denlieff. But--why do you want me to tell you when you do already know all this?” I looked up from wringing out my gloves.
“I am trying,” he said with great care, “to ascertain what your place is in the events about to transpire, and to act accordingly. From whom did you get your information?”
The world seemed to lurch again, but this time it was not my vision. A terrible sense of certainty pulled at my heart and mind as I realized what he was striving so heroically not to say--nevertheless, what he meant.
He thought I was on the other side. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
779:Lady Meliara?” There was a tap outside the door, and Oria’s mother, Julen, lifted the tapestry. Oria and I both stared in surprise at the three long sticks she carried so carefully.
“More Fire Sticks?” I asked. “In midwinter?”
“Just found them outside the gate.” Julen laid them down, looked from one of us to the other, and went out.
Oria grinned at me. “Maybe they’re a present. You did save the Covenant last year, and the Hill Folk know it.”
“I didn’t do it,” I muttered. “All I did was make mistakes.”
Oria crossed her arms. “Not mistakes. Misunderstandings. Those, at least, can be fixed. Which is all the more reason to go to Court--”
“And what?” I asked sharply. “Get myself into trouble again?”
Oria stood silently, and suddenly I was aware of the social gulf between us, and I knew she was as well. It happened like that sometimes. We’d be working side by side, cleaning or scraping or carrying, and then a liveried equerry would dash up the road with a letter, and suddenly I was the countess and she the servant who waited respectfully for me to read my letter and discuss it or not as I saw fit.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, stuffing the Marquise’s letter into the pocket of my faded, worn old gown. “You know how I feel about Court, even if Bran has changed his mind.”
“I promise not to jaw on about it again, but let me say it this once. You need to make your peace,” Oria said quietly. “You left your brother and the Marquis without so much as a by-your-leave, and I think it’s gnawing at you. Because you keep watching that road.”
I felt my temper flare, but I didn’t say anything because I knew she was right. Or half right. And I wasn’t angry with her.
I tried my best to dismiss my anger and force myself to smile. “Perhaps you may be right, and I’ll write to Bran by and by. But here, listen to this!” And I picked up the book I’d been reading before the letter came. “This is one of the ones I got just before the snows closed the roads: ‘And in several places throughout the world there are caves with ancient paintings and Iyon Daiyin glyphs.’” I looked up from the book. “Doesn’t that make you want to jump on the back of the nearest horse and ride and ride until you find these places?”
Oria shuddered. “Not me. I like it fine right here at home.”
“Use your imagination!” I read on. “‘Some of the caves depict constellations never seen in our skies--’” I stopped when we heard the pealing of bells. Not the melodic pattern of the time changes, but the clang of warning bells at the guardhouse just down the road.
“Someone’s coming!” I exclaimed.
Oria nodded, brows arched above her fine, dark eyes. “And the Hill Folk saw them.” She pointed at the Fire Sticks.
“‘Them?’” I repeated, then glanced at the Fire Sticks and nodded. “Means a crowd, true enough.”
Julen reappeared then, and tapped at the door. “Countess, I believe we have company on the road.”
She looked in, and I said, “I hadn’t expected anyone.” Then my heart thumped, and I added, “It could be the fine weather has melted the snows down-mountain--d’you think it might be Branaric at last? I don’t see how it could be anyone else!”
“Branaric needs three Fire Sticks?” Oria asked.
“Maybe he’s brought lots of servants?” I suggested doubtfully. “Perhaps his half year at Court has given him elaborate tastes, ones that only a lot of servants can see to. Or he’s hired artisans from the capital to help forward our work on the castle. I hope it’s artisans,” I added.
“Either way, we’ll be wanted to find space for these newcomers,” Julen said to her daughter. She picked up the Fire Sticks again and looked over her shoulder at me. “You ought to put on one of those gowns of your mother’s that we remade, my lady.”
“For my brother?” I laughed, pulling my blanket closer about me as we slipped out of my room. “I don’t need to impress him, even if he has gotten used to Court ways! ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
780:We have a long ride ahead of us tonight, and you wouldn’t want to regret your first good meal in days.”
In weeks, I thought as I picked up a spoon, but I didn’t say it out loud--it felt disloyal somehow.
Then the sense of what he’d said sank in, and I almost lost my appetite again. “How long to the capital?”
“We will arrive sometime tomorrow morning,” he said.
I grimaced down at my soup, then braced myself up, thinking that I’d better eat, hungry or not, for I’d need my strength. “What is Galdran like?” I asked, adding sourly, “Besides being a tyrant, a coward, and a Covenant breaker?”
Shevraeth sat with his mug in his hands. He hadn’t eaten much, but he was on his second cup of the coffee. “This is the third time you’ve brought that up,” he said. “How do you know he intends to break the Covenant?”
“We have proof.” I saw his eyes narrow, and I added in my hardest voice, “And don’t waste your breath threatening me about getting it, because you won’t. You really think I’d tell you what and where it is, just to have it destroyed? We may not be doing so well, but it seems my brother and I and our little untrained army are the only hope the Hill Folk have.”
The Marquis was silent for a long pause, during which my anger slowly evaporated, leaving me feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. I realized why just before he spoke: By refusing to tell him, I was implying that he, too, wanted to break the Covenant.
Well, doesn’t he?--if he’s allied with Galdran! I thought.
“To your question,” the Marquis said, setting his cup down, “’What is Galdran like?’ By that I take it you mean, What kind of treatment can you expect from the King? If you take the time to consider the circumstances outside of your mountain life, you might be able to answer that for yourself.” Despite the mild humor, the light, drawling voice managed somehow to sting. “The King has been in the midst of trade negotiations with Denlieff for over a year. You have cost him time and money that were better applied elsewhere. And a civil war never enhances the credit of the government in the eyes of visiting diplomats from the Empress in Cheras-al-Kherval, who does not look for causes so much as signs of slack control.”
I dropped my spoon in the empty soup bowl. “So if he cracks down even harder on the people, it’s all our fault, is that it?”
“You might contemplate, during your measures of leisure,” he said, “what the purpose of a permanent court serves, besides to squander the gold earned by the sweat of the peasants’ brows. And consider this: The only reason you and your brother have not been in Athanarel all along is because the King considered you too harmless to bother keeping an eye on.” And with a polite gesture: “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
I was ensconced again in the carriage with my pillows and aching leg for company, and we resumed journeying.
The effect of the coffee was to banish sleep. Restless, angry with myself, angrier with my companion and with the unlucky happenstance that had brought me to this pass, I turned my thoughts once again to escape.
Clouds gathered and darkness fell very swiftly. When I could no longer see clearly, I hauled myself up and felt my way to the door. The only plan I could think of was to open the door, tumble out, and hopefully lose myself in the darkness. This would work only if no one was riding beside the carriage, watching.
A quick peek--a longer look--no one in sight.
I eased myself down onto the floor and then opened the door a crack, peering back. I was about to fling the door wider when the carriage lurched around a curve and the door almost jerked out of my hand. I half fell against the doorway, caught myself, and a moment later heard a galloping horse come up from behind the carriage.
I didn’t look to see who was on it, but slammed the door shut and climbed back onto the seat.
And composed myself for sleep.
I knew I’d need it. ~ Sherwood Smith,#NFDB
781:The Fruit Shop
Cross-ribboned shoes; a muslin gown,
High-waisted, girdled with bright blue;
A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown
She pluckered her little brows into
As she picked her dainty passage through
The dusty street. 'Ah, Mademoiselle,
A dirty pathway, we need rain,
My poor fruits suffer, and the shell
Of this nut's too big for its kernel, lain
Here in the sun it has shrunk again.
The baker down at the corner says
We need a battle to shake the clouds;
But I am a man of peace, my ways
Don't look to the killing of men in crowds.
Poor fellows with guns and bayonets for shrouds!
Pray, Mademoiselle, come out of the sun.
Let me dust off that wicker chair. It's cool
In here, for the green leaves I have run
In a curtain over the door, make a pool
Of shade. You see the pears on that stool The shadow keeps them plump and fair.'
Over the fruiterer's door, the leaves
Held back the sun, a greenish flare
Quivered and sparked the shop, the sheaves
Of sunbeams, glanced from the sign on the eaves,
Shot from the golden letters, broke
And splintered to little scattered lights.
Jeanne Tourmont entered the shop, her poke
Bonnet tilted itself to rights,
And her face looked out like the moon on nights
Of flickering clouds. 'Monsieur Popain, I
Want gooseberries, an apple or two,
Or excellent plums, but not if they're high;
Haven't you some which a strong wind blew?
I've only a couple of francs for you.'
Monsieur Popain shrugged and rubbed his hands.
What could he do, the times were sad.
A couple of francs and such demands!
And asking for fruits a little bad.
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Wind-blown indeed! He never had
Anything else than the very best.
He pointed to baskets of blunted pears
With the thin skin tight like a bursting vest,
All yellow, and red, and brown, in smears.
Monsieur Popain's voice denoted tears.
He took up a pear with tender care,
And pressed it with his hardened thumb.
'Smell it, Mademoiselle, the perfume there
Is like lavender, and sweet thoughts come
Only from having a dish at home.
And those grapes! They melt in the mouth like wine,
Just a click of the tongue, and they burst to honey.
They're only this morning off the vine,
And I paid for them down in silver money.
The Corporal's widow is witness, her pony
Brought them in at sunrise to-day.
Those oranges - Gold! They're almost red.
They seem little chips just broken away
From the sun itself. Or perhaps instead
You'd like a pomegranate, they're rarely gay,
When you split them the seeds are like crimson spray.
Yes, they're high, they're high, and those Turkey figs,
They all come from the South, and Nelson's ships
Make it a little hard for our rigs.
They must be forever giving the slips
To the cursed English, and when men clips
Through powder to bring them, why dainties mounts
A bit in price. Those almonds now,
I'll strip off that husk, when one discounts
A life or two in a nigger row
With the man who grew them, it does seem how
They would come dear; and then the fight
At sea perhaps, our boats have heels
And mostly they sail along at night,
But once in a way they're caught; one feels
Ivory's not better nor finer - why peels
From an almond kernel are worth two sous.
It's hard to sell them now,' he sighed.
'Purses are tight, but I shall not lose.
There's plenty of cheaper things to choose.'
He picked some currants out of a wide
320
Earthen bowl. 'They make the tongue
Almost fly out to suck them, bride
Currants they are, they were planted long
Ago for some new Marquise, among
Other great beauties, before the Chateau
Was left to rot. Now the Gardener's wife,
He that marched off to his death at Marengo,
Sells them to me; she keeps her life
From snuffing out, with her pruning knife.
She's a poor old thing, but she learnt the trade
When her man was young, and the young Marquis
Couldn't have enough garden. The flowers he made
All new! And the fruits! But 'twas said that he
Was no friend to the people, and so they laid
Some charge against him, a cavalcade
Of citizens took him away; they meant
Well, but I think there was some mistake.
He just pottered round in his garden, bent
On growing things; we were so awake
In those days for the New Republic's sake.
He's gone, and the garden is all that's left
Not in ruin, but the currants and apricots,
And peaches, furred and sweet, with a cleft
Full of morning dew, in those green-glazed pots,
Why, Mademoiselle, there is never an eft
Or worm among them, and as for theft,
How the old woman keeps them I cannot say,
But they're finer than any grown this way.'
Jeanne Tourmont drew back the filigree ring
Of her striped silk purse, tipped it upside down
And shook it, two coins fell with a ding
Of striking silver, beneath her gown
One rolled, the other lay, a thing
Sparked white and sharply glistening,
In a drop of sunlight between two shades.
She jerked the purse, took its empty ends
And crumpled them toward the centre braids.
The whole collapsed to a mass of blends
Of colours and stripes. 'Monsieur Popain, friends
We have always been. In the days before
The Great Revolution my aunt was kind
When you needed help. You need no more;
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'Tis we now who must beg at your door,
And will you refuse?' The little man
Bustled, denied, his heart was good,
But times were hard. He went to a pan
And poured upon the counter a flood
Of pungent raspberries, tanged like wood.
He took a melon with rough green rind
And rubbed it well with his apron tip.
Then he hunted over the shop to find
Some walnuts cracking at the lip,
And added to these a barberry slip
Whose acrid, oval berries hung
Like fringe and trembled. He reached a round
Basket, with handles, from where it swung
Against the wall, laid it on the ground
And filled it, then he searched and found
The francs Jeanne Tourmont had let fall.
'You'll return the basket, Mademoiselle?'
She smiled, 'The next time that I call,
Monsieur. You know that very well.'
'Twas lightly said, but meant to tell.
Monsieur Popain bowed, somewhat abashed.
She took her basket and stepped out.
The sunlight was so bright it flashed
Her eyes to blindness, and the rout
Of the little street was all about.
Through glare and noise she stumbled, dazed.
The heavy basket was a care.
She heard a shout and almost grazed
The panels of a chaise and pair.
The postboy yelled, and an amazed
Face from the carriage window gazed.
She jumped back just in time, her heart
Beating with fear. Through whirling light
The chaise departed, but her smart
Was keen and bitter. In the white
Dust of the street she saw a bright
Streak of colours, wet and gay,
Red like blood. Crushed but fair,
Her fruit stained the cobbles of the way.
Monsieur Popain joined her there.
'Tiens, Mademoiselle,
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c'est le General Bonaparte, partant pour la Guerre!'
~ Amy Lowell,#NFDB
782:A Le Brun Et Au Marquis De Brazais
Le Brun, qui nous attends aux rives de la Seine,
Quand un destin jaloux loin de toi nous enchaîne;
Toi, Brazais, comme moi sur ces bords appelé,
Sans qui de l'univers je vivrais exilé;
Depuis que de Pandore un regard téméraire
Versa sur les humains un trésor de misère,
Pensez-vous que du ciel l'indulgente pitié
Leur ait fait un présent plus beau que l'amitié?
Ah! si quelque mortel est né pour la connaître.
C'est nous, âmes de feu, dont l'Amour est le maître.
Le cruel trop souvent empoisonne ses coups;
Elle garde à nos coeurs ses baumes les plus doux.
Malheur au jeune enfant seul, sans ami, sans guide,
Qui près de la beauté rougit et s'intimide,
Et, d'un pouvoir nouveau lentement dominé,
Par l'appât du plaisir doucement entraîné,
Crédule, et sur la foi d'un sourire volage,
A cette mer trompeuse et se livre et s'engage!
Combien de fois, tremblant et les larmes aux yeux,
Ses cris accuseront l'inconstance des dieux!
Combien il frémira d'entendre sur sa tête
Gronder les aquilons et la noire tempête,
Et d'écueils en écueils portera ses douleurs
Sans trouver une main pour essuyer ses pleurs!
Mais heureux dont le zèle, au milieu du naufrage,
Viendra le recueillir, le pousser au rivage;
Endormir dans ses flancs le poison ennemi;
Réchauffer dans son sein le sein de son ami,
Et de son fol amour étouffer la semence,
Ou du moins dans son coeur ranimer l'espérance!
Qu'il est beau de savoir, digne d'un tel lien,
Au repos d'un ami sacrifier le sien!
Plaindre de s'immoler l'occasion ravie,
Être heureux de sa joie et vivre de sa vie!
Si le ciel a daigné d'un regard amoureux
Accueillir ma prière et sourire à mes voeux,
Je ne demande point que mes sillons avides
Boivent l'or du Pactole et ses trésors liquides;
Ni que le diamant, sur la pourpre enchaîné,
Pare mon coeur esclave au Louvre prosterné;
Ni même, voeu plus doux! que la main d'Uranie
Embellisse mon front des palmes du génie;
Mais que beaucoup d'amis, accueillis dans mes bras,
Se partagent ma vie et pleurent mon trépas;
Que ces doctes héros, dont la main de la Gloire
A consacré les noms au temple de Mémoire,
Plutôt que leurs talents, inspirent à mon coeur
Les aimables vertus qui firent leur bonheur;
Et que de l'amitié ces antiques modèles
Reconnaissent mes pas sur leurs traces fidèles.
Si le feu qui respire en leurs divins écrits
D'une vive étincelle échauffa nos esprits;
Si leur gloire en nos coeurs souffle une noble envie,
Oh! suivons donc aussi l'exemple de leur vie:
Gardons d'en négliger la plus belle moitié;
Soyons heureux comme eux au sein de l'amitié.
Horace, loin des flots qui tourmentent Cythère,
Y retrouvait d'un port l'asile salutaire;
Lui-même au doux Tibulle, à ses tristes amours,
Prêta de l'amitié les utiles secours.
L'amitié rendit vains tous les traits de Lesbie;
Elle essuya les yeux que fit pleurer Cynthie.
Virgile n'a-t-il pas, d'un vers doux et flatteur,
De Gallus expirant consolé le malheur?
Voilà l'exemple saint que mon coeur leur demande.
Ovide, ah! qu'à mes yeux ton infortune est grande!
Non pour n'avoir pu faire aux tyrans irrités
Agréer de tes vers les lâches faussetés;
Je plains ton abandon, ta douleur solitaire.
Pas un coeur qui, du tien zélé dépositaire,
Vienne adoucir ta plaie, apaiser ton effroi,
Et consoler tes pleurs, et pleurer avec toi!
Ce n'est pas nous, amis, qu'un tel foudre menace.
Que des dieux et des rois l'éclatante disgrâce
Nous frappe: leur tonnerre aura trompé leurs mains;
Nous resterons unis en dépit des destins.
Qu'ils excitent sur nous la fortune cruelle;
Qu'elle arme tous ses traits: nous sommes trois contre elle.
Nos coeurs peuvent l'attendre, et, dans tous ses combats,
L'un sur l'autre appuyés, ne chancelleront pas.
Oui, mes amis, voilà le bonheur, la sagesse.
Que nous importe alors si le dieu du Permesse
Dédaigne de nous voir, entre ses favoris,
Charmer de l'Hélicon les bocages fleuris?
Aux sentiers où leur vie offre un plus doux exemple,
Où la félicité les reçut dans son temple,
Nous les aurons suivis, et, jusques au tombeau,
De leur double laurier su ravir le plus beau.
Mais nous pouvons, comme eux, les cueillir l'un et l'autre.
Ils reçurent du ciel un coeur tel que le nôtre;
Ce coeur fut leur génie; il fut leur Apollon,
Et leur docte fontaine, et leur sacré vallon.
Castor charme les dieux, et son frère l'inspire.
Loin de Patrocle, Achille aurait brisé sa lyre.
C'est près de Pollion, dans les bras de Varus,
Que Virgile envia le destin de Nisus.
Que dis-je? ils t'ont transmis ce feu qui les domine.
N'ai-je pas vu ta muse au tombeau de Racine,
Le Brun, faire gémir la lyre de douleurs
Que jadis Simonide anima de ses pleurs?
Et toi, dont le génie, amant de la retraite,
Et des leçons d'Ascra studieux interprète,
Accompagnant l'année en ses douze palais,
Étale sa richesse et ses vastes bienfaits;
Brazais, que de tes chants mon âme est pénétrée,
Quand ils vont couronner cette vierge adorée
Dont par la main du temps l'empire est respecté,
Et de qui la vieillesse augmente la beauté!
L'homme insensible et froid en vain s'attache à peindre
Ces sentiments du coeur que l'esprit ne peut feindre;
De ses tableaux fardés les frivoles appas
N'iront jamais au coeur dont ils ne viennent pas.
Eh! comment me tracer une image fidèle
Des traits dont votre main ignore le modèle?
Mais celui qui, dans soi descendant en secret,
Le contemple vivant, ce modèle parfait,
C'est lui qui nous enflamme au feu qui le dévore;
Lui qui fait adorer la vertu qu'il adore;
Lui qui trace, en un vers des Muses agréé,
Un sentiment profond que son coeur a créé.
Aimer, sentir, c'est là cette ivresse vantée
Qu'aux célestes foyers déroba Prométhée.
Calliope jamais daigna-t-elle enflammer
Un coeur inaccessible à la douceur d'aimer?
Non: l'amour, l'amitié, la sublime harmonie,
Tous ces dons précieux n'ont qu'un même génie;
Même souffle anima le poète charmant,
L'ami religieux et le parfait amant;
Ce sont toutes vertus d'une âme grande et fière.
Bavius et Zoïle, et Gacon et Linière,
Aux concerts d'Apollon ne furent point admis,
Vécurent sans maîtresse, et n'eurent point d'amis.
Et ceux qui, par leurs moeurs dignes de plus d'estime,
Ne sont point nés pourtant sous cet astre sublime,
Voyez-les, dans des vers divins, délicieux,
Vous habiller l'amour d'un clinquant précieux;
Badinage insipide où leur ennui se joue,
Et qu'autant que l'amour le bon sens désavoue.
Voyez si d'une belle un jeune amant épris
A tressailli jamais en lisant leurs écrits;
Si leurs lyres jamais, froides comme leurs âmes,
De la sainte amitié respirèrent les flammes.
O peuples de héros, exemples des mortels!
C'est chez vous que l'encens fuma sur ses autels;
C'est aux temps glorieux des triomphes d'Athène,
Aux temps sanctifiés par la vertu romaine;
Quand l'âme de Lélie animait Scipion,
Quand Nicoclès mourait au sein de Phocion;
C'est aux murs où Lycurgue a consacré sa vie,
Où les vertus étaient les lois de la patrie.
O demi-dieux amis! Atticus, Cicéron,
Caton, Brutus, Pompée, et Sulpice, et Varron!
Ces héros, dans le sein de leur ville perdue,
S'assemblaient pour pleurer la liberté vaincue.
Unis par la vertu, la gloire, le malheur,
Les arts et l'amitié consolaient leur douleur.
Sans l'amitié, quel antre ou quel sable infertile
N'eût été pour le sage un désirable asile,
Quand du Tibre avili le spectre ensanglanté
Armait la main du vice et la férocité;
Quand d'un vrai citoyen l'éclat et le courage
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Réveillaient du tyran la soupçonneuse rage;
Quand l'exil, la prison, le vol, l'assassinat,
Étaient pour l'apaiser l'offrande du Sénat!
Thraséas, Soranus, Sénécion, Rustique,
Vous tous, dignes enfants de la patrie antique,
Je vous vois tous amis, entourés de bourreaux,
Braver du scélérat les indignes faisceaux,
Du lâche délateur l'impudente richesse,
Et du vil affranchi l'orgueilleuse bassesse.
Je vous vois, au milieu des crimes, des noirceurs,
Garder une patrie, et des lois, et des moeurs;
Traverser d'un pied sûr, sans tache, sans souillure,
Les flots contagieux de cette mer impure;
Vous créer, au flambeau de vos mâles aïeux,
Sur ce monde profane un monde vertueux.
Oh! viens rendre à leurs noms nos âmes attentives,
Amitié! de leur gloire ennoblis nos archives.
Viens, viens: que nos climats, par ton souffle épurés,
Enfantent des rivaux à ces hommes sacrés.
Rends-nous hommes comme eux. Fais sur la France heureuse
Descendre des Vertus la troupe radieuse,
De ces filles du ciel qui naissent dans ton sein,
Et toutes sur tes pas se tiennent par la main.
Ranime les beaux-arts, éveille leur génie,
Chasse de leur empire et la haine et l'envie:
Loin de toi dans l'opprobre ils meurent avilis;
Pour conserver leur trône ils doivent être unis.
Alors de l'univers ils forcent les hommages:
Tout, jusqu'à Plutus même, encense leurs images;
Tout devient juste alors; et le peuple et les grands,
Quand l'homme est respectable, honorent les talents.
Ainsi l'on vit les Grecs prôner d'un même zèle
La gloire d'Alexandre et la gloire d'Apelle;
La main de Phidias créa des immortels,
Et Smyrne à son Homère éleva des autels.
Nous, amis, cependant, de qui la noble audace
Veut atteindre aux lauriers de l'antique Parnasse,
Au rang de ces grands noms nous pouvons être admis;
Soyons cités comme eux entre les vrais amis.
Qu'au-delà du trépas notre âme mutuelle
Vive et respire encor sur la lyre immortelle.
11
Que nos noms soient sacrés, que nos chants glorieux
Soient pour tous les amis un code précieux.
Qu'ils trouvent dans nos vers leur âme et leurs pensées;
Qu'ils raniment encor nos muses éclipsées,
Et qu'en nous imitant ils s'attendent un jour
D'être chez leurs neveux imités à leur tour.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,#NFDB
783:Palinodia
TO THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI.
I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long
And greatly have I erred. I fancied life
A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age,
Now passing, vainest, silliest of all.
Intolerable seemed, and _was_, such talk
Unto the happy race of mortals, if,
Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called.
'Twixt anger and surprise, the lofty creatures laughed
Forth from the fragrant Eden where they dwell;
Neglected, or unfortunate, they called me;
Of joy incapable, or ignorant,
To think my lot the common lot of all,
Mankind, the partner in my misery.
At length, amid the odor of cigars,
The crackling sound of dainty pastry, and
The orders loud for ices and for drinks,
'Midst clinking glasses, and 'midst brandished spoons,
The daily light of the gazettes flashed full
On my dim eyes. I saw and recognized
The public joy, and the felicity
Of human destiny. The lofty state
I saw, and value of all human things;
Our mortal pathway strewed with flowers; I saw
How naught displeasing here below endures.
Nor less I saw the studies and the works
Stupendous, wisdom, virtue, knowledge deep
Of this our age. From far Morocco to
Cathay, and from the Poles unto the Nile,
From Boston unto Goa, on the track
Of flying Fortune, emulously panting,
The empires, kingdoms, dukedoms of the earth
I saw, now clinging to her waving locks,
Now to the end of her encircling boa.
Beholding this, and o'er the ample sheets
Profoundly meditating, I became
Of my sad blunder, and myself, ashamed.
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The age of gold the spindles of the Fates,
O Gino, are evolving. Every sheet,
In each variety of speech and type,
The splendid promise to the world proclaims,
From every quarter. Universal love,
And iron roads, and commerce manifold,
Steam, types, and cholera, remotest lands,
Most distant nations will together bind;
Nor need we wonder if the pine or oak
Yield milk and honey, or together dance
Unto the music of the waltz. So much
The force already hath increased, both of
Alembics, and retorts, and of machines,
That vie with heaven in working miracles,
And will increase, in times that are to come:
For, evermore, from better unto best,
Without a pause, as in the past, the race
Of Shem, and Ham, and Japhet will progress.
And yet, on acorns men will never feed,
Unless compelled by hunger; never will
Hard iron lay aside. Full oft, indeed,
They gold and silver will despise, bills of
Exchange preferring. Often, too, the race
Its generous hands with brothers' blood will stain,
With fields of carnage filling Europe, and
The other shore of the Atlantic sea,
The new world, that the old still nourishes,
As often as it sends its rival bands
Of armed adventurers, in eager quest
Of pepper, cinnamon, or other spice,
Or sugar-cane, aught that ministers
Unto the universal thirst for gold.
True worth and virtue, modesty and faith,
And love of justice, in whatever land,
From public business will be still estranged,
Or utterly humiliated and
O'erthrown; condemned by Nature still,
To sink unto the bottom. Insolence
And fraud, with mediocrity combined,
Will to the surface ever rise, and reign.
65
Authority and strength, howe'er diffused,
However concentrated, will be still
Abused, beneath whatever name concealed,
By him who wields them; this the law by Fate
And nature written first, in adamant:
Nor can a Volta with his lightnings, nor
A Davy cancel it, nor England with
Her vast machinery, nor this our age
With all its floods of Leading Articles.
The good man ever will be sad, the wretch
Will keep perpetual holiday; against
All lofty souls both worlds will still be armed
Conspirators; true honor be assailed
By calumny, and hate, and envy; still
The weak will be the victim of the strong;
The hungry man upon the rich will fawn,
Beneath whatever form of government,
Alike at the Equator and the Poles;
So will it be, while man on earth abides,
And while the sun still lights him on his way.
These signs and tokens of the ages past
Must of necessity their impress leave
Upon our brightly dawning age of gold:
Because society from Nature still
Receives a thousand principles and aims,
Diverse, discordant; which to reconcile,
No wit or power of man hath yet availed,
Since first our race, illustrious, was born;
Nor _will_ avail, or treaty or gazette,
In any age, however wise or strong.
But in things more important, how complete,
Ne'er seen, till now, will be our happiness!
More soft, from day to day, our garments will
Become, of woollen or of silk. Their rough
Attire the husbandman and smith will cast
Aside, will swathe in cotton their rough hides,
And with the skins of beavers warm their backs.
More serviceable, more attractive, too,
Will be our carpets and our counterpanes,
Our curtains, sofas, tables, and our chairs;
Our beds, and their attendant furniture,
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Will a new grace unto our chambers lend;
And dainty forms of kettles and of pans,
On our dark kitchens will their lustre shed.
From Paris unto Calais, and from there
To London, and from there to Liverpool,
More rapid than imagination can
Conceive, will be the journey, nay the flight;
While underneath the ample bed of Thames,
A highway will be made, immortal work,
That _should_ have been completed, years ago.
Far better lighted, and perhaps as safe,
At night, as now they are, will be the lanes
And unfrequented streets of Capitals;
Perhaps, the main streets of the smaller towns.
Such privileges, such a happy lot,
Kind heaven reserves unto the coming race.
How fortunate are they, whom, as I write,
Naked and whimpering, in her arms receives
The midwife! They those longed-for days may hope
To see, when, after careful studies we
Shall know, and every nursling shall imbibe
That knowledge with the milk of the dear nurse,
How many hundred-weight of salt, and how
Much flesh, how many bushels, too, of flour,
His native town in every month consumes;
How many births and deaths in every year
The parish priest inscribes: when by the aid
Of mighty steam, that, every second, prints
Its millions, hill and dale, and ocean's vast
Expanse, e'en as we see a flock of cranes
Aërial, that suddenly the day obscure, will with Gazettes be overrun;
Gazettes, of the great Universe the life
And soul, sole fount of wisdom and of wit,
To this, and unto every coming age!
E'en as a child, who carefully constructs,
Of little sticks and leaves, an edifice,
In form of temple, palace, or of tower;
And, soon as he beholds the work complete,
The impulse feels, the structure to destroy,
Because the self-same sticks and leaves he needs,
67
To carry out some other enterprise;
So Nature every work of hers, however
It may delight us with its excellence,
No sooner sees unto perfection brought,
Than she proceeds to pull it all to pieces,
For other structures using still the parts.
And vainly seeks the human race, itself
Or others from the cruel sport to save,
The cause of which is hidden from its sight
Forever, though a thousand means it tries,
With skilful hand devising remedies:
For cruel Nature, child invincible,
Our efforts laughs to scorn, and still its own
Caprices carries out, without a pause,
Destroying and creating, for its sport.
And hence, a various, endless family
Of ills incurable and sufferings
Oppresses the frail mortal, doomed to death
Irreparably; hence a hostile force,
Destructive, smites him from within, without,
On every side, perpetual, e'en from
The day of birth, and wearies and exhausts,
Itself untiring, till he drops at last,
By the inhuman mother crushed, and killed.
Those crowning miseries, O gentle friend,
Of this our mortal life, old age and death,
E'en then commencing, when the infant lip
The tender breast doth press, that life instils,
This happy nineteenth century, I think,
Can no more help, than could the ninth, or tenth,
Nor will the coming ages, more than this.
Indeed, if we may be allowed to call
The truth by its right name, no other than
Supremely wretched must each mortal be,
In every age, and under every form
Of government, and walk and mode of life;
By nature hopelessly incurable,
Because a universal law hath so
Decreed, which heaven and earth alike obey.
And yet the lofty spirits of our age
A new discovery have made, almost
Divine; for, though they cannot make
68
A single person happy on the earth,
The man forgetting, they have gone in quest
Of universal happiness, and this,
Forsooth, have found so easily, that out
Of many wretched individuals,
They can a happy, joyful people make.
And at this miracle, not yet explained
By quarterly reviews, or pamphlets, or
Gazettes, the common herd in wonder smile.
O minds, O wisdom, insight marvellous
Of this our passing age! And what profound
Philosophy, what lessons deep, O Gino,
In matters more sublime and recondite,
This century of thine and mine will teach
To those that follow! With what constancy,
What yesterday it scorned, upon its knees
To-day it worships, and will overthrow
To-morrow, merely to pick up again
The fragments, to the idol thus restored,
To offer incense on the following day!
How estimable, how inspiring, too,
This unanimity of thought, not of
The age alone, but of each passing year!
How carefully should we, when we our thought
With this compare, however different
From that of next year it may be, at least
Appearance of diversity avoid!
What giant strides, compared with those of old,
Our century in wisdom's school has made!
One of thy friends, O worthy Gino, once,
A master poet, nay, of every Art,
And Science, every human faculty,
For past, and present, and for future times,
A learned expositor, remarked to me:
'Of thy own feelings, care to speak no more!
Of them, this manly age makes no account,
In economic problems quite absorbed,
And with an eye for politics alone,
Of what avail, thy own heart to explore?
Seek not within thyself material
69
For song; but sing the needs of this our age,
And consummation of its ripening hope!'
O memorable words! Whereat I laughed
Like chanticleer, the name of _hope_ to hear
Thus strike upon my ear profane, as if
A jest it were, or prattle of a child
Just weaned. But now a different course I take,
Convinced by many shining proofs, that he
Must not resist or contradict the age,
Who seeketh praise or pudding at its hands,
But faithfully and servilely obey;
And so will find a short and easy road
Unto the stars. And I who long to reach
The stars will not, howe'er, select the needs
Of this our age for burden of my song;
For these, increasing constantly, are still
By merchants and by work-shops amply met;
But I will sing of hope, of hope whereof
The gods now grant a pledge so palpable.
The first-fruits of our new felicity
Behold, in the enormous growth of hair,
Upon the lip, upon the cheek, of youth!
O hail, thou salutary sign, first beam
Of light of this our wondrous, rising age!
See, how before thee heaven and earth rejoice,
How sparkle all the damsels' eyes with joy,
How through all banquets and all festivals
The fame of the young bearded heroes flies!
Grow for your country's sake, ye manly youth!
Beneath the shadow of your fleecy locks,
Will Italy increase, and Europe from
The mouths of Tagus to the Hellespont,
And all the world will taste the sweets of peace.
And thou, O tender child, for whom these days
Of gold are yet in store, begin to greet
Thy bearded father with a smile, nor fear
The harmless blackness of his loving face.
Laugh, darling child; for thee are kept the fruits
Of so much dazzling eloquence. Thou shalt
Behold joy reign in cities and in towns,
Old age and youth alike contented dwell,
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And undulating beards of two spans long!
~ Count Giacomo Leopardi,#NFDB
784:The Dunciad: Book Iv
Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light
Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night!
Of darkness visible so much be lent,
As half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
Ye pow'rs! whose mysteries restor'd I sing,
To whom time bears me on his rapid wing,
Suspend a while your force inertly strong,
Then take at once the poet and the song.
Now flam'd the Dog Star's unpropitious ray,
Smote ev'ry brain, and wither'd every bay;
Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bow'r.
The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour:
Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night,
To blot out order, and extinguish light,
Of dull and venal a new world to mould,
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold.
She mounts the throne: her head a cloud conceal'd,
In broad effulgence all below reveal'd;
('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines)
Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines.
Beneath her footstool, Science groans in chains,
And Wit dreads exile, penalties, and pains.
There foam'd rebellious Logic , gagg'd and bound,
There, stripp'd, fair Rhet'ric languish'd on the ground;
His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne,
And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn.
Morality , by her false guardians drawn,
Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,
Gasps, as they straighten at each end the cord,
And dies, when Dulness gives her page the word.
Mad Mathesis alone was unconfin'd,
Too mad for mere material chains to bind,
Now to pure space lifts her ecstatic stare,
Now running round the circle finds it square.
But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie,
Watch'd both by Envy's and by Flatt'ry's eye:
191
There to her heart sad Tragedy addres'd
The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast;
But sober History restrain'd her rage,
And promised vengeance on a barb'rous age.
There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead,
Had not her sister Satire held her head:
Nor couldst thou, Chesterfield! a tear refuse,
Thou weptst, and with thee wept each gentle Muse.
When lo! a harlot form soft sliding by,
With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye;
Foreign her air, her robe's discordant pride
In patchwork flutt'ring, and her head aside:
By singing peers upheld on either hand,
She tripp'd and laugh'd, too pretty much to stand;
Cast on the prostrate Nine a scornful look,
Then thus in quaint recitativo spoke.
'O
Cara! Cara!
silence all that train:
Joy to great Chaos! let Division reign:
Chromatic tortures soon shall drive them hence,
Break all their nerves, and fritter all their sense:
One trill shall harmonize joy, grief, and rage,
Wake the dull Church, and lull the ranting Stage;
To the same notes thy sons shall hum, or snore,
And all thy yawning daughters cry,
encore
Another Phoebus, thy own Phoebus, reigns,
Joys in my jigs, and dances in my chains.
But soon, ah soon, Rebellion will commence,
If Music meanly borrows aid from Sense.
Strong in new arms, lo! Giant Handel stands,
Like bold Briarerus, with a hundred hands;
To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes,
And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums.
Arrest him, Empress, or you sleep no more-'
She heard, and drove him to th' Hibernian shore.
And now had Fame's posterior trumpet blown,
192
And all the nations summoned to the throne.
The young, the old, who feel her inward sway,
One instinct seizes, and transports away.
None need a guide, by sure attraction led,
And strong impulsive gravity of head:
None want a place, for all their centre found
Hung to the Goddess, and coher'd around.
Not closer, orb in orb, conglob'd are seen
The buzzing bees about their dusky Queen.
The gath'ring number, as it moves along,
Involves a vast involuntary throng,
Who gently drawn, and struggling less and less,
Roll in her Vortex, and her pow'r confess.
Not those alone who passive own her laws,
But who, weak rebels, more advance her cause.
Whate'er of dunce in college or in town
Sneers at another, in toupee or gown;
Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits,
A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.
Nor absent they, no members of her state,
Who pay her homage in her sons, the Great;
Who false to Phoebus bow the knee to Baal;
Or, impious, preach his Word without a call.
Patrons, who sneak from living worth to dead,
Withhold the pension, and set up the head;
Or vest dull Flattery in the sacred gown;
Or give from fool to fool the laurel crown.
And (last and worst) with all the cant of wit,
Without the soul, the Muse's hypocrite.
There march'd the bard and blockhead, side by side,
Who rhym'd for hire, and patroniz'd for pride.
Narcissus, prais'd with all a Parson's pow'r,
Look'd a white lily sunk beneath a show'r.
There mov'd Montalto with superior air;
His stretch'd-out arm display'd a volume fair;
Courtiers and Patriots in two ranks divide,
Through both he pass'd, and bow'd from side to side:
But as in graceful act, with awful eye
Compos'd he stood, bold Benson thrust him by:
193
On two unequal crutches propp'd he came,
Milton's on this, on that one Johnston's name.
The decent knight retir'd with sober rage,
Withdrew his hand, and closed the pompous page.
But (happy for him as the times went then)
Appear'd Apollo's mayor and aldermen,
On whom three hundred gold-capp'd youths await,
To lug the pond'rous volume off in state.
When Dulness, smiling-'Thus revive the Wits!
But murder first, and mince them all to bits;
As erst Medea (cruel, so to save!)
A new edition of old Aeson gave;
Let standard authors, thus, like trophies born,
Appear more glorious as more hack'd and torn,
And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade,
Admire new light through holes yourselves have made.
Leave not a foot of verse, a foot of stone,
A page, a grave, that they can call their own;
But spread, my sons, your glory thin or thick,
On passive paper, or on solid brick.
So by each bard an Alderman shall sit,
A heavy lord shall hang at ev'ry wit,
And while on Fame's triumphal Car they ride,
Some Slave of mine be pinion'd to their side.'
Now crowds on crowds around the Goddess press,
Each eager to present their first address.
Dunce scorning dunce beholds the next advance,
But fop shows fop superior complaisance,
When lo! a spector rose, whose index hand
Held forth the virtue of the dreadful wand;
His beaver'd brow a birchen garland wears,
Dropping with infant's blood, and mother's tears.
O'er every vein a shud'ring horror runs;
Eton and Winton shake through all their sons.
All flesh is humbl'd, Westminster's bold race
Shrink, and confess the Genius of the place:
The pale boy senator yet tingling stands,
And holds his breeches close with both his hands.
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Then thus. 'Since man from beast by words is known,
Words are man's province, words we teach alone.
When reason doubtful, like the Samian letter,
Points him two ways, the narrower is the better.
Plac'd at the door of learning, youth to guide,
We never suffer it to stand too wide.
To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence,
As fancy opens the quick springs of sense,
We ply the memory, we load the brain,
Bind rebel Wit, and double chain on chain,
Confine the thought, to exercise the breath;
And keep them in the pale of words till death.
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er design'd,
We hang one jingling padlock on the mind:
A Poet the first day, he dips his quill;
And what the last? A very Poet still.
Pity! the charm works only in our wall,
Lost, lost too soon in yonder house or hall.
There truant Wyndham every Muse gave o'er,
There Talbot sunk, and was a wit no more!
How sweet an Ovid, Murray was our boast!
How many Martials were in Pult'ney lost!
Else sure some bard, to our eternal praise,
In twice ten thousand rhyming nights and days,
Had reach'd the work, and All that mortal can;
And South beheld that Masterpiece of Man.'
'Oh' (cried the Goddess) 'for some pedant Reign!
Some gentle James, to bless the land again;
To stick the Doctor's chair into the throne,
Give law to words, or war with words alone,
Senates and courts with Greek and Latin rule,
And turn the council to a grammar school!
For sure, if Dulness sees a grateful day,
'Tis in the shade of arbitrary sway.
O! if my sons may learn one earthly thing,
Teach but that one, sufficient for a king;
That which my priests, and mine alone, maintain,
Which as it dies, or lives, we fall, or reign:
May you, may Cam and Isis, preach it long!
'The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong'.'
195
Prompt at the call, around the Goddess roll
Broad hats, and hoods, and caps, a sable shoal:
Thick and more thick the black blockade extends,
A hundred head of Aristotle's friends.
Nor wert thou, Isis! wanting to the day,
Though Christ Church long kept prudishly away.
Each staunch polemic, stubborn as a rock,
Each fierce logician, still expelling Locke,
Came whip and spur, and dash'd through thin and thick
On German Crousaz, and Dutch Burgersdyck.
As many quit the streams that murm'ring fall
To lull the sons of Marg'ret and Clare Hall,
Where Bentley late tempestuous wont to sport
In troubled waters, but now sleeps in Port.
Before them march'd that awful Aristarch;
Plow'd was his front with many a deep remark:
His hat, which never vail'd to human pride,
Walker with rev'rence took, and laid aside.
Low bowed the rest: He, kingly, did but nod;
So upright Quakers please both man and God.
'Mistress! dismiss that rabble from your throne:
Avaunt-is Aristarchus yet unknown?
Thy mighty scholiast, whose unwearied pains
Made Horace dull, and humbl'd Milton's strains.
Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain,
Critics like me shall make it prose again.
Roman and Greek grammarians! know your better:
Author of something yet more great than letter;
While tow'ring o'er your alphabet, like Saul,
Stands our Digamma, and o'ertops them all.
'Tis true, on words is still our whole debate,
Disputes of
Me
or
Te
, of
aut
or
at
To sound or sink in
196
cano
, O or A,
Or give up Cicero to C or K.
Let Freind affect to speak as Terence spoke,
And Alsop never but like Horace joke:
For me, what Virgil, Pliny may deny,
Manilius or Solinus shall supply:
For Attic Phrase in Plato let them seek,
I poach in Suidas for unlicens'd Greek.
In ancient sense if any needs will deal,
Be sure I give them fragments, not a meal;
What Gellius or Stobaeus hash'd before,
Or chew'd by blind old Scholiasts o'er and o'er.
The critic eye, that microscope of wit,
Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit:
How parts relate to parts, or they to whole,
The body's harmony, the beaming soul,
Are things which Kuster, Burman, Wasse shall see,
When man's whole frame is obvious to a
Flea
'Ah, think not, Mistress! more true dulness lies
In Folly's cap, than Wisdom's grave disguise.
Like buoys, that never sink into the flood,
On learning's surface we but lie and nod.
Thine is the genuine head of many a house,
And much Divinity without a Nous.
Nor could a Barrow work on every block,
Nor has one Atterbury spoil'd the flock.
See! still thy own, the heavy canon roll,
And metaphysic smokes involve the pole.
For thee we dim the eyes, and stuff the head
With all such reading as was never read:
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it,
And write about it, Goddess, and about it:
So spins the silkworm small its slender store,
And labours till it clouds itself all o'er.
'What tho' we let some better sort of fool
Thrid ev'ry science, run through ev'ry school?
Never by tumbler through the hoops was shown
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Such skill in passing all, and touching none.
He may indeed (if sober all this time)
Plague with dispute, or persecute with rhyme.
We only furnish what he cannot use,
Or wed to what he must divorce, a Muse:
Full in the midst of Euclid dip at once,
And petrify a Genius to a Dunce:
Or set on metaphysic ground to prance,
Show all his paces, not a step advance.
With the same cement ever sure to bind,
We bring to one dead level ev'ry mind.
Then take him to develop, if you can,
And hew the block off, and get out the man.
But wherefore waste I words? I see advance
Whore, pupil, and lac'd governor from France.
Walker! our hat' -nor more he deign'd to say,
But, stern as Ajax' spectre, strode away.
In flow'd at once a gay embroider'd race,
And titt'ring push'd the Pedants off the place;
Some would have spoken, but the voice was drown'd
By the French horn, or by the op'ning hound.
The first came forwards, with as easy mien,
As if he saw St. James's and the Queen.
When thus th' attendant Orator begun,
Receive, great Empress! thy accomplish'd Son:
Thine from the birth, and sacred from the rod,
A dauntless infant! never scar'd with God.
The Sire saw, one by one, his Virtues wake:
The Mother begg'd the blessing of a Rake.
Thou gav'st that Ripeness, which so soon began,
And ceas'd so soon, he ne'er was Boy, nor Man,
Thro' School and College, thy kind cloud o'ercast,
Safe and unseen the young AEneas past:
Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down,
Stunn'd with his giddy Larum half the town.
Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew:
Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too.
There all thy gifts and graces we display,
Thou, only thou, directing all our way!
To where the Seine, obsequious as she runs,
Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons;
198
Or Tyber, now no longer Roman, rolls,
Vain of Italian Arts, Italian Souls:
To happy Convents, bosom'd deep in vines,
Where slumber Abbots, purple as their wines:
To Isles of fragrance, lilly-silver'd vales,
Diffusing languor in the panting gales:
To lands of singing, or of dancing slaves,
Love-whisp'ring woods, and lute-resounding waves.
But chief her shrine where naked Venus keeps,
And Cupids ride the Lyon of the Deeps;
Where, eas'd of Fleets, the Adriatic main
Wafts the smooth Eunuch and enamour'd swain.
Led by my hand, he saunter'd Europe round,
And gather'd ev'ry Vice on Christian ground;
Saw ev'ry Court, hear'd ev'ry King declare
His royal Sense, of Op'ra's or the Fair;
The Stews and Palace equally explor'd,
Intrigu'd with glory, and with spirit whor'd;
Try'd all hors-d' uvres, all Liqueurs defin'd,
Judicious drank, and greatly-daring din'd;
Dropt the dull lumber of the Latin store,
Spoil'd his own Language, and acquir'd no more;
All Classic learning lost on Classic ground;
And last turn'd Air, the Eccho of a Sound!
See now, half-cur'd, and perfectly well-bred,
With nothing but a Solo in his head;
As much Estate, and Principle, and Wit,
As Jansen, Fleetwood, Cibber shall think fit;
Stol'n from a Duel, follow'd by a Nun,
And, if a Borough chuse him, not undone;
See, to my country happy I restore
This glorious Youth, and add one Venus more.
Her too receive (for her my soul adores)
So may the sons of sons of sons of whores,
Prop thine, O Empress! like each neighbour Throne,
And make a long Posterity thy own.
Pleas'd, she accepts the Hero, and the Dame,
Wraps in her Veil, and frees from sense of Shame.
Then look'd, and saw a lazy, lolling sort,
Unseen at Church, at Senate, or at Court,
Of ever-listless Loit'rers, that attend
No Cause, no Trust, no Duty, and no Friend.
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Thee too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there,
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair,
And heard thy everlasting yawn confess
The Pains and Penalties of Idleness.
She pity'd! but her Pity only shed
Benigner influence on thy nodding head.
But Annius, crafty Seer, with ebon wand,
And well-dissembl'd Em'rald on his hand,
False as his Gems and canker'd as his Coins,
Came, cramm'd with Capon, from where Pollio dines.
Soft, as the wily Fox is seen to creep,
Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep,
Walk round and round, now prying here, now there;
So he; but pious, whisper'd first his pray'r.
Grant, gracious Goddess! grant me still to cheat,
O may thy cloud still cover the deceit!
Thy choicer mists on this assembly shed,
But pour them thickest on the noble head.
So shall each youth, assisted by our eyes,
See other C‘sars, other Homers rise;
Thro' twilight ages hunt th'Athenian fowl,
Which Chalcis Gods, and mortals call an Owl,
Now see an Attys, now a Cecrops clear,
Nay, Mahomet! the Pigeon at thine ear;
Be rich in ancient brass, tho' not in gold,
And keep his Lares, tho' his house be sold;
To headless Ph be his fair bride postpone,
Honour a Syrian Prince above his own;
Lord of an Otho, if I vouch it true;
Blest in one Niger, till he knows of two.
Mummius o'erheard him; Mummius, Fool-renown'd,
Who like his Cheops stinks above the ground,
Fierce as a startled Adder, swell'd, and said,
Rattling an ancient Sistrum at his head.
Speak'st thou of Syrian Princes? Traitor base!
Mine, Goddess! mine is all the horned race.
True, he had wit, to make their value rise;
From foolish Greeks to steal them, was as wise;
More glorious yet, from barb'rous hands to keep,
When Sallee Rovers chac'd him on the deep.
Then taught by Hermes, and divinely bold,
Down his own throat he risqu'd the Grecian gold;
200
Receiv'd each Demi-God, with pious care,
Deep in his Entrails — I rever'd them there,
I bought them, shrouded in that living shrine,
And, at their second birth, they issue mine.
Witness great Ammon! by whose horns I swore,
(Reply'd soft Annius) this our paunch before
Still bears them, faithful; and that thus I eat,
Is to refund the Medals with the meat.
To prove me, Goddess! clear of all design,
Bid me with Pollio sup, as well as dine:
There all the Learn'd shall at the labour stand,
And Douglas lend his soft, obstetric hand.
The Goddess smiling seem'd to give consent;
So back to Pollio, hand in hand, they went.
Then thick as Locusts black'ning all the ground,
A tribe, with weeds and shells fantastic crown'd,
Each with some wond'rous gift approach'd the Pow'r,
A Nest, a Toad, a Fungus, or a Flow'r.
But far the foremost, two, with earnest zeal,
And aspect ardent to the Throne appeal.
The first thus open'd: Hear thy suppliant's call,
Great Queen, and common Mother of us all!
Fair from its humble bed I rear'd this Flow'r,
Suckled, and chear'd, with air, and sun, and show'r,
Soft on the paper ruff its leaves I spread,
Bright with the gilded button tipt its head,
Then thron'd in glass, and nam'd it Caroline:
Each Maid cry'd, charming! and each Youth, divine!
Did Nature's pencil ever blend such rays,
Such vary'd light in one promiscuous blaze?
Now prostrate! dead! behold that Caroline:
No Maid cries, charming! and no Youth, divine!
And lo the wretch! whose vile, whose insect lust
Lay'd this gay daughter of the Spring in dust.
Oh punish him, or to th' Elysian shades
Dismiss my soul, where no Carnation fades.
He ceas'd, and wept. With innocence of mien,
Th'Accus'd stood forth, and thus address'd the Queen.
Of all th'enamel'd race, whose silv'ry wing
Waves to the tepid Zephyrs of the spring,
Or swims along the fluid atmosphere,
Once brightest shin'd this child of Heat and Air.
201
I saw, and started from its vernal bow'r
The rising game, and chac'd from flow'r to flow'r.
It fled, I follow'd; now in hope, now pain;
It stopt, I stopt; it mov'd, I mov'd again.
At last it fix'd, 'twas on what plant it pleas'd,
And where it fix'd, the beauteous bird I seiz'd:
Rose or Carnation was below my care;
I meddle, Goddess! only in my sphere.
I tell the naked fact without disguise,
And, to excuse it, need but shew the prize;
Whose spoils this paper offers to your eye,
Fair ev'n in death! this peerless Butterfly.
My sons! (she answer'd) both have done your parts:
Live happy both, and long promote our arts.
But hear a Mother, when she recommends
To your fraternal care, our sleeping friends.
The common Soul, of Heav'n's more frugal make,
Serves but to keep fools pert, and knaves awake:
A drowzy Watchman, that just gives a knock,
And breaks our rest, to tell us what's a clock.
Yet by some object ev'ry brain is stirr'd;
The dull may waken to a Humming-bird;
The most recluse, discreetly open'd, find
Congenial matter in the Cockle-kind;
The mind, in Metaphysics at a loss,
May wander in a wilderness of Moss;
The head that turns at super-lunar things,
Poiz'd with a tail, may steer on Wilkins' wings.
'O! would the sons of men once think their eyes
And reason given them but to study flies !
See Nature in some partial narrow shape,
And let the Author of the Whole escape:
Learn but to trifle; or, who most observe,
To wonder at their Maker, not to serve.'
'Be that my task' (replies a gloomy clerk,
Sworn foe to Myst'ry, yet divinely dark;
Whose pious hope aspires to see the day
When Moral Evidence shall quite decay,
And damns implicit faith, and holy lies,
Prompt to impose, and fond to dogmatize):
'Let others creep by timid steps, and slow,
On plain experience lay foundations low,
202
By common sense to common knowledge bred,
And last, to Nature's Cause through Nature led.
All-seeing in thy mists, we want no guide,
Mother of Arrogance, and Source of Pride!
We nobly take the high Priori Road,
And reason downward, till we doubt of God:
Make Nature still encroach upon his plan;
And shove him off as far as e'er we can:
Thrust some Mechanic Cause into his place;
Or bind in matter, or diffuse in space.
Or, at one bound o'erleaping all his laws,
Make God man's image, man the final Cause,
Find virtue local, all relation scorn
See all in self , and but for self be born:
Of naught so certain as our reason still,
Of naught so doubtful as of soul and will .
Oh hide the God still more! and make us see
Such as Lucretius drew, a god like thee:
Wrapp'd up in self, a god without a thought,
Regardless of our merit or default.
Or that bright image to our fancy draw,
Which Theocles in raptur'd vision saw,
While through poetic scenes the Genius roves,
Or wanders wild in academic groves;
That Nature our society adores,
Where Tindal dictates, and Silenus snores.'
Rous'd at his name up rose the bousy Sire,
And shook from out his pipe the seeds of fire;
Then snapp'd his box, and strok'd his belly down:
Rosy and rev'rend, though without a gown.
Bland and familiar to the throne he came,
Led up the youth, and call'd the Goddess Dame .
Then thus, 'From priestcraft happily set free,
Lo! ev'ry finished Son returns to thee:
First slave to words, then vassal to a name,
Then dupe to party; child and man the same;
Bounded by Nature, narrow'd still by art,
A trifling head, and a contracted heart.
Thus bred, thus taught, how many have I seen,
Smiling on all, and smil'd on by a queen.
Marked out for honours, honour'd for their birth,
203
To thee the most rebellious things on earth:
Now to thy gentle shadow all are shrunk,
All melted down, in pension, or in punk!
So K-- so B-- sneak'd into the grave,
A monarch's half, and half a harlot's slave.
Poor W-- nipp'd in Folly's broadest bloom,
Who praises now? his chaplain on his tomb.
Then take them all, oh take them to thy breast!
Thy Magus , Goddess! shall perform the rest.'
With that, a Wizard old his Cup extends;
Which whoso tastes, forgets his former friends,
Sire, ancestors, himself. One casts his eyes
Up to a Star , and like Endymion dies:
A Feather , shooting from another's head,
Extracts his brain, and principle is fled,
Lost is his God, his country, ev'rything;
And nothing left but homage to a king!
The vulgar herd turn off to roll with hogs,
To run with horses, or to hunt with dogs;
But, sad example! never to escape
Their infamy, still keep the human shape.
But she, good Goddess, sent to ev'ry child
Firm impudence, or stupefaction mild;
And straight succeeded, leaving shame no room,
Cibberian forehead, or Cimmerian gloom.
Kind self-conceit to somewhere glass applies,
Which no one looks in with another's eyes:
But as the flatt'rer or dependant paint,
Beholds himself a patriot, chief, or saint.
On others Int'rest her gay liv'ry flings,
Int'rest that waves on party-colour'd wings:
Turn'd to the sun, she casts a thousand dyes,
And, as she turns, the colours fall or rise.
Others the siren sisters warble round,
And empty heads console with empty sound.
No more, Alas! the voice of Fame they hear,
The balm of Dulness trickling in their ear.
Great C--, H--, P--, R--, K--,
Why all your toils? your Sons have learn'd to sing.
How quick ambition hastes to ridicule!
The sire is made a peer, the son a fool.
204
On some, a Priest succinct in amice white
Attends; all flesh is nothing in his sight!
Beeves, at his touch, at once to jelly turn,
And the huge boar is shrunk into an urn:
The board with specious miracles he loads,
Turns hares to larks, and pigeons into toads.
Another (for in all what one can shine?)
Explains the
Seve
and
Verdeur
of the vine.
What cannot copious sacrifice atone?
Thy truffles, Perigord! thy hams, Bayonne!
With French libation, and Italian strain,
Wash Bladen white, and expiate Hays's stain.
Knight lifts the head, for what are crowds undone.
To three essential partridges in one?
Gone ev'ry blush, and silent all reproach,
Contending princes mount them in their coach.
Next, bidding all draw near on bended knees,
The Queen confers her Titles and Degrees .
Her children first of more distinguish'd sort,
Who study Shakespeare at the Inns of Court,
Impale a glowworm, or vertú profess,
Shine in the dignity of F.R.S.
Some, deep Freemasons, join the silent race
Worthy to fill Pythagoras's place:
Some botanists, or florists at the least,
Or issue members of an annual feast.
Nor pass'd the meanest unregarded, one
Rose a Gregorian, one a Gormogon.
The last, not least in honour or applause,
Isis and Cam made Doctors of her Laws.
Then, blessing all, 'Go, Children of my care!
To practice now from theory repair.
All my commands are easy, short, and full:
My sons! be proud, be selfish, and be dull.
Guard my prerogative, assert my throne:
This nod confirms each privilege your own.
The cap and switch be sacred to his Grace;
205
With staff and pumps the Marquis lead the race;
From stage to stage the licens'd Earl may run,
Pair'd with his fellow charioteer the sun;
The learned Baron butterflies design,
Or draw to silk Arachne's subtle line;
The Judge to dance his brother Sergeant call;
The Senator at cricket urge the ball;
The Bishop stow (pontific luxury!)
An hundred souls of turkeys in a pie;
The sturdy Squire to Gallic masters stoop,
And drown his lands and manors in a soupe .
Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Perhaps more high some daring son may soar,
Proud to my list to add one monarch more;
And nobly conscious, princes are but things
Born for first ministers, as slaves for kings,
Tyrant supreme! shall three Estates command,
And make one mighty Dunciad of the Land!
More she had spoke, but yawn'd-All Nature nods:
What mortal can resist the yawn of gods?
Churches and Chapels instantly it reach'd;
(St. James's first, for leaden Gilbert preach'd)
Then catch'd the schools; the Hall scarce kept awake;
The Convocation gap'd, but could not speak:
Lost was the nation's sense, nor could be found,
While the long solemn unison went round:
Wide, and more wide, it spread o'er all the realm;
Even Palinurus nodded at the helm:
The vapour mild o'er each committee crept;
Unfinish'd treaties in each office slept;
And chiefless armies doz'd out the campaign;
And navies yawn'd for orders on the main.
O Muse! relate (for you can tell alone,
Wits have short memories, and Dunces none),
Relate, who first, who last resign'd to rest;
Whose heads she partly, whose completely blest;
What charms could faction, what ambition lull,
The venal quiet, and entrance the dull;
Till drown'd was sense, and shame, and right, and wrongO sing, and hush the nations with thy song!
206
In vain, in vain-the all-composing hour
Resistless falls: The Muse obeys the Pow'r.
She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old!
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay,
And all its varying rainbows die away.
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,
The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain;
As Argus' eyes by Hermes' wand oppress'd,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is Night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled,
Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!
Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense !
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires.
Nor public Flame, nor private , dares to shine;
Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine !
Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos! is restor'd;
Light dies before thy uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;
And universal Darkness buries All.
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
785:The thought of Eglamor's least like a thought,
And yet a false one, was, "Man shrinks to nought
"If matched with symbols of immensity;
"Must quail, forsooth, before a quiet sky
"Or sea, too little for their quietude:"
And, truly, somewhat in Sordello's mood
Confirmed its speciousness, while eve slow sank
Down the near terrace to the farther bank,
And only one spot left from out the night
Glimmered upon the river opposite
A breadth of watery heaven like a bay,
A sky-like space of water, ray for ray,
And star for star, one richness where they mixed
As this and that wing of an angel, fixed,
Tumultuary splendours folded in
To die. Nor turned he till Ferrara's din
(Say, the monotonous speech from a man's lip
Who lets some first and eager purpose slip
In a new fancy's birththe speech keeps on
Though elsewhere its informing soul be gone)
Aroused him, surely offered succour. Fate
Paused with this eve; ere she precipitate
Herself,best put off new strange thoughts awhile,
That voice, those large hands, that portentous smile,
What help to pierce the future as the past
Lay in the plaining city?
And at last
The main discovery and prime concern,
All that just now imported him to learn,
Truth's self, like yonder slow moon to complete
Heaven, rose again, and, naked at his feet,
Lighted his old life's every shift and change,
Effort with counter-effort; nor the range
Of each looked wrong except wherein it checked,
Some otherwhich of these could he suspect,
Prying into them by the sudden blaze?
The real way seemed made up of all the ways
Mood after mood of the one mind in him;
Tokens of the existence, bright or dim,
Of a transcendent all-embracing sense
Demanding only outward influence,
A soul, in Palma's phrase, above his soul,
Power to uplift his power,such moon's control
Over such sea-depths,and their mass had swept
Onward from the beginning and still kept
Its course: but years and years the sky above
Held none, and so, untasked of any love,
His sensitiveness idled, now amort,
Alive now, and, to sullenness or sport
Given wholly up, disposed itself anew
At every passing instigation, grew
And dwindled at caprice, in foam-showers spilt,
Wedge-like insisting, quivered now a gilt
Shield in the sunshine, now a blinding race
Of whitest ripples o'er the reeffound place
For much display; not gathered up and, hurled
Right from its heart, encompassing the world.
So had Sordello been, by consequence,
Without a function: others made pretence
To strength not half his own, yet had some core
Within, submitted to some moon, before
Them still, superior still whate'er their force,
Were able therefore to fulfil a course,
Nor missed life's crown, authentic attribute.
To each who lives must be a certain fruit
Of having lived in his degree,a stage,
Earlier or later in men's pilgrimage,
To stop at; and to this the spirits tend
Who, still discovering beauty without end,
Amass the scintillations, make one star
Something unlike them, self-sustained, afar,
And meanwhile nurse the dream of being blest
By winning it to notice and invest
Their souls with alien glory, some one day
Whene'er the nucleus, gathering shape alway,
Round to the perfect circlesoon or late,
According as themselves are formed to wait;
Whether mere human beauty will suffice
The yellow hair and the luxurious eyes,
Or human intellect seem best, or each
Combine in some ideal form past reach
On earth, or else some shade of these, some aim,
Some love, hate even, take their place, the same,
So to be servedall this they do not lose,
Waiting for death to live, nor idly choose
What must be Hella progress thus pursued
Through all existence, still above the food
That 's offered them, still fain to reach beyond
The widened range, in virtue of their bond
Of sovereignty. Not that a Palma's Love,
A Salinguerra's Hate, would equal prove
To swaying all Sordello: but why doubt
Some love meet for such strength, some moon without
Would match his sea?or fear, Good manifest,
Only the Best breaks faith?Ah but the Best
Somehow eludes us ever, still might be
And is not! Crave we gems? No penury
Of their material round us! Pliant earth
And plastic flamewhat balks the mage his birth
Jacinth in balls or lodestone by the block?
Flinders enrich the strand, veins swell the rock;
Nought more! Seek creatures? Life 's i' the tempest, thought
Clothes the keen hill-top, mid-day woods are fraught
With fervours: human forms are well enough!
But we had hoped, encouraged by the stuff
Profuse at nature's pleasure, men beyond
These actual men!and thus are over-fond
In arguing, from Goodthe Best, from force
Dividedforce combined, an ocean's course
From this our sea whose mere intestine pants
Might seem at times sufficient to our wants.
External power! If none be adequate,
And he stand forth ordained (a prouder fate)
Himself a law to his own sphere? "Remove
"All incompleteness!" for that law, that love?
Nay, if all other laws be feints,truth veiled
Helpfully to weak vision that had failed
To grasp aught but its special want,for lure,
Embodied? Stronger vision could endure
The unbodied want: no partthe whole of truth!
The People were himself; nor, by the ruth
At their condition, was he less impelled
To alter the discrepancy beheld,
Than if, from the sound whole, a sickly part
Subtracted were transformed, decked out with art,
Then palmed on him as alien woethe Guelf
To succour, proud that he forsook himself.
All is himself; all service, therefore, rates
Alike, nor serving one part, immolates
The rest: but all in time! "That lance of yours
"Makes havoc soon with Malek and his Moors,
"That buckler 's lined with many a giant's beard
"Ere long, our champion, be the lance upreared,
"The buckler wielded handsomely as now!
"But view your escort, bear in mind your vow,
"Count the pale tracts of sand to pass ere that,
"And, if you hope we struggle through the flat,
"Put lance and buckler by! Next half-month lacks
"Mere sturdy exercise of mace and axe
"To cleave this dismal brake of prickly-pear
"Which bristling holds Cydippe by the hair,
"Lames barefoot Agathon: this felled, we 'll try
"The picturesque achievements by and by
"Next life!"
Ay, rally, mock, O People, urge
Your claims!for thus he ventured, to the verge,
Push a vain mummery which perchance distrust
Of his fast-slipping resolution thrust
Likewise: accordingly the Crowd(as yet
He had unconsciously contrived forget
I' the whole, to dwell o' the points . . . one might assuage
The signal horrors easier than engage
With a dim vulgar vast unobvious grief
Not to be fancied off, nor gained relief
In brilliant fits, cured by a happy quirk,
But by dim vulgar vast unobvious work
To correspond . . .) this Crowd then, forth they stood.
"And now content thy stronger vision, brood
"On thy bare want; uncovered, turf by turf,
"Study the corpse-face thro' the taint-worms' scurf!"
Down sank the People's Then; uprose their Now.
These sad ones render service to! And how
Piteously little must that service prove
Had surely proved in any case! for, move
Each other obstacle away, let youth
Become aware it had surprised a truth
'T were service to impartcan truth be seized,
Settled forthwith, and, of the captive eased,
Its captor find fresh prey, since this alit
So happily, no gesture luring it,
The earnest of a flock to follow? Vain,
Most vain! a life to spend ere this he chain
To the poor crowd's complacence: ere the crowd
Pronounce it captured, he descries a cloud
Its kin of twice the plume; which he, in turn,
If he shall live as many lives, may learn
How to secure: not else. Then Mantua called
Back to his mind how certain bards were thralled
Buds blasted, but of breath more like perfume
Than Naddo's staring nosegay's carrion bloom;
Some insane rose that burnt heart out in sweets,
A spendthrift in the spring, no summer greets;
Some Dularete, drunk with truths and wine,
Grown bestial, dreaming how become divine.
Yet to surmount this obstacle, commence
With the commencement, merits crowning! Hence
Must truth be casual truth, elicited
In sparks so mean, at intervals dispread
So rarely, that 't is like at no one time
Of the world's story has not truth, the prime
Of truth, the very truth which, loosed, had hurled
The world's course right, been really in the world
Content the while with some mean spark by dint
Of some chance-blow, the solitary hint
Of buried fire, which, rip earth's breast, would stream
Sky-ward!
Sordello's miserable gleam
Was looked for at the moment: he would dash
This badge. and all it brought, to earth,abash
Taurello thus, perhaps persuade him wrest
The Kaiser from his purpose,would attest
His own belief, in any case. Before
He dashes it however, think once more!
For, were that little, truly service? "Ay,
"I' the end, no doubt; but meantime? Plain you spy
"Its ultimate effect, but many flaws
"Of vision blur each intervening cause.
"Were the day's fraction clear as the life's sum
"Of service, Now as filled as teems To-come
"With evidence of goodnor too minute
"A share to vie with evil! No dispute,
"'T were fitliest maintain the Guelfs in rule:
"That makes your life's work: but you have to school
"Your day's work on these natures circumstanced
"Thus variously, which yet, as each advanced
"Or might impede the Guelf rule, must be moved
"Now, for the Then's sake,hating what you loved,
"Loving old hatreds! Nor if one man bore
"Brand upon temples while his fellow wore
"The aureole, would it task you to decide:
"But, portioned duly out, the future vied
"Never with the unparcelled present! Smite
"Or spare so much on warrant all so slight?
"The present's complete sympathies to break,
"Aversions bear with, for a future's sake
"So feeble? Tito ruined through one speck,
"The Legate saved by his sole lightish fleck?
"This were work, true, but work performed at cost
"Of other work; aught gained here, elsewhere lost.
"For a new segment spoil an orb half-done?
"Rise with the People one step, and sinkone?
"Were it but one step, less than the whole face
"Of things, your novel duty bids erase!
"Harms to abolish! What, the prophet saith,
"The minstrel singeth vainly then? Old faith,
"Old courage, only born because of harms,
"Were not, from highest to the lowest, charms?
"Flame may persist; but is not glare as staunch?
"Where the salt marshes stagnate, crystals branch;
"Blood dries to crimson; Evil 's beautified
"In every shape. Thrust Beauty then aside
"And banish Evil! Wherefore? After all,
"Is Evil a result less natural
"Than Good? For overlook the seasons' strife
"With tree and flower,the hideous animal life,
"(Of which who seeks shall find a grinning taunt
"For his solution, and endure the vaunt
"Of nature's angel, as a child that knows
"Himself befooled, unable to propose
"Aught better than the fooling)and but care
"For men, for the mere People then and there,
"In these, could you but see that Good and Ill
"Claimed you alike! Whence rose their claim but still
"From Ill, as fruit of Ill? What else could knit
"You theirs but Sorrow? Any free from it
"Were also free from you! Whose happiness
"Could be distinguished in this morning's press
"Of miseries?the fool's who passed a gibe
"'On thee,' jeered he, `so wedded to thy tribe,
"`Thou carriest green and yellow tokens in
"'Thy very face that thou art Ghibellin!'
"Much hold on you that fool obtained! Nay mount
"Yet higherand upon men's own account
"Must Evil stay: for, what is joy?to heave
"Up one obstruction more, and common leave
"What was peculiar, by such act destroy
"Itself; a partial death is every joy;
"The sensible escape, enfranchisement
"Of a sphere's essence: once the vexedcontent,
"The crampedat large, the growing circleround,
"All 's to begin againsome novel bound
"To break, some new enlargement to entreat;
"The sphere though larger is not more complete.
"Now for Mankind's experience: who alone
"Might style the unobstructed world his own?
"Whom palled Goito with its perfect things?
"Sordello's self: whereas for Mankind springs
"Salvation by each hindrance interposed.
"They climb; life's view is not at once disclosed
"To creatures caught up, on the summit left,
"Heaven plain above them, yet of wings bereft:
"But lower laid, as at the mountain's foot.
"So, range on range, the girdling forests shoot
"'Twixt your plain prospect and the throngs who scale
"Height after height, and pierce mists, veil by veil,
"Heartened with each discovery; in their soul,
"The Whole they seek by Partsbut, found that Whole,
"Could they revert, enjoy past gains? The space
"Of time you judge so meagre to embrace
"The Parts were more than plenty, once attained
"The Whole, to quite exhaust it: nought were gained
"But leave to looknot leave to do: Beneath
"Soon sates the lookerlook Above, and Death
"Tempts ere a tithe of Life be tasted. Live
"First, and die soon enough, Sordello! Give
"Body and spirit the first right they claim,
"And pasture soul on a voluptuous shame
"That you, a pageant-city's denizen,
"Are neither vilely lodged midst Lombard men
"Can force joy out of sorrow, seem to truck
"Bright attributes away for sordid muck,
"Yet manage from that very muck educe
"Gold; then subject nor scruple, to your cruce
"The world's discardings! Though real ingots pay
"Your pains, the clods that yielded them are clay
"To all beside,would clay remain, though quenched
"Your purging-fire; who 's robbed then? Had you wrenched
"An ampler treasure forth!As 't is, they crave
"A share that ruins you and will not save
"Them. Why should sympathy command you quit
"The course that makes your joy, nor will remit
"Their woe? Would all arrive at joy? Reverse
"The order (time instructs you) nor coerce
"Each unit till, some predetermined mode,
"The total be emancipate; men's road
"Is one, men's times of travel many; thwart
"No enterprising soul's precocious start
"Before the general march! If slow or fast
"All straggle up to the same point at last,
"Why grudge your having gained, a month ago,
"The brakes at balm-shed, asphodels in blow,
"While they were landlocked? Speed their Then, but how
"This badge would suffer you improve your Now!"
His time of action for, against, or with
Our world (I labour to extract the pith
Of this his problem) grew, that even-tide,
Gigantic with its power of joy, beside
The world's eternity of impotence
To profit though at his whole joy's expense.
"Make nothing of my day because so brief?
"Rather make more: instead of joy, use grief
"Before its novelty have time subside!
"Wait not for the late savour, leave untried
"Virtue, the creaming honey-wine, quick squeeze
"Vice like a biting spirit from the lees
"Of life! Together let wrath, hatred, lust,
"All tyrannies in every shape, be thrust
"Upon this Now, which time may reason out
"As mischiefs, far from benefits, no doubt;
"But long ere then Sordello will have slipt
"Away; you teach him at Goito's crypt,
"There 's a blank issue to that fiery thrill.
"Stirring, the few cope with the many, still:
"So much of sand as, quiet, makes a mass
"Unable to produce three tufts of grass,
"Shall, troubled by the whirlwind, render void
"The whole calm glebe's endeavour: be employed!
"And e'en though somewhat smart the Crowd for this,
"Contribute each his pang to make your bliss,
"'T is but one pangone blood-drop to the bowl
"Which brimful tempts the sluggish asp uncowl
"At last, stains ruddily the dull red cape,
"And, kindling orbs grey as the unripe grape
"Before, avails forthwith to disentrance
"The portent, soon to lead a mystic dance
"Among you! For, who sits alone in Rome?
"Have those great hands indeed hewn out a home,
"And set me there to live? Oh life, life-breath,
"Life-blood,ere sleep, come travail, life ere death!
"This life stream on my soul, direct, oblique,
"But always streaming! Hindrances? They pique:
"Helps? such . . . but why repeat, my soul o'ertops
"Each height, then every depth profoundlier drops?
"Enough that I can live, and would live! Wait
"For some transcendent life reserved by Fate
"To follow this? Oh, never! Fate, I trust
"The same, my soul to; for, as who flings dust,
"Perchance (so facile was the deed) she chequed
"The void with these materials to affect
"My soul diversely: these consigned anew
"To nought by death, what marvel if she threw
"A second and superber spectacle
"Before me? What may serve for sun, what still
"Wander a moon above me? What else wind
"About me like the pleasures left behind,
"And how shall some new flesh that is not flesh
"Cling to me? What 's new laughter? Soothes the fresh
"Sleep like sleep? Fate 's exhaustless for my sake
"In brave resource: but whether bids she slake
"My thirst at this first rivulet, or count
"No draught worth lip save from some rocky fount
"Above i' the clouds, while here she 's provident
"Of pure loquacious pearl, the soft tree-tent
"Guards, with its face of reate and sedge, nor fail
"The silver globules and gold-sparkling grail
"At bottom? Oh, 't were too absurd to slight
"For the hereafter the to-day's delight!
"Quench thirst at this, then seek next well-spring: wear
"Home-lilies ere strange lotus in my hair!
"Here is the Crowd, whom I with freest heart
"Offer to serve, contented for my part
"To give life up in service,only grant
"That I do serve; if otherwise, why want
"Aught further of me? If men cannot choose
"But set aside life, why should I refuse
"The gift? I take itI, for one, engage
"Never to falter through my pilgrimage
"Nor end it howling that the stock or stone
"Were enviable, truly: I, for one,
"Will praise the world, you style mere anteroom
"To palacebe it so! shall I assume
"My foot the courtly gait, my tongue the trope,
"My mouth the smirk, before the doors fly ope
"One moment? What? with guarders row on row,
"Gay swarms of varletry that come and go,
"Pages to dice with, waiting-girls unlace
"The plackets of, pert claimants help displace,
"Heart-heavy suitors get a rank for,laugh
"At yon sleek parasite, break his own staff
"'Cross Beetle-brows the Usher's shoulder,why
"Admitted to the presence by and by,
"Should thought of having lost these make me grieve
"Among new joys I reach, for joys I leave?
"Cool citrine-crystals, fierce pyropus-stone,
"Are floor-work there! But do I let alone
"That black-eyed peasant in the vestibule
"Once and for ever?Floor-work? No such fool!
"Rather, were heaven to forestall earth, I 'd say
"I, is it, must be blest? Then, my own way
"Bless me! Giver firmer arm and fleeter foot,
"I 'll thank you: but to no mad wings transmute
"These limbs of mineour greensward was so soft!
"Nor camp I on the thunder-cloud aloft:
"We feel the bliss distinctlier, having thus
"Engines subservient, not mixed up with us.
"Better move palpably through heaven: nor, freed
"Of flesh, forsooth, from space to space proceed
"'Mid flying synods of worlds! No: in heaven's marge
"Show Titan still, recumbent o'er his targe
"Solid with starsthe Centaur at his game,
"Made tremulously out in hoary flame!
"Life! Yet the very cup whose extreme dull
"Dregs, even, I would quaff, was dashed, at full,
"Aside so oft; the death I fly, revealed
"So oft a better life this life concealed,
"And which sage, champion, martyr, through each path
"Have hunted fearlesslythe horrid bath,
"The crippling-irons and the fiery chair.
"'T was well for them; let me become aware
"As they, and I relinquish life, too! Let
"What masters life disclose itself! Forget
"Vain ordinances, I have one appeal
"I feel, am what I feel, know what I feel;
"So much is truth to me. What Is, then? Since
"One object, viewed diversely, may evince
"Beauty and uglinessthis way attract,
"That way repel,why gloze upon the fact?
"Why must a single of the sides be right?
"What bids choose this and leave the opposite?
"Where 's abstract Right for me?in youth endued
"With Right still present, still to be pursued,
"Thro' all the interchange of circles, rife
"Each with its proper law and mode of life,
"Each to be dwelt at ease in: where, to sway
"Absolute with the Kaiser, or obey
"Implicit with his serf of fluttering heart,
"Or, like a sudden thought of God's, to start
"Up, Brutus in the presence, then go shout
"That some should pick the unstrung jewels out
"Each, well!"
And, as in moments when the past
Gave partially enfranchisement, he cast
Himself quite through mere secondary states
Of his soul's essence, little loves and hates,
Into the mid deep yearnings overlaid
By these; as who should pierce hill, plain, grove, glade,
And on into the very nucleus probe
That first determined there exist a globe.
As that were easiest, half the globe dissolved,
So seemed Sordello's closing-truth evolved
By his flesh-half's break-up; the sudden swell
Of his expanding soul showed Ill and Well,
Sorrow and Joy, Beauty and Ugliness,
Virtue and Vice, the Larger and the Less,
All qualities, in fine, recorded here,
Might be but modes of Time and this one sphere,
Urgent on these, but not of force to bind
Eternity, as Timeas MatterMind,
If Mind, Eternity, should choose assert
Their attributes within a Life: thus girt
With circumstance, next change beholds them cinct
Quite otherwisewith Good and Ill distinct,
Joys, sorrows, tending to a like result
Contrived to render easy, difficult,
This or the other course of . . . what new bond
In place of flesh may stop their flight beyond
Its new sphere, as that course does harm or good
To its arrangements. Once this understood,
As suddenly he felt himself alone,
Quite out of Time and this world: all was known.
What made the secret of his past despair?
Most imminent when he seemed most aware
Of his own self-sufficiency: made mad
By craving to expand the power he had,
And not new power to be expanded?just
This made it; Soul on Matter being thrust,
Joy comes when so much Soul is wreaked in Time
On Matter: let the Soul's attempt sublime
Matter beyond the scheme and so prevent
By more or less that deed's accomplishment,
And Sorrow follows: Sorrow how avoid?
Let the employer match the thing employed,
Fit to the finite his infinity,
And thus proceed for ever, in degree
Changed but in kind the same, still limited
To the appointed circumstance and dead
To all beyond. A sphere is but a sphere;
Small, Great, are merely terms we bandy here;
Since to the spirit's absoluteness all
Are like. Now, of the present sphere we call
Life, are conditions; take but this among
Many; the body was to be so long
Youthful, no longer: but, since no control
Tied to that body's purposes his soul,
She chose to understand the body's trade
More than the body's selfhad fain conveyed
Her boundless to the body's bounded lot.
Hence, the soul permanent, the body not,
Scarcely its minute for enjoying here,
The soul must needs instruct her weak compeer,
Run o'er its capabilities and wring
A joy thence, she held worth experiencing:
Which, far from half discovered even,lo,
The minute gone, the body's power let go
Apportioned to that joy's acquirement! Broke
Morning o'er earth, he yearned for all it woke
From the volcano's vapour-flag, winds hoist
Black o'er the spread of sea,down to the moist
Dale's silken barley-spikes sullied with rain,
Swayed earthwards, heavily to rise again
The Small, a sphere as perfect as the Great
To the soul's absoluteness. Meditate
Too long on such a morning's cluster-chord
And the whole music it was framed afford,
The chord's might half discovered, what should pluck
One string, his finger, was found palsy-struck.
And then no marvel if the spirit, shown
A saddest sightthe body lost alone
Through her officious proffered help, deprived
Of this and that enjoyment Fate contrived,
Virtue, Good, Beauty, each allowed slip hence,
Vain-gloriously were fain, for recompense,
To stem the ruin even yet, protract
The body's term, supply the power it lacked
From her infinity, compel it learn
These qualities were only Time's concern,
And body may, with spirit helping, barred
Advance the same, vanquishedobtain reward,
Reap joy where sorrow was intended grow,
Of Wrong make Right, and turn Ill Good below.
And the result is, the poor body soon
Sinks under what was meant a wondrous boon,
Leaving its bright accomplice all aghast.
So much was plain then, proper in the past;
To be complete for, satisfy the whole
Series of spheresEternity, his soul
Needs must exceed, prove incomplete for, each
Single sphereTime. But does our knowledge reach
No farther? Is the cloud of hindrance broke
But by the failing of the fleshly yoke,
Its loves and hates, as now when death lets soar
Sordello, self-sufficient as before,
Though during the mere space that shall elapse
'Twixt his enthralment in new bonds perhaps?
Must life be ever just escaped, which should
Have been enjoyed?nay, might have been and would,
Each purpose ordered rightthe soul 's no whit
Beyond the body's purpose under it.
Like yonder breadth of watery heaven, a bay,
And that sky-space of water, ray for ray
And star for star, one richness where they mixed
As this and that wing of an angel, fixed,
Tumultuary splendours folded in
To diewould soul, proportioned thus, begin
Exciting discontent, or surelier quell
The body if, aspiring, it rebel?
But how so order life? Still brutalize
The soul, the sad world's way, with muffled eyes
To all that was before, all that shall be
After this sphereall and each quality
Save some sole and immutable Great, Good
And Beauteous whither fate has loosed its hood
To follow? Never may some soul see All
The Great Before and After, and the Small
Now, yet be saved by this the simplest lore,
And take the single course prescribed before,
As the king-bird with ages on his plumes
Travels to die in his ancestral glooms?
But where descry the Love that shall select
That course? Here is a soul whom, to affect,
Nature has plied with all her means, from trees
And flowers e'en to the Multitude!and these,
Decides he save or no? One word to end!
Ah my Sordello, I this once befriend
And speak for you. Of a Power above you still
Which, utterly incomprehensible,
Is out of rivalry, which thus you can
Love, tho' unloving all conceived by man
What need! And ofnone the minutest duct
To that out-nature, nought that would instruct
And so let rivalry begin to live
But of a Power its representative
Who, being for authority the same,
Communication different, should claim
A course, the first chose but this last revealed
This Human clear, as that Divine concealed
What utter need!
What has Sordello found?
Or can his spirit go the mighty round,
End where poor Eglamor begun? So, says
Old fable, the two eagles went two ways
About the world: where, in the midst, they met,
Though on a shifting waste of sand, men set
Jove's temple. Quick, what has Sordello found?
For they approachapproachthat foot's rebound
Palma? No, Salinguerra though in mail;
They mount, have reached the threshold, dash the veil
Asideand you divine who sat there dead,
Under his foot the badge: still, Palma said,
A triumph lingering in the wide eyes,
Wider than some spent swimmer's if he spies
Help from above in his extreme despair,
And, head far back on shoulder thrust, turns there
With short quick passionate cry: as Palma pressed
In one great kiss, her lips upon his breast,
It beat.
By this, the hermit-bee has stopped
His day's toil at Goito: the new-cropped
Dead vine-leaf answers, now 't is eve, he bit,
Twirled so, and filed all day: the mansion 's fit,
God counselled for. As easy guess the word
That passed betwixt them, and become the third
To the soft small unfrighted bee, as tax
Him with one faultso, no remembrance racks
Of the stone maidens and the font of stone
He, creeping through the crevice, leaves alone.
Alas, my friend, alas Sordello, whom
Anon they laid within that old font-tomb,
And, yet again, alas!
And now is 't worth
Our while bring back to mind, much less set forth
How Salinguerra extricates himself
Without Sordello? Ghibellin and Guelf
May fight their fiercest out? If Richard sulked
In durance or the Marquis paid his mulct,
Who cares, Sordello gone? The upshot, sure,
Was peace; our chief made some frank overture
That prospered; compliment fell thick and fast
On its disposer, and Taurello passed
With foe and friend for an outstripping soul,
Nine days at least. Then,fairly reached the goal,
He, by one effort, blotted the great hope
Out of his mind, nor further tried to cope
With Este, that mad evening's style, but sent
Away the Legate and the League, content
No blame at least the brothers had incurred,
Dispatched a message to the Monk, he heard
Patiently first to last, scarce shivered at,
Then curled his limbs up on his wolfskin mat
And ne'er spoke more,informed the Ferrarese
He but retained their rule so long as these
Lingered in pupilage,and last, no mode
Apparent else of keeping safe the road
From Germany direct to Lombardy
For Friedrich,none, that is, to guarantee
The faith and promptitude of who should next
Obtain Sofia's dowry,sore perplexed
(Sofia being youngest of the tribe
Of daughters, Ecelin was wont to bribe
The envious magnates withnor, since he sent
Henry of Egna this fair child, had Trent
Once failed the Kaiser's purposes"we lost
"Egna last year, and who takes Egna's post
"Opens the Lombard gate if Friedrich knock?")
Himself espoused the Lady of the Rock
In pure necessity, and, so destroyed
His slender last of chances, quite made void
Old prophecy, and spite of all the schemes
Overt and covert, youth's deeds, age's dreams,
Was sucked into Romano. And so hushed
He up this evening's work that, when 't was brushed
Somehow against by a blind chronicle
Which, chronicling whatever woe befell
Ferrara, noted this the obscure woe
Of "Salinguerra's sole son Giacomo
"Deceased, fatuous and doting, ere his sire,"
The townsfolk rubbed their eyes, could but admire
Which of Sofia's five was meant.
The chaps
Of earth's dead hope were tardy to collapse,
Obliterated not the beautiful
Distinctive features at a crash: but dull
And duller these, next year, as Guelfs withdrew
Each to his stronghold. Then (securely too
Ecelin at Campese slept; close by,
Who likes may see him in Solagna lie,
With cushioned head and gloved hand to denote
The cavalier he was)then his heart smote
Young Ecelin at last; long since adult.
And, save Vicenza's business, what result
In blood and blaze? (So hard to intercept
Sordello till his plain withdrawal!) Stepped
Then its new lord on Lombardy. I' the nick
Of time when Ecelin and Alberic
Closed with Taurello, come precisely news
That in Verona half the souls refuse
Allegiance to the Marquis and the Count
Have cast them from a throne they bid him mount,
Their Podest, thro' his ancestral worth.
Ecelin flew there, and the town henceforth
Was wholly hisTaurello sinking back
From temporary station to a track
That suited. News received of this acquist,
Friedrich did come to Lombardy: who missed
Taurello then? Another year: they took
Vicenza, left the Marquis scarce a nook
For refuge, and, when hundreds two or three
Of Guelfs conspired to call themselves "The Free,"
Opposing Alberic,vile Bassanese,
(Without Sordello!)Ecelin at ease
Slaughtered them so observably, that oft
A little Salinguerra looked with soft
Blue eyes up, asked his sire the proper age
To get appointed his proud uncle's page.
More years passed, and that sire had dwindled down
To a mere showy turbulent soldier, grown
Better through age, his parts still in repute,
Subtlehow else?but hardly so astute
As his contemporaneous friends professed;
Undoubtedly a brawler: for the rest,
Known by each neighbour, and allowed for, let
Keep his incorrigible ways, nor fret
Men who would miss their boyhood's bugbear: "trap
"The ostrich, suffer our bald osprey flap
"A battered pinion!"was the word. In fine,
One flap too much and Venice's marine
Was meddled with; no overlooking that!
She captured him in his Ferrara, fat
And florid at a banquet, more by fraud
Than force, to speak the truth; there 's slender laud
Ascribed you for assisting eighty years
To pull his death on such a man; fate shears
The life-cord prompt enough whose last fine threads
You fritter: so, presiding his board-head,
The old smile, your assurance all went well
With Friedrich (as if he were like to tell!)
In rushed (a plan contrived before) our friends,
Made some pretence at fighting, some amends
For the shame done his eighty years(apart
The principle, none found it in his heart
To be much angry with Taurello)gained
Their galleys with the prize, and what remained
But carry him to Venice for a show?
Set him, as 't were, down gentlyfree to go
His gait, inspect our square, pretend observe
The swallows soaring their eternal curve
'Twixt Theodore and Mark, if citizens
Gathered importunately, fives and tens,
To point their children the Magnifico,
All but a monarch once in firm-land, go
His gait among them now"it took, indeed,
"Fully this Ecelin to supersede
"That man," remarked the seniors. Singular!
Sordello's inability to bar
Rivals the stage, that evening, mainly brought
About by his strange disbelief that aught
Was ever to be done,this thrust the Twain
Under Taurello's tutelage,whom, brain
And heart and hand, he forthwith in one rod
Indissolubly bound to baffle God
Who loves the worldand thus allowed the thin
Grey wizened dwarfish devil Ecelin,
And massy-muscled big-boned Alberic
(Mere man, alas!) to put his problem quick
To demonstrationprove wherever's will
To do, there's plenty to be done, or ill
Or good. Anointed, then, to rend and rip
Kings of the gag and flesh-hook, screw and whip,
They plagued the world: a touch of Hildebrand
(So far from obsolete!) made Lombards band
Together, cross their coats as for Christ's cause,
And saving Milan win the world's applause.
Ecelin perished: and I think grass grew
Never so pleasant as in Valley R
By San Zenon where Alberic in turn
Saw his exasperated captors burn
Seven children and their mother; then, regaled
So far, tied on to a wild horse, was trailed
To death through raunce and bramble-bush. I take
God's part and testify that 'mid the brake
Wild o'er his castle on the pleasant knoll,
You hear its one tower left, a belfry, toll
The earthquake spared it last year, laying flat
The modern church beneath,no harm in that!
Chirrups the contumacious grasshopper,
Rustles the lizard and the cushats chirre
Above the ravage: there, at deep of day
A week since, heard I the old Canon say
He saw with his own eyes a barrow burst
And Alberic's huge skeleton unhearsed
Only five years ago. He added, "June 's
"The month for carding off our first cocoons
"The silkworms fabricate"a double news,
Nor he nor I could tell the worthier. Choose!
And Naddo gone, all's gone; not Eglamor!
Believe, I knew the face I waited for,
A guest my spirit of the golden courts!
Oh strange to see how, despite ill-reports,
Disuse, some wear of years, that face retained
Its joyous look of love! Suns waxed and waned,
And still my spirit held an upward flight,
Spiral on spiral, gyres of life and light
More and more gorgeousever that face there
The last admitted! crossed, too, with some care
As perfect triumph were not sure for all,
But, on a few, enduring damp must fall,
A transient struggle, haply a painful sense
Of the inferior nature's clingingwhence
Slight starting tears easily wiped away,
Fine jealousies soon stifled in the play
Of irrepressible admirationnot
Aspiring, all considered, to their lot
Who ever, just as they prepare ascend
Spiral on spiral, wish thee well, impend
Thy frank delight at their exclusive track,
That upturned fervid face and hair put back!
Is there no more to say? He of the rhymes
Many a tale, of this retreat betimes,
Was born: Sordello die at once for men?
The Chroniclers of Mantua tired their pen
Telling how Sordello Prince Visconti saved
Mantua, and elsewhere notably behaved
Who thus, by fortune ordering events,
Passed with posterity, to all intents,
For just the god he never could become.
As Knight, Bard, Gallant, men were never dumb
In praise of him: while what he should have been,
Could be, and was notthe one step too mean
For him to take,we suffer at this day
Because of: Ecelin had pushed away
Its chance ere Dante could arrive and take
That step Sordello spurned, for the world's sake:
He did muchbut Sordello's chance was gone.
Thus, had Sordello dared that step alone,
Apollo had been compassed: 't was a fit
He wished should go to him, not he to it
As one content to merely be supposed
Singing or fighting elsewhere, while he dozed
Really at homeone who was chiefly glad
To have achieved the few real deeds he had,
Because that way assured they were not worth
Doing, so spared from doing them henceforth
A tree that covets fruitage and yet tastes
Never itself, itself. Had he embraced
Their cause then, men had plucked Hesperian fruit
And, praising that, just thrown him in to boot
All he was anxious to appear, but scarce
Solicitous to be. A sorry farce
Such life is, after all! Cannot I say
He lived for some one better thing? this way.
Lo, on a heathy brown and nameless hill
By sparkling Asolo, in mist and chill,
Morning just up, higher and higher runs
A child barefoot and rosy. See! the sun's
On the square castle's inner-court's low wall
Like the chine of some extinct animal
Half turned to earth and flowers; and through the haze
(Save where some slender patches of grey maize
Are to be overleaped) that boy has crossed
The whole hill-side of dew and powder-frost
Matting the balm and mountain camomile.
Up and up goes he, singing all the while
Some unintelligible words to beat
The lark, God's poet, swooning at his feet,
So worsted is he at "the few fine locks
"Stained like pale honey oozed from topmost rocks
"Sun-blanched the livelong summer,"all that's left
Of the Goito lay! And thus bereft,
Sleep and forget, Sordello! In effect
He sleeps, the feverish poetI suspect
Not utterly companionless; but, friends,
Wake up! The ghost's gone, and the story ends
I'd fain hope, sweetly; seeing, peri or ghoul,
That spirits are conjectured fair or foul,
Evil or good, judicious authors think,
According as they vanish in a stink
Or in a perfume. Friends, be frank! ye snuff
Civet, I warrant. Really? Like enough!
Merely the savour's rareness; any nose
May ravage with impunity a rose:
Rifle a musk-pod and 't will ache like yours!
I'd tell you that same pungency ensures
An after-gust, but that were overbold.
Who would has heard Sordello's story told.
~ Robert Browning, Sordello - Book the Sixth
,#NFDB
786:I.
In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,
There stood, or hover'd, tremulous in the air,
A faery city 'neath the potent rule
Of Emperor Elfinan; fam'd ev'rywhere
For love of mortal women, maidens fair,
Whose lips were solid, whose soft hands were made
Of a fit mould and beauty, ripe and rare,
To tamper his slight wooing, warm yet staid:
He lov'd girls smooth as shades, but hated a mere shade.
II.
This was a crime forbidden by the law;
And all the priesthood of his city wept,
For ruin and dismay they well foresaw,
If impious prince no bound or limit kept,
And faery Zendervester overstept;
They wept, he sin'd, and still he would sin on,
They dreamt of sin, and he sin'd while they slept;
In vain the pulpit thunder'd at the throne,
Caricature was vain, and vain the tart lampoon.
III.
Which seeing, his high court of parliament
Laid a remonstrance at his Highness' feet,
Praying his royal senses to content
Themselves with what in faery land was sweet,
Befitting best that shade with shade should meet:
Whereat, to calm their fears, he promis'd soon
From mortal tempters all to make retreat,--
Aye, even on the first of the new moon,
An immaterial wife to espouse as heaven's boon.
IV.
Meantime he sent a fluttering embassy
To Pigmio, of Imaus sovereign,
To half beg, and half demand, respectfully,
The hand of his fair daughter Bellanaine;
An audience had, and speeching done, they gain
Their point, and bring the weeping bride away;
Whom, with but one attendant, safely lain
Upon their wings, they bore in bright array,
While little harps were touch'd by many a lyric fay.
V.
As in old pictures tender cherubim
A child's soul thro' the sapphir'd canvas bear,
So, thro' a real heaven, on they swim
With the sweet princess on her plumag'd lair,
Speed giving to the winds her lustrous hair;
And so she journey'd, sleeping or awake,
Save when, for healthful exercise and air,
She chose to "promener l'aile," or take
A pigeon's somerset, for sport or change's sake.
VI.
"Dear Princess, do not whisper me so loud,"
Quoth Corallina, nurse and confidant,
"Do not you see there, lurking in a cloud,
Close at your back, that sly old Crafticant?
He hears a whisper plainer than a rant:
Dry up your tears, and do not look so blue;
He's Elfinan's great state-spy militant,
His running, lying, flying foot-man too,--
Dear mistress, let him have no handle against you!
VII.
"Show him a mouse's tail, and he will guess,
With metaphysic swiftness, at the mouse;
Show him a garden, and with speed no less,
He'll surmise sagely of a dwelling house,
And plot, in the same minute, how to chouse
The owner out of it; show him a" --- "Peace!
Peace! nor contrive thy mistress' ire to rouse!"
Return'd the Princess, "my tongue shall not cease
Till from this hated match I get a free release.
VIII.
"Ah, beauteous mortal!" "Hush!" quoth Coralline,
"Really you must not talk of him, indeed."
"You hush!" reply'd the mistress, with a shinee
Of anger in her eyes, enough to breed
In stouter hearts than nurse's fear and dread:
'Twas not the glance itself made nursey flinch,
But of its threat she took the utmost heed;
Not liking in her heart an hour-long pinch,
Or a sharp needle run into her back an inch.
IX.
So she was silenc'd, and fair Bellanaine,
Writhing her little body with ennui,
Continued to lament and to complain,
That Fate, cross-purposing, should let her be
Ravish'd away far from her dear countree;
That all her feelings should be set at nought,
In trumping up this match so hastily,
With lowland blood; and lowland blood she thought
Poison, as every staunch true-born Imaian ought.
X.
Sorely she griev'd, and wetted three or four
White Provence rose-leaves with her faery tears,
But not for this cause; -- alas! she had more
Bad reasons for her sorrow, as appears
In the fam'd memoirs of a thousand years,
Written by Crafticant, and published
By Parpaglion and Co., (those sly compeers
Who rak'd up ev'ry fact against the dead,)
In Scarab Street, Panthea, at the Jubal's Head.
XI.
Where, after a long hypercritic howl
Against the vicious manners of the age,
He goes on to expose, with heart and soul,
What vice in this or that year was the rage,
Backbiting all the world in every page;
With special strictures on the horrid crime,
(Section'd and subsection'd with learning sage,)
Of faeries stooping on their wings sublime
To kiss a mortal's lips, when such were in their prime.
XII.
Turn to the copious index, you will find
Somewhere in the column, headed letter B,
The name of Bellanaine, if you're not blind;
Then pray refer to the text, and you will see
An article made up of calumny
Against this highland princess, rating her
For giving way, so over fashionably,
To this new-fangled vice, which seems a burr
Stuck in his moral throat, no coughing e'er could stir.
XIII.
There he says plainly that she lov'd a man!
That she around him flutter'd, flirted, toy'd,
Before her marriage with great Elfinan;
That after marriage too, she never joy'd
In husband's company, but still employ'd
Her wits to 'scape away to Angle-land;
Where liv'd the youth, who worried and annoy'd
Her tender heart, and its warm ardours fann'd
To such a dreadful blaze, her side would scorch her hand.
XIV.
But let us leave this idle tittle-tattle
To waiting-maids, and bed-room coteries,
Nor till fit time against her fame wage battle.
Poor Elfinan is very ill at ease,
Let us resume his subject if you please:
For it may comfort and console him much,
To rhyme and syllable his miseries;
Poor Elfinan! whose cruel fate was such,
He sat and curs'd a bride he knew he could not touch.
XV.
Soon as (according to his promises)
The bridal embassy had taken wing,
And vanish'd, bird-like, o'er the suburb trees,
The Emperor, empierc'd with the sharp sting
Of love, retired, vex'd and murmuring
Like any drone shut from the fair bee-queen,
Into his cabinet, and there did fling
His limbs upon a sofa, full of spleen,
And damn'd his House of Commons, in complete chagrin.
XVI.
"I'll trounce some of the members," cry'd the Prince,
"I'll put a mark against some rebel names,
I'll make the Opposition-benches wince,
I'll show them very soon, to all their shames,
What 'tis to smother up a Prince's flames;
That ministers should join in it, I own,
Surprises me! -- they too at these high games!
Am I an Emperor? Do I wear a crown?
Imperial Elfinan, go hang thyself or drown!
XVII.
"I'll trounce 'em! -- there's the square-cut chancellor,
His son shall never touch that bishopric;
And for the nephew of old Palfior,
I'll show him that his speeches made me sick,
And give the colonelcy to Phalaric;
The tiptoe marquis, mortal and gallant,
Shall lodge in shabby taverns upon tick;
And for the Speaker's second cousin's aunt,
She sha'n't be maid of honour,-- by heaven that she sha'n't!
XVIII.
"I'll shirk the Duke of A.; I'll cut his brother;
I'll give no garter to his eldest son;
I won't speak to his sister or his mother!
The Viscount B. shall live at cut-and-run;
But how in the world can I contrive to stun
That fellow's voice, which plagues me worse than any,
That stubborn fool, that impudent state-dun,
Who sets down ev'ry sovereign as a zany,--
That vulgar commoner, Esquire Biancopany?
XIX.
"Monstrous affair! Pshaw! pah! what ugly minx
Will they fetch from Imaus for my bride?
Alas! my wearied heart within me sinks,
To think that I must be so near ally'd
To a cold dullard fay,--ah, woe betide!
Ah, fairest of all human loveliness!
Sweet Bertha! what crime can it be to glide
About the fragrant plaintings of thy dress,
Or kiss thine eyes, or count thy locks, tress after tress?"
XX.
So said, one minute's while his eyes remaind'
Half lidded, piteous, languid, innocent;
But, in a wink, their splendour they regain'd,
Sparkling revenge with amorous fury blent.
Love thwarted in bad temper oft has vent:
He rose, he stampt his foot, he rang the bell,
And order'd some death-warrants to be sent
For signature: -- somewhere the tempest fell,
As many a poor fellow does not live to tell.
XXI.
"At the same time, Eban," -- (this was his page,
A fay of colour, slave from top to toe,
Sent as a present, while yet under age,
From the Viceroy of Zanguebar, -- wise, slow,
His speech, his only words were "yes" and "no,"
But swift of look, and foot, and wing was he,--)
"At the same time, Eban, this instant go
To Hum the soothsayer, whose name I see
Among the fresh arrivals in our empery.
XXII.
"Bring Hum to me! But stay -- here, take my ring,
The pledge of favour, that he not suspect
Any foul play, or awkward murdering,
Tho' I have bowstrung many of his sect;
Throw in a hint, that if he should neglect
One hour, the next shall see him in my grasp,
And the next after that shall see him neck'd,
Or swallow'd by my hunger-starved asp,--
And mention ('tis as well) the torture of the wasp."
XXIII.
These orders given, the Prince, in half a pet,
Let o'er the silk his propping elbow slide,
Caught up his little legs, and, in a fret,
Fell on the sofa on his royal side.
The slave retreated backwards, humble-ey'd,
And with a slave-like silence clos'd the door,
And to old Hun thro' street and alley hied;
He "knew the city," as we say, of yore,
And for short cuts and turns, was nobody knew more.
XXIV.
It was the time when wholesale dealers close
Their shutters with a moody sense of wealth,
But retail dealers, diligent, let loose
The gas (objected to on score of health),
Convey'd in little solder'd pipes by stealth,
And make it flare in many a brilliant form,
That all the powers of darkness it repell'th,
Which to the oil-trade doth great scaith and harm,
And superseded quite the use of the glow-worm.
XXV.
Eban, untempted by the pastry-cooks,
(Of pastry he got store within the palace,)
With hasty steps, wrapp'd cloak, and solemn looks,
Incognito upon his errand sallies,
His smelling-bottle ready for the allies;
He pass'd the Hurdy-gurdies with disdain,
Vowing he'd have them sent on board the gallies;
Just as he made his vow; it 'gan to rain,
Therefore he call'd a coach, and bade it drive amain.
XXVI.
"I'll pull the string," said he, and further said,
"Polluted Jarvey! Ah, thou filthy hack!
Whose springs of life are all dry'd up and dead,
Whose linsey-woolsey lining hangs all slack,
Whose rug is straw, whose wholeness is a crack;
And evermore thy steps go clatter-clitter;
Whose glass once up can never be got back,
Who prov'st, with jolting arguments and bitter,
That 'tis of modern use to travel in a litter.
XXVII.
"Thou inconvenience! thou hungry crop
For all corn! thou snail-creeper to and fro,
Who while thou goest ever seem'st to stop,
And fiddle-faddle standest while you go;
I' the morning, freighted with a weight of woe,
Unto some lazar-house thou journeyest,
And in the evening tak'st a double row
Of dowdies, for some dance or party drest,
Besides the goods meanwhile thou movest east and west.
XXVIII.
"By thy ungallant bearing and sad mien,
An inch appears the utmost thou couldst budge;
Yet at the slightest nod, or hint, or sign,
Round to the curb-stone patient dost thou trudge,
School'd in a beckon, learned in a nudge,
A dull-ey'd Argus watching for a fare;
Quiet and plodding, thou dost bear no grudge
To whisking Tilburies, or Phaetons rare,
Curricles, or Mail-coaches, swift beyond compare."
XXIX.
Philosophizing thus, he pull'd the check,
And bade the Coachman wheel to such a street,
Who, turning much his body, more his neck,
Louted full low, and hoarsely did him greet:
"Certes, Monsieur were best take to his feet,
Seeing his servant can no further drive
For press of coaches, that to-night here meet,
Many as bees about a straw-capp'd hive,
When first for April honey into faint flowers they dive."
XXX.
Eban then paid his fare, and tiptoe went
To Hum's hotel; and, as he on did pass
With head inclin'd, each dusky lineament
Show'd in the pearl-pav'd street, as in a glass;
His purple vest, that ever peeping was
Rich from the fluttering crimson of his cloak,
His silvery trowsers, and his silken sash
Tied in a burnish'd knot, their semblance took
Upon the mirror'd walls, wherever he might look.
XXXI.
He smil'd at self, and, smiling, show'd his teeth,
And seeing his white teeth, he smil'd the more;
Lifted his eye-brows, spurn'd the path beneath,
Show'd teeth again, and smil'd as heretofore,
Until he knock'd at the magician's door;
Where, till the porter answer'd, might be seen,
In the clear panel more he could adore,--
His turban wreath'd of gold, and white, and green,
Mustachios, ear-ring, nose-ring, and his sabre keen.
XXXII.
"Does not your master give a rout to-night?"
Quoth the dark page. "Oh, no!" return'd the Swiss,
"Next door but one to us, upon the right,
The Magazin des Modes now open is
Against the Emperor's wedding;--and, sir, this
My master finds a monstrous horrid bore;
As he retir'd, an hour ago I wis,
With his best beard and brimstone, to explore
And cast a quiet figure in his second floor.
XXXIII.
"Gad! he's oblig'd to stick to business!
For chalk, I hear, stands at a pretty price;
And as for aqua vitae -- there's a mess!
The dentes sapientiae of mice,
Our barber tells me too, are on the rise,--
Tinder's a lighter article, -- nitre pure
Goes off like lightning, -- grains of Paradise
At an enormous figure! -- stars not sure! --
Zodiac will not move without a slight douceur!
XXXIV.
"Venus won't stir a peg without a fee,
And master is too partial, entre nous,
To" -- "Hush -- hush!" cried Eban, "sure that is he
Coming down stairs, -- by St. Bartholomew!
As backwards as he can, -- is't something new?
Or is't his custom, in the name of fun?"
"He always comes down backward, with one shoe"--
Return'd the porter -- "off, and one shoe on,
Like, saving shoe for sock or stocking, my man John!"
XXXV.
It was indeed the great Magician,
Feeling, with careful toe, for every stair,
And retrograding careful as he can,
Backwards and downwards from his own two pair:
"Salpietro!" exclaim'd Hum, "is the dog there?
He's always in my way upon the mat!"
"He's in the kitchen, or the Lord knows where,"--
Reply'd the Swiss, -- "the nasty, yelping brat!"
"Don't beat him!" return'd Hum, and on the floor came pat.
XXXVI.
Then facing right about, he saw the Page,
And said: "Don't tell me what you want, Eban;
The Emperor is now in a huge rage,--
'Tis nine to one he'll give you the rattan!
Let us away!" Away together ran
The plain-dress'd sage and spangled blackamoor,
Nor rested till they stood to cool, and fan,
And breathe themselves at th' Emperor's chamber door,
When Eban thought he heard a soft imperial snore.
XXXVII.
"I thought you guess'd, foretold, or prophesy'd,
That's Majesty was in a raving fit?"
"He dreams," said Hum, "or I have ever lied,
That he is tearing you, sir, bit by bit."
"He's not asleep, and you have little wit,"
Reply'd the page; "that little buzzing noise,
Whate'er your palmistry may make of it,
Comes from a play-thing of the Emperor's choice,
From a Man-Tiger-Organ, prettiest of his toys."
XXXVIII.
Eban then usher'd in the learned Seer:
Elfinan's back was turn'd, but, ne'ertheless,
Both, prostrate on the carpet, ear by ear,
Crept silently, and waited in distress,
Knowing the Emperor's moody bitterness;
Eban especially, who on the floor 'gan
Tremble and quake to death,-- he feared less
A dose of senna-tea or nightmare Gorgon
Than the Emperor when he play'd on his Man-Tiger-Organ.
XXXIX.
They kiss'd nine times the carpet's velvet face
Of glossy silk, soft, smooth, and meadow-green,
Where the close eye in deep rich fur might trace
A silver tissue, scantly to be seen,
As daisies lurk'd in June-grass, buds in green;
Sudden the music ceased, sudden the hand
Of majesty, by dint of passion keen,
Doubled into a common fist, went grand,
And knock'd down three cut glasses, and his best ink-stand.
XL.
Then turning round, he saw those trembling two:
"Eban," said he, "as slaves should taste the fruits
Of diligence, I shall remember you
To-morrow, or next day, as time suits,
In a finger conversation with my mutes,--
Begone! -- for you, Chaldean! here remain!
Fear not, quake not, and as good wine recruits
A conjurer's spirits, what cup will you drain?
Sherry in silver, hock in gold, or glass'd champagne?"
XLI.
"Commander of the faithful!" answer'd Hum,
"In preference to these, I'll merely taste
A thimble-full of old Jamaica rum."
"A simple boon!" said Elfinan; "thou may'st
Have Nantz, with which my morning-coffee's lac'd."
"I'll have a glass of Nantz, then," -- said the Seer,--
"Made racy -- (sure my boldness is misplac'd!)--
With the third part -- (yet that is drinking dear!)--
Of the least drop of crme de citron, crystal clear."
XLII.
"I pledge you, Hum! and pledge my dearest love,
My Bertha!" "Bertha! Bertha!" cry'd the sage,
"I know a many Berthas!" "Mine's above
All Berthas!" sighed the Emperor. "I engage,"
Said Hum, "in duty, and in vassalage,
To mention all the Berthas in the earth;--
There's Bertha Watson, -- and Miss Bertha Page,--
This fam'd for languid eyes, and that for mirth,--
There's Bertha Blount of York, -- and Bertha Knox of Perth."
XLIII.
"You seem to know" -- "I do know," answer'd Hum,
"Your Majesty's in love with some fine girl
Named Bertha; but her surname will not come,
Without a little conjuring." "'Tis Pearl,
'Tis Bertha Pearl! What makes my brain so whirl?
And she is softer, fairer than her name!"
"Where does she live?" ask'd Hum. "Her fair locks curl
So brightly, they put all our fays to shame!--
Live? -- O! at Canterbury, with her old grand-dame."
XLIV.
"Good! good!" cried Hum, "I've known her from a child!
She is a changeling of my management;
She was born at midnight in an Indian wild;
Her mother's screams with the striped tiger's blent,
While the torch-bearing slaves a halloo sent
Into the jungles; and her palanquin,
Rested amid the desert's dreariment,
Shook with her agony, till fair were seen
The little Bertha's eyes ope on the stars serene."
XLV.
"I can't say," said the monarch; "that may be
Just as it happen'd, true or else a bam!
Drink up your brandy, and sit down by me,
Feel, feel my pulse, how much in love I am;
And if your science is not all a sham.
Tell me some means to get the lady here."
"Upon my honour!" said the son of Cham,
"She is my dainty changeling, near and dear,
Although her story sounds at first a little queer."
XLVI.
"Convey her to me, Hum, or by my crown,
My sceptre, and my cross-surmounted globe,
I'll knock you" -- "Does your majesty mean -- down?
No, no, you never could my feelings probe
To such a depth!" The Emperor took his robe,
And wept upon its purple palatine,
While Hum continued, shamming half a sob,--
"In Canterbury doth your lady shine?
But let me cool your brandy with a little wine."
XLVII.
Whereat a narrow Flemish glass he took,
That since belong'd to Admiral De Witt,
Admir'd it with a connoisseuring look,
And with the ripest claret crowned it,
And, ere the lively bead could burst and flit,
He turn'd it quickly, nimbly upside down,
His mouth being held conveniently fit
To catch the treasure: "Best in all the town!"
He said, smack'd his moist lips, and gave a pleasant frown.
XLVIII.
"Ah! good my Prince, weep not!" And then again
He filled a bumper. "Great Sire, do not weep!
Your pulse is shocking, but I'll ease your pain."
"Fetch me that Ottoman, and prithee keep
Your voice low," said the Emperor; "and steep
Some lady's-fingers nice in Candy wine;
And prithee, Hum, behind the screen do peep
For the rose-water vase, magician mine!
And sponge my forehead, -- so my love doth make me pine.
XLIX.
"Ah, cursed Bellanaine!" "Don't think of her,"
Rejoin'd the Mago, "but on Bertha muse;
For, by my choicest best barometer,
You shall not throttled be in marriage noose;
I've said it, Sire; you only have to choose
Bertha or Bellanaine." So saying, he drew
From the left pocket of his threadbare hose,
A sampler hoarded slyly, good as new,
Holding it by his thumb and finger full in view.
L.
"Sire, this is Bertha Pearl's neat handy-work,
Her name, see here, Midsummer, ninety-one."
Elfinan snatch'd it with a sudden jerk,
And wept as if he never would have done,
Honouring with royal tears the poor homespun;
Whereon were broider'd tigers with black eyes,
And long-tail'd pheasants, and a rising sun,
Plenty of posies, great stags, butterflies
Bigger than stags,-- a moon,-- with other mysteries.
LI.
The monarch handled o'er and o'er again
Those day-school hieroglyphics with a sigh;
Somewhat in sadness, but pleas'd in the main,
Till this oracular couplet met his eye
Astounded -- Cupid, I do thee defy!
It was too much. He shrunk back in his chair,
Grew pale as death, and fainted -- very nigh!
"Pho! nonsense!" exclaim'd Hum, "now don't despair;
She does not mean it really. Cheer up, hearty -- there!
LII.
"And listen to my words. You say you won't,
On any terms, marry Miss Bellanaine;
It goes against your conscience -- good! Well, don't.
You say you love a mortal. I would fain
Persuade your honour's highness to refrain
From peccadilloes. But, Sire, as I say,
What good would that do? And, to be more plain,
You would do me a mischief some odd day,
Cut off my ears and limbs, or head too, by my fay!
LIII.
"Besides, manners forbid that I should pass any
Vile strictures on the conduct of a prince
Who should indulge his genius, if he has any,
Not, like a subject, foolish matters mince.
Now I think on't, perhaps I could convince
Your Majesty there is no crime at all
In loving pretty little Bertha, since
She's very delicate,-- not over tall, --
A fairy's hand, and in the waist why -- very small."
LIV.
"Ring the repeater, gentle Hum!" "'Tis five,"
Said the gentle Hum; "the nights draw in apace;
The little birds I hear are all alive;
I see the dawning touch'd upon your face;
Shall I put out the candles, please your Grace?"
"Do put them out, and, without more ado,
Tell me how I may that sweet girl embrace,--
How you can bring her to me." "That's for you,
Great Emperor! to adventure, like a lover true."
LV.
"I fetch her!" -- "Yes, an't like your Majesty;
And as she would be frighten'd wide awake
To travel such a distance through the sky,
Use of some soft manoeuvre you must make,
For your convenience, and her dear nerves' sake;
Nice way would be to bring her in a swoon,
Anon, I'll tell what course were best to take;
You must away this morning." "Hum! so soon?"
"Sire, you must be in Kent by twelve o'clock at noon."
LVI.
At this great Caesar started on his feet,
Lifted his wings, and stood attentive-wise.
"Those wings to Canterbury you must beat,
If you hold Bertha as a worthy prize.
Look in the Almanack -- Moore never lies --
April the twenty- fourth, -- this coming day,
Now breathing its new bloom upon the skies,
Will end in St. Mark's Eve; -- you must away,
For on that eve alone can you the maid convey."
LVII.
Then the magician solemnly 'gan to frown,
So that his frost-white eyebrows, beetling low,
Shaded his deep green eyes, and wrinkles brown
Plaited upon his furnace-scorched brow:
Forth from his hood that hung his neck below,
He lifted a bright casket of pure gold,
Touch'd a spring-lock, and there in wool or snow,
Charm'd into ever freezing, lay an old
And legend-leaved book, mysterious to behold.
LVIII.
"Take this same book,-- it will not bite you, Sire;
There, put it underneath your royal arm;
Though it's a pretty weight it will not tire,
But rather on your journey keep you warm:
This is the magic, this the potent charm,
That shall drive Bertha to a fainting fit!
When the time comes, don't feel the least alarm,
But lift her from the ground, and swiftly flit
Back to your palace. * * * * * * * * * *
LIX.
"What shall I do with that same book?" "Why merely
Lay it on Bertha's table, close beside
Her work-box, and 'twill help your purpose dearly;
I say no more." "Or good or ill betide,
Through the wide air to Kent this morn I glide!"
Exclaim'd the Emperor. "When I return,
Ask what you will, -- I'll give you my new bride!
And take some more wine, Hum; -- O Heavens! I burn
To be upon the wing! Now, now, that minx I spurn!"
LX.
"Leave her to me," rejoin'd the magian:
"But how shall I account, illustrious fay!
For thine imperial absence? Pho! I can
Say you are very sick, and bar the way
To your so loving courtiers for one day;
If either of their two archbishops' graces
Should talk of extreme unction, I shall say
You do not like cold pig with Latin phrases,
Which never should be used but in alarming cases."
LXI.
"Open the window, Hum; I'm ready now!"
Zooks!" exclaim'd Hum, as up the sash he drew.
"Behold, your Majesty, upon the brow
Of yonder hill, what crowds of people!" "Whew!
The monster's always after something new,"
Return'd his Highness, "they are piping hot
To see my pigsney Bellanaine. Hum! do
Tighten my belt a little, -- so, so, -- not
Too tight, -- the book! -- my wand! -- so, nothing is forgot."
LXII.
"Wounds! how they shout!" said Hum, "and there, -- see, see!
Th' ambassador's return'd from Pigmio!
The morning's very fine, -- uncommonly!
See, past the skirts of yon white cloud they go,
Tinging it with soft crimsons! Now below
The sable-pointed heads of firs and pines
They dip, move on, and with them moves a glow
Along the forest side! Now amber lines
Reach the hill top, and now throughout the valley shines."
LXIII.
"Why, Hum, you're getting quite poetical!
Those 'nows' you managed in a special style."
"If ever you have leisure, Sire, you shall
See scraps of mine will make it worth your while,
Tid-bits for Phoebus! -- yes, you well may smile.
Hark! hark! the bells!" "A little further yet,
Good Hum, and let me view this mighty coil."
Then the great Emperor full graceful set
His elbow for a prop, and snuff'd his mignonnette.
LXIV.
The morn is full of holiday; loud bells
With rival clamours ring from every spire;
Cunningly-station'd music dies and swells
In echoing places; when the winds respire,
Light flags stream out like gauzy tongues of fire;
A metropolitan murmur, lifeful, warm,
Comes from the northern suburbs; rich attire
Freckles with red and gold the moving swarm;
While here and there clear trumpets blow a keen alarm.
LXV.
And now the fairy escort was seen clear,
Like the old pageant of Aurora's train,
Above a pearl-built minister, hovering near;
First wily Crafticant, the chamberlain,
Balanc'd upon his grey-grown pinions twain,
His slender wand officially reveal'd;
Then black gnomes scattering sixpences like rain;
Then pages three and three; and next, slave-held,
The Imaian 'scutcheon bright, -- one mouse in argent field.
LXVI.
Gentlemen pensioners next; and after them,
A troop of winged Janizaries flew;
Then slaves, as presents bearing many a gem;
Then twelve physicians fluttering two and two;
And next a chaplain in a cassock new;
Then Lords in waiting; then (what head not reels
For pleasure?) -- the fair Princess in full view,
Borne upon wings, -- and very pleas'd she feels
To have such splendour dance attendance at her heels.
LXVII.
For there was more magnificence behind:
She wav'd her handkerchief. "Ah, very grand!"
Cry'd Elfinan, and clos'd the window-blind;
"And, Hum, we must not shilly-shally stand,--
Adieu! adieu! I'm off for Angle-land!
I say, old Hocus, have you such a thing
About you, -- feel your pockets, I command,--
I want, this instant, an invisible ring,--
Thank you, old mummy! -- now securely I take wing."
LXVIII.
Then Elfinan swift vaulted from the floor,
And lighted graceful on the window-sill;
Under one arm the magic book he bore,
The other he could wave about at will;
Pale was his face, he still look'd very ill;
He bow'd at Bellanaine, and said -- "Poor Bell!
Farewell! farewell! and if for ever! still
For ever fare thee well!" -- and then he fell
A laughing! -- snapp'd his fingers! -- shame it is to tell!
LXIX.
"By'r Lady! he is gone!" cries Hum, "and I --
(I own it) -- have made too free with his wine;
Old Crafticant will smoke me. By-the-bye!
This room is full of jewels as a mine,--
Dear valuable creatures, how ye shine!
Sometime to-day I must contrive a minute,
If Mercury propitiously incline,
To examine his scutoire, and see what's in i,
For of superfluous diamonds I as well may thin it.
LXX.
"The Emperor's horrid bad; yes, that's my cue!"
Some histories say that this was Hum's last speech;
That, being fuddled, he went reeling through
The corridor, and scarce upright could reach
The stair-head; that being glutted as a leech,
And us'd, as we ourselves have just now said,
To manage stairs reversely, like a peach
Too ripe, he fell, being puzzled in his head
With liquor and the staircase: verdict -- found stone dead.
LXXI.
This as a falsehood Crafticanto treats;
And as his style is of strange elegance,
Gentle and tender, full of soft conceits,
(Much like our Boswell's,) we will take a glance
At his sweet prose, and, if we can, make dance
His woven periods into careless rhyme;
O, little faery Pegasus! rear -- prance --
Trot round the quarto -- ordinary time!
March, little Pegasus, with pawing hoof sublime!
LXXII.
Well, let us see, -- tenth book and chapter nine,--
Thus Crafticant pursues his diary:--
"'Twas twelve o'clock at night, the weather fine,
Latitude thirty-six; our scouts descry
A flight of starlings making rapidly
Towards Thibet. Mem.: -- birds fly in the night;
From twelve to half-past -- wings not fit to fly
For a thick fog -- the Princess sulky quite;
Call'd for an extra shawl, and gave her nurse a bite.
LXXIII.
"Five minutes before one -- brought down a moth
With my new double-barrel -- stew'd the thighs
And made a very tolerable broth --
Princess turn'd dainty, to our great surprise,
Alter'd her mind, and thought it very nice;
Seeing her pleasant, try'd her with a pun,
She frown'd; a monstrous owl across us flies
About this time, -- a sad old figure of fun;
Bad omen -- this new match can't be a happy one.
LXXIV.
"From two to half-past, dusky way we made,
Above the plains of Gobi, -- desert, bleak;
Beheld afar off, in the hooded shade
Of darkness, a great mountain (strange to speak),
Spitting, from forth its sulphur-baken peak,
A fan-shap'd burst of blood-red, arrowy fire,
Turban'd with smoke, which still away did reek,
Solid and black from that eternal pyre,
Upon the laden winds that scantly could respire.
LXXV.
"Just upon three o'clock a falling star
Created an alarm among our troop,
Kill'd a man-cook, a page, and broke a jar,
A tureen, and three dishes, at one swoop,
Then passing by the princess, singed her hoop:
Could not conceive what Coralline was at,
She clapp'd her hands three times and cry'd out 'Whoop!'
Some strange Imaian custom. A large bat
Came sudden 'fore my face, and brush'd against my hat.
LXXVI.
"Five minutes thirteen seconds after three,
Far in the west a mighty fire broke out,
Conjectur'd, on the instant, it might be,
The city of Balk -- 'twas Balk beyond all doubt:
A griffin, wheeling here and there about,
Kept reconnoitring us -- doubled our guard --
Lighted our torches, and kept up a shout,
Till he sheer'd off -- the Princess very scar'd --
And many on their marrow-bones for death prepar'd.
LXXVII.
"At half-past three arose the cheerful moon--
Bivouack'd for four minutes on a cloud --
Where from the earth we heard a lively tune
Of tambourines and pipes, serene and loud,
While on a flowery lawn a brilliant crowd
Cinque-parted danc'd, some half asleep reposed
Beneath the green-fan'd cedars, some did shroud
In silken tents, and 'mid light fragrance dozed,
Or on the opera turf their soothed eyelids closed.
LXXVIII.
"Dropp'd my gold watch, and kill'd a kettledrum--
It went for apoplexy -- foolish folks! --
Left it to pay the piper -- a good sum --
(I've got a conscience, maugre people's jokes,)
To scrape a little favour; 'gan to coax
Her Highness' pug-dog -- got a sharp rebuff --
She wish'd a game at whist -- made three revokes --
Turn'd from myself, her partner, in a huff;
His majesty will know her temper time enough.
LXXIX.
"She cry'd for chess -- I play'd a game with her --
Castled her king with such a vixen look,
It bodes ill to his Majesty -- (refer
To the second chapter of my fortieth book,
And see what hoity-toity airs she took).
At half-past four the morn essay'd to beam --
Saluted, as we pass'd, an early rook --
The Princess fell asleep, and, in her dream,
Talk'd of one Master Hubert, deep in her esteem.
LXXX.
"About this time, -- making delightful way,--
Shed a quill-feather from my larboard wing --
Wish'd, trusted, hop'd 'twas no sign of decay --
Thank heaven, I'm hearty yet! -- 'twas no such thing:--
At five the golden light began to spring,
With fiery shudder through the bloomed east;
At six we heard Panthea's churches ring --
The city wall his unhiv'd swarms had cast,
To watch our grand approach, and hail us as we pass'd.
LXXXI.
"As flowers turn their faces to the sun,
So on our flight with hungry eyes they gaze,
And, as we shap'd our course, this, that way run,
With mad-cap pleasure, or hand-clasp'd amaze;
Sweet in the air a mild-ton'd music plays,
And progresses through its own labyrinth;
Buds gather'd from the green spring's middle-days,
They scatter'd, -- daisy, primrose, hyacinth,--
Or round white columns wreath'd from capital to plinth.
LXXXII.
"Onward we floated o'er the panting streets,
That seem'd throughout with upheld faces paved;
Look where we will, our bird's-eye vision meets
Legions of holiday; bright standards waved,
And fluttering ensigns emulously craved
Our minute's glance; a busy thunderous roar,
From square to square, among the buildings raved,
As when the sea, at flow, gluts up once more
The craggy hollowness of a wild reefed shore.
LXXXIII.
"And 'Bellanaine for ever!' shouted they,
While that fair Princess, from her winged chair,
Bow'd low with high demeanour, and, to pay
Their new-blown loyalty with guerdon fair,
Still emptied at meet distance, here and there,
A plenty horn of jewels. And here I
(Who wish to give the devil her due) declare
Against that ugly piece of calumny,
Which calls them Highland pebble-stones not worth a fly.
LXXXIV.
"Still 'Bellanaine!' they shouted, while we glide
'Slant to a light Ionic portico,
The city's delicacy, and the pride
Of our Imperial Basilic; a row
Of lords and ladies, on each hand, make show
Submissive of knee-bent obeisance,
All down the steps; and, as we enter'd, lo!
The strangest sight -- the most unlook'd for chance --
All things turn'd topsy-turvy in a devil's dance.
LXXXV.
"'Stead of his anxious Majesty and court
At the open doors, with wide saluting eyes,
Conges and scrape-graces of every sort,
And all the smooth routine of gallantries,
Was seen, to our immoderate surprise,
A motley crowd thick gather'd in the hall,
Lords, scullions, deputy-scullions, with wild cries
Stunning the vestibule from wall to wall,
Where the Chief Justice on his knees and hands doth crawl.
LXXXVI.
"Counts of the palace, and the state purveyor
Of moth's-down, to make soft the royal beds,
The Common Council and my fool Lord Mayor
Marching a-row, each other slipshod treads;
Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads
Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other;
Toe crush'd with heel ill-natur'd fighting breeds,
Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother,
And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother.
LXXXVII.
"A Poet, mounted on the Court-Clown's back,
Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels,
And close into her face, with rhyming clack,
Began a Prothalamion; -- she reels,
She falls, she faints! while laughter peels
Over her woman's weakness. 'Where!' cry'd I,
'Where is his Majesty?' No person feels
Inclin'd to answer; wherefore instantly
I plung'd into the crowd to find him or die.
LXXXVIII.
"Jostling my way I gain'd the stairs, and ran
To the first landing, where, incredible!
I met, far gone in liquor, that old man,
That vile impostor Hum. ----"
So far so well,--
For we have prov'd the Mago never fell
Down stairs on Crafticanto's evidence;
And therefore duly shall proceed to tell,
Plain in our own original mood and tense,
The sequel of this day, though labour 'tis immense!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
'Lord Houghton first gave this composition in the Life, Letters &c. (1848), and in Volume II, page 51, refers to it as "the last of Keats's literary labours." The poet says in a letter to Brown, written after the first attack of blood-spitting,
"I shall soon begin upon 'Lucy Vaughan Lloyd.' I do not begin composition yet, being willing, in case of a relapse, to have nothing to reproach myself with."
I presume, therefore, that the composition may be assigned to the Spring or Summer of 1820. In August of that year, Leigh Hunt seems to have had the manuscript in his hands, for, in the first part of his article on Coaches, which fills The Indicator for the 23rd of August 1820, he quotes four stanzas and four lines from the poem, as by "a very good poetess, of the name of Lucy V---- L----, who has favoured us with a sight of a manuscript poem," &c. The stanzas quoted are XXV to XXIX. Lord Houghton gives, in the Aldine Edition of 1876, the following note by Brown: --
"This Poem was written subject to future amendments and omissions: it was begun without a plan, and without any prescribed laws for the supernatural machinery."
His Lordship adds an interesting passage from a letter written to him by Lord Jeffrey: --
"There are beautiful passages and lines of ineffable sweetness in these minor pieces, and strange outbursts of individual fancy and felicitous expressions in the 'Cap and Bells,' though the general extravagance of the poetry is more suited to an Italian than to an English taste."
The late Dante Gabriel Rossetti wrote to me of this poem as "the only unworthy stuff Keats ever wrote except an early trifle or two," and again as "the to me hateful Cap and Bells." I confess that it seems to me entirely unworthy of Keats, though certainly a proof, if proof were needed, of his versatility. It has the character of a mere intellectual and mechanical exercise, performed at a time when those higher forces constituting the mainspring of poetry were exhausted; but even so I find it difficult to figure Keats as doing anything so aimless as this appears when regarded solely as an effort of the fancy. He probably had a satirical under-current of meaning; and it needs no great stretch of the imagination to see the illicit passion of Emperor Elfinan, and his detestation for his authorized bride-elect, an oblique glance at the martial relations of George IV.
It is not difficult to suggest prototypes for many of the faery-land statesmen against whom Elfinan vows vengeance; and there are many particulars in which earthly incidents are too thickly strewn to leave one in the settled belief that the poet's programme was wholly unearthly.--- H. B. F.'
~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies - A Faery Tale .. Unfinished
,#NFDB
5 Poetry
4 Integral Yoga
3 Fiction
1 Thelema
1 Occultism
1 Alchemy
4 The Mother
4 Satprem
3 H P Lovecraft
2 Robert Browning
3 Lovecraft - Poems
3 Agenda Vol 11
2 The Secret Doctrine
2 Browning - Poems
0.00 - The Book of Lies Text, #The Book of Lies, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
The word "Sadist" is taken from the famous Marquis
de Sade, who gave supreme literary form to the joys of
0 1963-06-15, #Agenda Vol 04, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
My friend is an aristocrat, a Marquis of something. But hes no ordinary Marquis: hes an adventurer.
Well, yes! Its part of the character. Its the Kshatrya1 element, its part of the character: being an adventurer.
0 1970-02-07, #Agenda Vol 11, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
Ill wills, denunciations, the government is alarmed. I have been told to beware of someone you know a Marquis.
Oh, yes, I know.
--
But hes a true Marquis, a knight.
He is a gentleman.
--
Anyway, I am happy with your Marquis. That business was getting on my nerves.
(silence)
0 1970-03-13, #Agenda Vol 11, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
(Satprem had written Mother a rather cross letter because she had been told some malicious gossip about him, just as she had been toldto what end we do not know that his friend, the Marquis B., was a "spy." Satprem understood nothing of those jealousies and was surprised that Mother could even listen to such tattle. In fact, Mother did not actually "listen" but worked on all the elements that came to her. That was her "sordid battlefield," as she called it. Those sad incidents are only the sign that the atmosphere around Mother was becoming... strange.)
Satprem, my dear child,
0 1970-03-25, #Agenda Vol 11, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
Theres a letter from the Marquis, that friend of mine. He is asking for your help.
What for?
--
What this man [the Marquis] writes you here, lots of people are like that! Lots of them have written it, people from every country. Theyre exasperated by the way things are. They say, No more personal property!, but as they dont have much imagination, they havent found the way yet.
(silence)
1.18 - The Eighth Circle, Malebolge The Fraudulent and the Malicious. The First Bolgia Seducers and Panders. Venedico Caccianimico. Jason. The Second Bolgia Flatterers. Allessio Interminelli. Thais., #The Divine Comedy, #Dante Alighieri, #Christianity
Induced to grant the wishes of the Marquis,
Howe'er the shameless story may be told.
1f.lovecraft - Medusas Coil, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
of Marquis de Chameaux, and seemed to have been both a petty artist and
an artists model before adopting this more lucrative magical game.
1f.lovecraft - The Horror in the Museum, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Gilles de Rais and Marquis de Sadebut there were other things which
had made him breathe faster and stay till the ringing of the closing
1f.lovecraft - The Rats in the Walls, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
and the Marquis de Sade would seem the veriest tyros, and hinted
whisperingly at their responsibility for the occasional disappearance
1.jk - The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies - A Faery Tale .. Unfinished, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
The tiptoe Marquis, mortal and gallant,
Shall lodge in shabby taverns upon tick;
1.jr - My Mother Was Fortune, My Father Generosity And Bounty, #Rumi - Poems, #Jalaluddin Rumi, #Poetry
Behold, the Marquis of Glee has attainted felicity; this city and
plain are filled with soldiers and drums and flags.
1.lb - Old Poem, #Li Bai - Poems, #Li Bai, #Poetry
The gardener was Marquis of Tung-Ling.
If this is the fate of fame and power,
1.rb - Sordello - Book the Fourth, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
"Allegiance to their MarquisBacchus, how
"They boasted! Ecelin must turn their drudge,
1.rb - Sordello - Book the Sixth, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
In durance or the Marquis paid his mulct,
Who cares, Sordello gone? The upshot, sure,
--
Allegiance to the Marquis and the Count
Have cast them from a throne they bid him mount,
--
Vicenza, left the Marquis scarce a nook
For refuge, and, when hundreds two or three
2.07 - I Also Try to Tell My Tale, #The Castle of Crossed Destinies, #Italo Calvino, #Fiction
In this case the man who writes can only try to follow an unattainable model: the Marquis so diabolical as to be called divine, who impelled the word to explore the black frontiers of the thinkable. (And the story we should try to read in these tarots will be that of the two sisters who could be the Queen of Cups and the Queen of Swords, one angelic and the other perverse. In the convent where the former has taken the veil, as soon as she turns around a Hermit flings her down and takes advantage of her charms from behind; when she complains, the Abbess, or Popess, says: "You do not know the world, Justine: the power of money (coins) and of the sword chiefly enjoys making objects of other human beings; the varieties of pleasure have no limits, like the combinations of conditioned reflexes; it is all a matter of deciding who is to condition the reflexes. Your sister Juliette can initiate you into the promiscuous secrets of Love; from her you can learn that there are those who enjoy turning the Wheel of tortures and those who enjoy being Hanged by their feet.")
All this is like a dream which the word bears within itself and which, passing through him who writes, is freed and frees him. In writing, what speaks is what is repressed. And then the white-bearded Pope could be the great shepherd of souls and interpreter of dreams Sigismund of Vindobona, and for confirmation, the only thing is to see if somewhere in the rectangle of tarots it is possible to read that story which, according to the teachings of his doctrine, is hidden in the warp of all stories. You take a young man, Page of Coins, who wants to drive from himself a dark prophecy: patricide and marriage to his own mother. You send him off at random on a richly adorned Chariot. The Two of Clubs marks a crossroads on the dusty highway, or, rather, it is the crossroads, and he who has been there can recognize the place where the road that comes from Corinth crosses the one that leads to Thebes. The Ace of Clubs reports a street-or, rather, road-brawl, when two chariots refuse to give way and remain with the axles of their wheels locked, and the drivers leap to the ground enraged and dusty, shouting exactly like truckdrivers, insulting each other, calling each other's father and mother pig and cow, and if one draws a knife from his pocket, the consequences are likely to be fatal. In fact, here there is the Ace of Swords, there is The Fool, there is Death: it is the stranger, the one coming from Thebes, who is left on the ground; that will teach him to control his nerves; you, Oedipus, did not do it on purpose, we know that; it was temporary insanity; but meanwhile you had flung yourself on him, armed, as if all your life you had been waiting for nothing else. Among the next cards there is The Wheel of Fortune, or Sphinx, there is the entrance into Thebes like a triumphant Emperor, there are the cups of the feast of the wedding with Queen Jocasta, whom we see here portrayed as the Queen of Coins, in widow's weeds, a desirable if mature woman. But the prophecy is fulfilled: the plague infests Thebes, a cloud of germs falls on the city, floods the streets and the houses with miasmas, bodies erupt in red and blue buboes and drop like flies in the streets, lapping the water of the muddy puddles with parched lips. In these cases the only thing to do is consult the Delphic Sibyl, asking her to explain what laws or taboos have been violated: the old woman with the tiara and the open book, tagged with the strange epithet of Popess, is she. If you like, in the Arcanum called Judgment or The Angel you can recognize the primal scene to which the Sigismundian doctrine of dreams harks back: the tender little angel who wakes at night and among the clouds of sleep sees the grownups doing something, he does not know what, all naked and in incomprehensible positions, Mummy and Daddy and other guests. In the dream fate speaks. We can only make note of it. Oedipus, who knew nothing about it, tears out the light of his eyes: literally, the Hermit tarot shows him as he takes a light from his eyes, and sets off on the road to Colonus with the pilgrim's cloak and staff.
BOOK II. -- PART II. THE ARCHAIC SYMBOLISM OF THE WORLD-RELIGIONS, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
* Such a pseudo-Kabalist was the Marquis de Mirville in France, who, having studied the Zohar and
other old remnants of Jewish Wisdom under the "Chevalier" Drach, an ancient Rabbi Kabalist
--
* Described in the "Mission des Juifs" by the Marquis St. Yves d'Alveydre, the hierophant and leader
of a large party of French Kabalists, as the Golden Age!
BOOK I. -- PART II. THE EVOLUTION OF SYMBOLISM IN ITS APPROXIMATE ORDER, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
and loudly confess to it. In a Memoire to the French Academy, the Marquis De Mirville says: -"It is only natural that, as an unconscious prophecy, Ammon-Ra should be his mother's
husband, since the Magna Mater of the Christians is precisely the spouse of that son she
--
our universe." -- (Archaeol. de la Vierge, pp. 116 and 119, and by the Marquis de
Mirville).
--
are one!" A noble Marquis wrote twenty years ago six huge volumes, or, as he calls them "Memoires to
the French Academy," with the sole object of showing Roman Catholicism an inspired and revealed
--
"who wrote under his dictation," as we are assured by the Marquis de Mirville, whose works are
approved by Rome. And St. Chrysostom says, commenting on that special verse, "And, though there
--
Thus, when we are told by the Chevalier Drach, a converted Jew, and the Marquis de Mirville, a
Roman Catholic fanatic of the French aristocracy, that in Hebrew lightning is a synonym of fury, and
Liber 46 - The Key of the Mysteries, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
--- TRANS.>> It was the Marquis de Sade turned preacher!<Marquis de Sade was, above all, a preacher. Three-fourths of "Justine"
are verbose arguments in favour of so-called vice. Again Levi trips in
The Act of Creation text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
Chamfort tells a story of a Marquis at the court of Louis XIV who,
on entering his wife's boudoir and finding her in the arms of a
--
'Monseigneur is performing my % functions,' replied the Marquis,
'so I am performing his.'
--
is brought to an abrupt end by the Marquis* unexpected reaction,
which debunks our dramatic expectations; it comes like a bolt out of
--
I said that this effect was brought about by the Marquis' unexpected
reaction. However, unexpectedness alone is not enough to produce a
comic effect. The crucial point about the Marquis* behaviour is that
it is both unexpected and perfectly logical but of a logic not usually
--
"When the Marquis in the Chamfort story rushes to the window, our
intellect turns a somersault and enters with gusto into the new game;
--
as the Marquis' in the Chamfort story is truly unexpected; with its
perverse logic, it cuts through the narrative like the blade of the
--
ring the penalties of vulgarity. Chamfort's Marquis cannot kill the
Bishop it would be an unpardonable lack of savoir-faire. Picasso
--
broken heart . . .'). The Marquis achieves his aim to kill by ridicule
FROM HUMOUR TO DISCOVERY
--
M. le Marquis You do not know the first word of my investiga-
tions, of their results, of the principles which they have established,
--
Hovland (1937); Hilgard and Marquis (1940); and for a concise summary Hebb
(i949) pp. 174-6. 6\ For a review of the literature, cf. e.g. Pribram (1960)-
--
Hilgard, E. R. and Marquis, D. G., Conditioning and Learning. New York:
Appleton-Century, 1940.
The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
chabot from which Perraulyt derived his Chat bolle AV ". The famous Marquis of Carabas, from
[*183-1] (Kara), head and [*183-2] ( basileus ), king, of the hermetic legends dear to our youth
--- Overview of noun marquis
The noun marquis has 2 senses (no senses from tagged texts)
1. Marquis, Don Marquis, Donald Robert Perry Marquis ::: (humorist who wrote about the imaginary life of cockroaches (1878-1937))
2. marquis, marquess ::: (nobleman (in various countries) ranking above a count)
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun marquis
2 senses of marquis
Sense 1
Marquis, Don Marquis, Donald Robert Perry Marquis
INSTANCE OF=> humorist, humourist
=> entertainer
=> person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
=> organism, being
=> living thing, animate thing
=> whole, unit
=> object, physical object
=> physical entity
=> entity
=> causal agent, cause, causal agency
=> physical entity
=> entity
Sense 2
marquis, marquess
=> Lord, noble, nobleman
=> male aristocrat
=> aristocrat, blue blood, patrician
=> leader
=> person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
=> organism, being
=> living thing, animate thing
=> whole, unit
=> object, physical object
=> physical entity
=> entity
=> causal agent, cause, causal agency
=> physical entity
=> entity
--- Hyponyms of noun marquis
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun marquis
2 senses of marquis
Sense 1
Marquis, Don Marquis, Donald Robert Perry Marquis
INSTANCE OF=> humorist, humourist
Sense 2
marquis, marquess
=> Lord, noble, nobleman
--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun marquis
2 senses of marquis
Sense 1
Marquis, Don Marquis, Donald Robert Perry Marquis
-> humorist, humourist
=> parodist, lampooner
=> punster
=> satirist, ironist, ridiculer
=> wag, wit, card
HAS INSTANCE=> Benchley, Robert Benchley, Robert Charles Benchley
HAS INSTANCE=> Clemens, Samuel Langhorne Clemens, Mark Twain
HAS INSTANCE=> Lardner, Ring Lardner, Ringgold Wilmer Lardner
HAS INSTANCE=> Leacock, Stephen Leacock, Stephen Butler Leacock
HAS INSTANCE=> Lear, Edward Lear
HAS INSTANCE=> Marquis, Don Marquis, Donald Robert Perry Marquis
HAS INSTANCE=> Rogers, Will Rogers, William Penn Adair Rogers
HAS INSTANCE=> Shaw, Henry Wheeler Shaw, Josh Billings
HAS INSTANCE=> Thurber, James Thurber, James Grover Thurber
Sense 2
marquis, marquess
-> Lord, noble, nobleman
=> armiger
=> baron
=> burgrave
=> count
=> duke
=> grandee
=> margrave
=> marquis, marquess
=> mesne lord
=> milord
=> palatine, palsgrave
=> peer
=> sire
=> thane
=> viscount
HAS INSTANCE=> Don Juan
HAS INSTANCE=> Mortimer, Roger de Mortimer
--- Grep of noun marquis
don marquis
donald robert perry marquis
marquis
marquis de condorcet
marquis de lafayette
marquis de laplace
marquis de sade
marquise
marquise de maintenon
marquise de montespan
marquise de pompadour
second marquis of rockingham
Wikipedia - Aline and Valcour -- Epistolary novel by the Marquis de Sade
Wikipedia - Angelique, Marquise des Anges -- 1964 film
Wikipedia - Antonio Jose M-CM-^Alvarez de Abreu, 1st Marquis of la Regalia -- Spanish noble
Wikipedia - Arrowhead (1953 film) -- 1953 film by Charles Marquis Warren
Wikipedia - Cardinal Marquis of Almenara -- Spanish Roman Catholic cardinal
Wikipedia - Carl Marquis -- Canadian Paralympic athlete
Wikipedia - Carlos IbaM-CM-1ez e IbaM-CM-1ez de Ibero -- 1st Marquis of Mulhacen
Wikipedia - Cesare, Marquis of Beccaria
Wikipedia - Charro! -- 1969 film by Charles Marquis Warren
Wikipedia - Chevalier de Mailly -- Courtesy title accorded in France to a younger brother of the marquis in each generation
Wikipedia - Communaute de communes Osartis Marquion -- Federation of municipalities in France
Wikipedia - Daniel Marquis -- Australian photographer
Wikipedia - Donald Marquis (psychologist)
Wikipedia - Don Marquis (philosopher)
Wikipedia - Don Marquis
Wikipedia - Edouard Marquis -- French radio and television host
Wikipedia - Emmanuel de Grouchy, marquis de Grouchy -- French Marshal
Wikipedia - Erwin Marquit -- American physicist
Wikipedia - Fernando Enriquez de Ribera y de Moura, 6th Marquis of Tarifa -- Spanish noble
Wikipedia - Frances Keegan Marquis -- American military leader and women's activist
Wikipedia - Francoise d'Aubigne, Marquise de Maintenon -- Royal consort of France
Wikipedia - Francois-Michel le Tellier, Marquis de Louvois -- Secretary of State for War under Louis XIV
Wikipedia - Frederick Marquis, 1st Earl of Woolton -- English businessman and statesman
Wikipedia - Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette
Wikipedia - Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette -- French general and politician (1757-1834)
Wikipedia - Gilbert Marquis -- Swiss racewalker
Wikipedia - Girolamo Belloni -- Italian marquis, banker and economist
Wikipedia - Guillermo Luca de Tena, 1st Marquis of the Tena Valley -- Spanish journalist
Wikipedia - Han Xin -- Marquis of Huaiyin
Wikipedia - Henri Evrard, marquis de Dreux-Breze -- French noble
Wikipedia - Henrique de Meneses, 3rd Marquis of Lourical -- Portuguese nobleman and statesman (1727-1787)
Wikipedia - Honorio Hermeto Carneiro Leao, Marquis of Parana -- 19th-century politician, diplomat, judge, and monarchist of the Empire of Brazil
Wikipedia - Isaac Manasses de Pas, Marquis de Feuquieres -- French military general (1590-1640)
Wikipedia - Jason Marquis
Wikipedia - Jean-Armand de Joyeuse, Marquis de Grandpre -- French general
Wikipedia - Joao de Sousa, 3rd Marquis of Minas -- Portuguese nobleman
Wikipedia - Joao Lustosa da Cunha Paranagua, Marquis of Paranagua -- Brazilian politician and lawyer
Wikipedia - Jorge Loring, 1st Marquis of Casa Loring -- Spanish noble
Wikipedia - Jose de Armendariz, 1st Marquis of Castelfuerte -- Spanish soldier and colonial administrator
Wikipedia - Juliette (novel) -- 1797 novel written by the Marquis de Sade
Wikipedia - Justine (de Sade novel) -- 1791 novel by the Marquis de Sade
Wikipedia - Leonello d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara -- Estensi nobleman and patron of the arts
Wikipedia - List of places named for the Marquis de Lafayette -- Wikipedia list article
Wikipedia - Louis de Cardevac, marquis d'Havrincourt -- French nobleman, soldier and diplomat
Wikipedia - Louis Marquis -- Swiss racewalker
Wikipedia - Louis-Michel le Peletier, marquis de Saint-Fargeau
Wikipedia - Luc de Clapiers, marquis de Vauvenargues
Wikipedia - Marc RenM-CM-), Marquis de Voyer de Paulmy d'Argenson -- French army officer
Wikipedia - Maria Cristina MuM-CM-1oz y Borbon, Marquise of la Isabela -- Spanish aristocrat
Wikipedia - Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de SM-CM-)vignM-CM-) -- French noble
Wikipedia - Marquis de Choisy -- French general
Wikipedia - Marquis de Condorcet
Wikipedia - Marquis de Lafayette (Morse) -- painting by Samuel Morse
Wikipedia - Marquis de Lafayette
Wikipedia - Marquis Dendy -- American track and field athlete
Wikipedia - Marquis de Sade bibliography -- Wikipedia bibliography
Wikipedia - Marquis de Sade: Justine -- 1968 film
Wikipedia - Marquis de Sade -- French nobleman famous for his libertine sexuality
Wikipedia - Marquise (film) -- 1997 film by VM-CM-)ra Belmont
Wikipedia - Marquise, Newfoundland and Labrador -- Settlement in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada
Wikipedia - Marquis Jet
Wikipedia - Marquis of Feria -- Spanish noble title
Wikipedia - Marquis of Haihun
Wikipedia - Marquis of Marigny
Wikipedia - Marquis of Sui's pearl -- Chinese folktale
Wikipedia - Marquis of Tabernuiga -- Spanish exile and diplomat
Wikipedia - Marquis Preferred -- 1929 film
Wikipedia - Marquis (quartet) -- Barbershop quartet
Wikipedia - Marquis Who's Who
Wikipedia - Marquis
Wikipedia - Marquis Wu of Jin -- Ruler of the State of Jin
Wikipedia - Marquita Bradshaw -- American environmentalist and political candidate
Wikipedia - Marquita Rivera -- Puerto Rican musician
Wikipedia - Marquitta -- 1927 film
Wikipedia - Niccol III d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Wikipedia - Philosophy in the Bedroom -- 1795 book by the Marquis de Sade
Wikipedia - Portrait of the Marquise de la Solana -- Painting by Francisco de Goya
Wikipedia - Rabodo -- German Imperial Vicar and marquis of Tuscany
Wikipedia - Ranged Marquis -- Chinese noble title
Wikipedia - Roger Marquis, 2nd Earl of Woolton -- British earl
Wikipedia - Salvador JosM-CM-) de Muro, 2nd Marquis of Someruelos -- Spanish military officer
Wikipedia - The 120 Days of Sodom -- Unfinished 1789 erotic novel by the Marquis de Sade
Wikipedia - The Marquise of Armiani -- 1920 film
Wikipedia - The Marquise of Clermont -- 1922 film
Wikipedia - The Marquis of Bolibar -- 1922 film
Wikipedia - The Sons of the Marquis Lucera -- 1938 film
Wikipedia - Thomas Guthrie Marquis -- Canadian historian
Wikipedia - Victor de Riqueti, marquis de Mirabeau -- French economist that promoted Physiocracy
Wikipedia - Victor Henri Rochefort, Marquis de Rochefort-Lucay -- French writer and politician
Wikipedia - Washington Marriott Marquis -- Luxury hotel in Washington, D.C., United States
Marquis de Sade ::: Born: June 2, 1740; Died: December 2, 1814; Occupation: Philosopher;
Francoise d'Aubigne, Marquise de Maintenon ::: Born: November 27, 1635; Died: April 15, 1719;
Marie Anne de Vichy-Chamrond, marquise du Deffand ::: Born: 1697; Died: September 23, 1780;
Nicolas de Caritat, marquis de Condorcet ::: Born: September 17, 1743; Died: March 28, 1794; Occupation: Philosopher;
Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sevigne ::: Born: February 5, 1626; Died: April 17, 1696;
Madame de Pompadour ::: Born: December 29, 1721; Died: April 15, 1764; Occupation: Marquise de Pompadour;
Madeleine de Souvre, marquise de Sable ::: Born: 1599; Died: January 16, 1678;
Victor de Riqueti, marquis de Mirabeau ::: Born: October 5, 1715; Died: July 13, 1789; Occupation: Economist;
Tomas Lemarquis ::: Born: August 3, 1977; Occupation: Film actor;
Marquis de Lafayette ::: Born: September 6, 1757; Died: May 20, 1834; Occupation: Political figure;
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34431761-the-marquis-made-me
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3462799-the-marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35049327-submitting-to-the-marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35267161-the-marquis-and-i
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37914200-the-marquise-and-her-cat
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42274150-marooned-with-a-marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44594286-a-marquis-for-marianne
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60197.The_Complete_Marquis_de_Sade
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60202.At_Home_with_the_Marquis_de_Sade
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/643472.The_Naked_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/658533.Die_Marquise_von_O_Das_Erdbeben_in_Chili
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6734463-the-wild-marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6874867-marrying-the-marquis-flambeau-sisters-3
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7606604-the-marquis-and-the-mistress
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/89151.La_Marquise_de_Sade
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11242325.Sarah_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14171086.Samuel_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15048849.Marie_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16197.Don_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17189.Alice_Goldfarb_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18023741.Javier_Marquina
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2885224.Marquis_de_Sade
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3020406.Tim_Marquitz
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4433147.Melanie_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4527822.Jessica_S_Marquis
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6433264.Marquita_Valentine
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/683298.Eduardo_Marquina
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7181597.Justin_Marquis
Goodreads author - Don_Marquis
Goodreads author - Alice_Goldfarb_Marquis
Goodreads author - Marquis_de_Sade
Goodreads author - Tim_Marquitz
Goodreads author - Melanie_Marquis
Goodreads author - Marquita_Valentine
Integral World - Positioning Our Knowledge in Four Quadrants, Four quadrants that help make sense out of different philosophies, Gregg Henriques and Andre Marquis
Integral World - Integral Culture, Spirituality, and a Category Error, Part II in a series on positioning our knowledge in four quadrants, Andre Marquis
Andre Marquis
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/ComicBook/TheMarquis
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Creator/MarquisDeSade
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Creator/TimMarquitz
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Creator/TomasLemarquis
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/HowTheMarquisGotHisCoatBack
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/DeMarquis
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/MarquisDeCarabas
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/MarquiseSMindfang
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Anne-Thrse_de_Marguenat_de_Courcelles,_marquise_de_Lambert
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Don_Marquis
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Don_Marquis.jpg
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Marquis_de_sade.jpg
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Gilbert_du_Motier,_Marquis_de_Lafayette
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Gilbert_du_Motier,_marquis_de_Lafayette
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Luc_de_Clapiers,_Marquis_de_Vauvenargues
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marie_Anne_de_Vichy-Chamrond,_marquise_du_Deffand
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marie_de_Rabutin-Chantal,_marquise_de_Svign
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Condorcet
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Lafayette
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marquis_De_Sade
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Sade
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Vauvenargues
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Ren-Louis_de_Voyer_de_Paulmy,_Marquis_d'_Argenson
https://allpoetry.com/Donald-Marquis
https://allpoetry.com/James-Graham-Marquis-of-Montrose-
https://allpoetry.com/Thomas-G-Marquis
Tobe Hooper's Night Terrors(1993) - A young woman finds herself forced into becomming an unwilling disciple of the Marquis d
Dangerous Liasions(1988) - In 1700s France, the rich play some interesting games. Two socialites have come up with a very interesting one. Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil (Glenn Close) and Vicomte Sebastien de Valmont are former lovers. Isabelle dares Sebastien to seduce a young woman named Cecile (Uma Thurmon), while Sebastien...
Bluebeard's Eighth Wife (1938) ::: 7.3/10 -- Passed | 1h 25min | Comedy, Romance | 25 March 1938 (USA) -- After learning her multi-millionaire fianc has already been married seven times, the daughter of a penniless marquis decides to tame him. Director: Ernst Lubitsch Writers: Charles Brackett (screenplay), Billy Wilder (screenplay) | 2 more credits Stars:
Quills (2000) ::: 7.3/10 -- R | 2h 4min | Biography, Drama | 15 December 2000 (Canada) -- In a Napoleonic era insane asylum, an inmate, the irrepressible Marquis De Sade, fights a battle of wills against a tyrannically prudish doctor. Director: Philip Kaufman Writers:
https://battleborn.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis
https://blackhaze.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis_Hadelio
https://dreamfiction.fandom.com/wiki/Thread:Angelica_Marquiz/@comment-32769624-20200927222736
https://ffxiclopedia.fandom.com/wiki/Grand_Marquis_Chomiel
https://ffxiclopedia.fandom.com/wiki/Hitting_the_Marquisate
https://ffxiclopedia.fandom.com/wiki/Tavnazian_Marquisate
https://flcl.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis_de_Carabas
https://humanscience.fandom.com/wiki/Marquise_of_O
https://nexoknights.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis
https://peaky-blinders.fandom.com/wiki/The_Marquis_of_Lorne
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Marquinn
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis_de_Sade
https://theorder1886.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis_de_Lafayette
https://theorder1886.fandom.com/wiki/Marquis_de_Lafayette_(Historical)
https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Marquise_Tistresse
Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 2 -- -- Production I.G -- 4 eps -- Novel -- Action Drama Military Sci-Fi Space -- Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 2 Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 2 -- Marquis Reinhard von Lohengramm's plot to destabilize the Free Planets Alliance succeeds when the treacherous former Rear Admiral Arthur Lynch instigates a coup on Heinessen. Equipped with a plan crafted by Reinhard himself, Lynch encourages his longtime friend Admiral Dwight Greenhill to supervise the National Salvation Military Council's toppling of the civilian government. Seeking to defend democracy and restore the Alliance constitution, Admiral Yang Wen-li faces off against his fellow citizens—and, regrettably, the father of his devoted adjutant Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill. -- -- Now with the Free Planets Alliance thoroughly occupied with their own internal matters, the forces of the Galactic Empire can safely suppress the newly formed Lippstadt League led by Duke Otto von Braunschweig. However, with his friend and loyal subordinate High Admiral Siegfried Kircheis fighting far away in the noble-controlled frontier regions, Reinhard increasingly relies on the advice of the ruthless Vice Admiral Paul von Oberstein, whose influence within the esteemed Lohengramm admiralty steadily grows. -- -- Though bloodshed is inevitable on both sides of the galaxy, Yang Wen-li of the Alliance and Reinhard von Lohengramm of the Empire each ask themselves the same questions: how will history look back on their actions? Will the ends justify the means? -- -- Movie - Oct 25, 2019 -- 15,432 8.09
Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 3 -- -- Production I.G -- 4 eps -- Novel -- Action Drama Military Sci-Fi Space -- Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 3 Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu: Die Neue These - Seiran 3 -- At the behest of Admiral Yang Wen-li, defected intelligence officer Commander Baghdash makes an emergency broadcast announcing that the National Salvation Military Council staged a coup under the direction of the Galactic Empire. Despite the lack of physical evidence, this debilitating declaration inspires former Rear Admiral Andrew Lynch to reveal his own role in sowing discord within the Free Planets Alliance. A fatal shootout between Lynch and Admiral Dwight Greenhill acts as the final death knell to the short-lived period of martial rule. -- -- Within the Galactic Empire, footage of Duke Otto von Braunschweig's nuclear bombing of Westerland results in the dissolution of the Lippstadt League. Marquis Reinhard von Lohengramm's decision to allow the massacre for personal gain creates a rift between him and High Admiral Siegfried Kircheis, souring the taste of their inevitable victory. Now on the cusp of achieving absolute power, Reinhard is embattled by his apparent personal failings and the heavy responsibilities of leadership. -- -- Though the civil wars in both the Alliance and the Empire are coming to a close, neither side can ever regain what is lost. Yang Wen-li and Reinhard von Lohengramm each take bitter solace in the knowledge that just on the other side of the galaxy is a worthy opponent—and a true equal. -- -- Movie - Nov 29, 2019 -- 15,742 8.22
Mobile Suit Gundam Wing -- -- Sunrise -- 49 eps -- Original -- Action Military Sci-Fi Space Drama Mecha -- Mobile Suit Gundam Wing Mobile Suit Gundam Wing -- The United Earth Sphere Alliance is a powerful military organization that has ruled over Earth and space colonies with an iron fist for several decades. When the colonies proclaimed their opposition to this, their leader was assassinated. Now, in the year After Colony 195, bitter colonial rebels have launched "Operation Meteor," sending five powerful mobile suits to Earth for vengeance. Built out of virtually indestructible material called Gundanium Alloy, these "Gundams" begin an assault against the Alliance and its sub organization OZ. -- -- One Gundam, whose pilot has taken the name of the slain colony leader Heero Yuy, is forced to make a crash landing into the ocean after an atmospheric battle against OZ's ace pilot Zechs Marquise. Upon coming ashore, he is found by Relena Peacecraft, daughter of a peace-seeking politician, who witnesses Heero's descent to Earth. Although neither of them realize it yet, this encounter will have a profound impact on both their lives, as well as those on Earth and in space colonies. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Bandai Entertainment -- 135,013 7.72
Mobile Suit Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz -- -- Sunrise -- 3 eps -- Original -- Action Drama Mecha Military Sci-Fi Space -- Mobile Suit Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz Mobile Suit Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz -- In the year After Colony 196, one year after the conclusion of the intergalactic civil war, a state of stasis prevails over the Earth and its colonies. Seeing no further use for their Gundam mobile suits, war heroes Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton, and Quatre Raberba Winner decide to destroy these weapons by launching them into the sun's surface. -- -- Before the Gundam reach their destination, the universal peace is shattered by the emergence of Mariemaia Khushrenada—the only child of the former tyrannical aristocrat Treize. Mariemaia abducts diplomat Relena Peacecraft and announces plans to launch "Operation Meteor," with the intention of posthumously fulfilling Treize's world domination plot. -- -- With the help of former enemy Zechs Marquise and his mobile suit Tallgeese, the heroic pilots must reacquire their mobile suits to wage one final battle against the Khushrenada dynasty, including fighting against their former ally Wufei Chang, now aligning himself with Mariemaia's ambitions. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Bandai Entertainment -- OVA - Jan 25, 1997 -- 41,721 7.76
Terra e... -- -- Toei Animation -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Drama Sci-Fi Shounen Space -- Terra e... Terra e... -- In the five hundred years since Earth's environment was destroyed and the planet came to be known as Terra, humans have created a society in space that is entirely logical. Supercomputers control the government, babies are grown in artificial wombs and assigned parents randomly, and at age 14, children take an "Adulthood Exam." Humanity's greatest enemy is the "Mu"—humans who have developed into espers. -- -- When Jomy Marquis Shin's birthday arrives and the time comes for him to take his Adulthood Exam, he is shocked to learn that all of his childhood memories are going to be erased. Suddenly, he hears the voice of Soldier Blue, the leader of the Mu, calling out to him to hold onto his memories. -- -- Jomy makes his escape on a Mu ship and is shocked to learn that he himself is an esper and that the government has sentenced him to death. Nearing the end of his life, Soldier Blue transfers his memories to Jomy and names him the next leader of the Mu. Now, Jomy has a choice: keep the Mu in hiding, or declare war on humanity to realize their dream of returning to Terra. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Nozomi Entertainment -- Movie - Apr 26, 1980 -- 8,478 6.46
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:'Marquis'_wheat
Adelaide Filleul, Marquise de Souza-Botelho
Adrien-Nicolas Pidefer, marquis de La Salle
Afonso of Braganza, 1st Marquis of Valena
Aitor Alan Marquina Bauls
Albert Nelson Marquis
Alberto d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Aldobrandino II d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Aldobrandino III d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Alejandro Mara Aguado, 1st Marquis of the Guadalquivir Marshes
Aleramo, Marquis of Montferrat
Alexandre de Rainier de Droue, Marquis de Boisseleau
Alexandre Jean-Baptiste de Boyer, Marquis d'guilles
Alexandre Matre, Marquis de Bay
Alfonso de la Cueva, 1st Marquis of Bedmar
Alfonso Flix de valos Aquino y Gonzaga, Marquis del Vasto
Amand-Marie-Jacques de Chastenet, Marquis of Puysgur
Andr Marquis
Andr, marquis de Nesmond
Andrs de Isasi, 1st Marquis of Barambio
Andrs Hurtado de Mendoza, 3rd Marquis of Caete
Anglique, Marquise des Anges
Anglique, the Marquise of the Angels
Anne-Pierre, marquis de Montesquiou-Fzensac
Antoine Coiffier de Ruz, marquis d'Effiat
Antoine-Franois, marquis de Lambertye
Antonio Aguilar y Correa, Marquis of Vega de Armijo
Antnio Bernardo da Costa Cabral, 1st Marquis of Tomar
Antonio Carrillo de Peralta y de Velasco, 2nd Marquis of Falces
Antonio Jos lvarez de Abreu, 1st Marquis of la Regala
Antnio Jos de vila, 2nd Marquis of vila and Bolama
Antnio Lus de Meneses, 1st Marquis of Marialva
Antnio Lus de Sousa, 2nd Marquis of Minas
Antnio Marquilhas
Arnail Franois, marquis de Jaucourt
Atlanta Marriott Marquis
Azzo VIII d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Bangkok Marriott Marquis Queen's Park
Barbara of Brandenburg, Marquise of Mantua
Beltrn Vlez de Guevara, Marquis of Campo Real
Bernard-Franois, marquis de Chauvelin
Bernardo de S Nogueira de Figueiredo, 1st Marquis of S da Bandeira
Bertrand Nompar de Caumont, marquis de La Force
Bianzhong of Marquis Yi of Zeng
Boniface III, Marquis of Montferrat
Boniface II, Marquis of Montferrat
Boniface I, Marquis of Montferrat
Boniface IV, Marquis of Montferrat
Brian Marquis
Camillo Ruspoli, 4th Marquis of Boadilla del Monte
Cndido Jos de Arajo Viana, Marquis of Sapuca
Canton of Marquion
Canton of Marquise
Cardinal Marquis of Almenara
Catherine de Vivonne, marquise de Rambouillet
Cayetano Pignatelli, 3rd Marquis of Rub
Charles Alexandre de Cro, Marquis d'Havr
Charles Armand Tuffin, marquis de la Rourie
Charles Colbert, marquis de Croissy
Charles de la Boische, Marquis de Beauharnois
Charles Franois d'Angennes, Marquis de Maintenon
Charles-Franois de Broglie, marquis de Ruffec
Charles Franois de Riffardeau, marquis de Rivire
Charles-Franois-Frdric, marquis de Montholon-Smonville
Charles Franois, Marquis de Bonnay
Charles Hammarquist
Charles Louis Huguet, marquis de Smonville
Charles Marie Franois Olier, marquis de Nointel
Charles, marquis de La Valette
Charles, marquis de Villette
Charles Tristan, marquis de Montholon
Chteau Marquis d'Alesme Becker
Chteau Marquis de Terme
Chocolate marquise
Christopher Marquis
Claude Drigon, Marquis de Magny
Claude-Franois-Dorothe, marquis de Jouffroy d'Abbans
Communaut de communes de Marquion
Communaut de communes Osartis Marquion
Cristbal Martnez-Bordi, 10th Marquis of Villaverde
Cristvo de Moura, 1st Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo
David Garca Marquina
Del Marquis
Diego Dvila, 1st Marquis of Navamorcuende
Diego del Alczar, 10th Marquis of la Romana
Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, 2nd Marquis of Caete
Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, 4th Marquis of Caete
Domingo Dulce, 1st Marquis of Castell-Florite
Domingo Ortiz de Rosas, 1st Marquis of Poblaciones
Donald Marquis
Don Marquis
Eleonora Ernestina von Daun, Marquise of Pombal
Emmanuel de Grouchy, marquis de Grouchy
Ercole, Marquis of Baux
Etienne, Marquis de Ganay
tiennette Le Marquis
Eugne Marquis
Felipe Antonio Spinola, 4th Marquis of Los Balbases
Felisberto Caldeira Brant, Marquis of Barbacena
Flix Berenguer de Marquina
Fernando Caldern de la Barca, 1st Marquis of Reinosa
Fernando de Valenzuela, 1st Marquis of Villasierra
Filippo Spinola, 2nd Marquis of Los Balbases
Frances Erskine Inglis, 1st Marquise of Caldern de la Barca
Frances Keegan Marquis
Francisco Baltasar de Velasco, 5th Marquis of Berlanga
Francisco Castillo Fajardo, Marquis of Villadarias
Francisco de Borja lvarez de Toledo, 12th Marquis of Villafranca
Francisco de Moncada, 3rd Marquis of Aitona
Francisco de Moura Corte Real, 3rd Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo
Francisco Jos de Ovando, 1st Marquis of Brindisi
Francisco Lpez de Ziga, 2nd Marquis of Baides
Franois Claude Amour, marquis de Bouill
Franois de La Rochefoucauld, Marquis de Montandre
Franoise-Athnas de Rochechouart, Marquise de Montespan
Franoise d'Aubign, Marquise de Maintenon
Franois Joseph de Choiseul, marquis de Stainville
Franois-Marie, marquis de Barthlemy
Franois, marquis de Chasseloup-Laubat
Franois-Michel le Tellier, Marquis de Louvois
Franois-Ren de La Tour du Pin Chambly, marquis de La Charce
Frdric Gatan, marquis de La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt
Frederick Marquis, 1st Earl of Woolton
Gabriel de Avils, 2nd Marquis of Avils
Gabriel-Jacques de Salignac de La Motte, marquis de Fnelon
Garca Hurtado de Mendoza, 5th Marquis of Caete
Gaspar Mndez de Haro, 7th Marquis of Carpio
Gastn de Moncada, 2nd Marquis of Aitona
Gaston, Marquis de Galliffet
Gaston-Robert, Marquis de Banneville
George Marquis Bogue
Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette
Gilles de Souvr, Marquis de Courtanvaux, Baron de Lezines
Giovanni II Ventimiglia, 6th Marquis of Geraci
Guillermo Luca de Tena, 1st Marquis of the Tena Valley
Henri Coiffier de Ruz, Marquis of Cinq-Mars
Henriette-Lucy, Marquise de La Tour du Pin Gouvernet
Henri Evrard, marquis de Dreux-Brz
Henri-Franois des Herbiers, Marquis de l'Estendure
Henrique de Meneses, 3rd Marquis of Lourial
Henry, Marquis of Montferrat
Hercule-Louis Turinetti, marquis of Pri
Honrio Hermeto Carneiro Leo, Marquis of Paran
Hubert Jean Victor, Marquis de Saint-Simon
igo Lpez de Mendoza, 1st Marquis of Santillana
Jacqueline de Rohan, Marquise de Rothelin
Jacques-Joachim Trotti, marquis de La Chtardie
Jacques-Pierre de Taffanel de la Jonquire, Marquis de la Jonquire
Jacques-Ren de Brisay de Denonville, Marquis de Denonville
Jaime Miguel de Guzmn de Avalos y Spinola, Marquis of la Mina, Duke of Palata and Prince of Masa
Jason Marquis
Jean-Armand de Joyeuse, Marquis de Grandpr
Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Marquis de Seignelay
Jean-Baptiste de Boyer, Marquis d'Argens
Jean-Baptiste Franois des Marets, marquis de Maillebois
Jean Baptiste, marquis de Traversay
Jean Hotman, Marquis de Villers-St-Paul
Jean-Jacques Lefranc, Marquis de Pompignan
Jean-Joseph, Marquis Dessolles
Jeanne Agns Berthelot de Plneuf, marquise de Prie
Jean Toussaint de la Pierre, marquis de Frmeur
Jenaro Quesada, 1st Marquis of Miravalles
Jernimo Girn-Moctezuma, Marquis de las Amarillas
Joo de Sousa, 3rd Marquis of Minas
Joo Marquilhas
Joo of Braganza, Marquis of Montemor-o-Novo
Joaquim Marques Lisboa, Marquis of Tamandar
Joaqun de Roncali, 1st Marquis of Roncali
John George, Marquis of Montferrat
John III, Marquis of Montferrat
John II, Marquis of Montferrat
John I, Marquis of Montferrat
John I, Marquis of Namur
John IV, Marquis of Montferrat
John Jacob, Marquis of Montferrat
John Marquis
Jonquire Marquis
Jorge Loring, 1st Marquis of Casa Loring
Jos Antonio de Mendoza, 3rd Marquis of Villagarca
Jos Bernardo de Tagle y Bracho, 1st Marquis of Torre Tagle
Jos Bernardo de Tagle y Portocarrero, Marquis of Torre Tagle
Jos de Armendriz, 1st Marquis of Castelfuerte
Jos de Salamanca, Marquis of Salamanca
Joseph, Marquis de Saint Brisson
Jos Trasimundo Mascarenhas Barreto, 7th Marquis of Fronteira
Joshua Marquis
Juan Antonio de Urbiztondo, Marquis of La Solana
Juan de Mendoza, Marquis de la Hinojosa
Juan de Mendoza y Luna, Marquis of Montesclaros
Juan Ignacio Luca de Tena, 2nd Marquis of Luca de Tena
Juan Sancho de Tovar y Velasco, 1st Marquis of Berlanga
Jules Louis Bol, marquis de Chamlay
Julin de Zulueta, 1st Marquis of lava
JW Marriott Marquis Dubai
JW Marriott Marquis Miami
La marquise de Brinvilliers (opera)
Leonello d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Leonor de Almeida Portugal, Marquise of Alorna
Leonor Tomsia de Tvora, 3rd Marquise of Tvora
Leopoldo Augusto de Cueto, 1st Marquis of Valmar
Les Marquises
List of French marquisates
List of marquisates in Norway
List of marquisates in Portugal
List of marquises of Saluzzo
List of places named for the Marquis de Lafayette
Louis Flix tienne, marquis de Turgot
Louis, Marquis of Brancas and Prince of Nisaro
Louis-Michel le Peletier, marquis de Saint-Fargeau
Louis of Anjou, Marquis of Pont--Mousson
Louis Phlypeaux, marquis de La Vrillire
Louis-Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil
Louis-Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis of Vaudreuil
Louis Ren Quentin de Richebourg, marquis de Champcenetz
Luc de Clapiers, marquis de Vauvenargues
Ludovico III Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua
Luigi Ruspoli, 3rd Marquis of Boadilla del Monte
Luis de Benavides Carrillo, Marquis of Caracena
Luis Fajardo, 2nd Marquis of los Vlez
Lus Pinto de Soveral, 1st Marquis of Soveral
Luis Ruspoli, 7th Marquis of Boadilla del Monte
Luis Snchez de Tagle, 1st Marquis of Altamira
Madeleine de Souvr, marquise de Sabl
Manuel de Moura Corte Real, 2nd Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo
Manuel de Oms, 1st Marquis of Castelldosrius
Manuel Garca Prieto, Marquis of Alhucemas
Manuel Gutirrez de la Concha, Marquis of the Duero
Manuel Lus Osrio, Marquis of Erval
Manuel Rodriguez de Albuerne y Prez de Tagle, 5th Marquis of Altamira
Marcelino Oreja, 1st Marquis of Oreja
Marc Marie, Marquis de Bombelles
Marc Ren, marquis de Montalembert
Marc Ren, Marquis de Voyer de Paulmy d'Argenson
Mara Cristina Muoz y Borbn, Marquise of la Isabela
Mara Tomasa Palafox, Marquise of Villafranca
Marie Anne de Vichy-Chamrond, marquise du Deffand
Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Svign
Marie-Jean-Lon, Marquis d'Hervey de Saint Denys
Marquies Gunn
Marquina, lava
Marquinho, Paran
Marquinhos
Marquinhos Carioca
Marquinhos Caruaru
Marquinhos (disambiguation)
Marquinhos Gabriel
Marquinhos Moraes
Marquinhos Paran
Marquinhos Santos
Marquinhos Vieira
Marquis Ai of Cai
Marquis Ai of Jin
Marquisate of Bodonitsa
Marquisate of Cenete
Marquisate of Ceva
Marquisate of Finale
Marquisate of Gibraltar
Marquisate of Incisa
Marquisate of Lombay
Marquisate of Saluzzo
Marquis Calmes
Marquis Cheng
Marquis Cheng of Jin
Marquis Childs
Marquis Chimps
Marquis Cooper
Marquis Cornwallis (1789 ship)
Marquis Dai of Cai
Marquis de Arcicllar
Marquis de Bussy-Castelnau
Marquis de Carabas
Marquis de Choisy
Marquis de Condorcet
Marquis de Custine
Marquis de Lafayette (Morse)
Marquis de Lally-Tollendal
Marquis de Mors
Marquis de Rays
Marquis de Sade
Marquis de Sade (band)
Marquis de Sade bibliography
Marquis de Sade in popular culture
Marquis de Sade: Justine
Marquis D. Jones Jr.
Marquise Brown
Marquise de Caylus
Marquise de Crquy
Marquise Goodwin
Marquise Hill
Marquis E of Jin
Marquise-Thrse de Gorla
Marquis Gong of Cai
Marquis Gng of Cai
Marquis Gng of Cai
Marquis Huan of Cai
Marquis James
Marquis Jing
Marquis Lafayette Wood
Marquis Li of Cai
Marquis Li of Jin
Marquis (magazine)
Marquis Miami
Marquis Mu of Cai
Marquis Mu of Jin
Marquis of Abrantes
Marquis of Alorna
Marquis of Angeja
Marquis of Baides
Marquis of Baux
Marquis of Castelo Rodrigo
Marquis of Extended Grace
Marquis of Falces
Marquis of Fronteira
Marquis of Haihun
Marquis of Kensington
Marquis of Los Vlez
Marquis of Marialva
Marquis of Minas
Marquis of Molina
Marquis of Pombal Square
Marquis of Pombal (title)
Marquis of Qin
Marquis of Rockingham (1771 EIC ship)
Marquis of Soleminis
Marquis of Sui's pearl
Marquis of Tabernuiga
Marquis of Tvora
Marquis of Valena
Marquis of Veere and Flushing
Marquis of Verboom
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Marquis Theatre
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Marquis Xiao of Jin
Marquis Xiaozi of Jin
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Marquis Xuan of Cai
Marquis Yi of Cai
Marquis Zhao of Jin
Marriott Marquis
Medora de Vallombrosa, Marquise de Mors
Mercury Grand Marquis
Michel Chartier de Lotbinire, Marquis de Lotbinire
Min, Marquis of Jin
Monument to the Marquis of the Duero (Madrid)
Morgan Marquis-Boire
Nero Marquina marble
New York Marriott Marquis
Niccol II d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Niccol III d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Nicolas-Alexandre, marquis de Sgur
Nicols de Carvajal, Marquis of Sarria
Obizzo II d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Obizzo III d'Este, Marquis of Ferrara
Odo the Good Marquis
Otto II, Marquis of Montferrat
Otto I, Marquis of Montferrat
Ottone Enrico del Caretto, Marquis of Savona
Palace of the Marquises of Fronteira
Palace of the Marquis of Molins
Paolo Ruspoli, 5th Marquis of Boadilla del Monte
Paolo Spinola, 3rd Marquis of Los Balbases
Pascual Marquina Narro
Paul-Franois de Galluccio, marquis de L'Hpital
Pedro Caro, 3rd Marquis of la Romana
Pedro de Almeida Portugal, 3rd Marquis of Alorna
Pedro de Arajo Lima, Marquis of Olinda
Pedro de Toledo, 1st Marquis of Mancera
Pedro Fajardo, 1st Marquis of los Vlez
Pedro III Fajardo, 5th Marquis of Los Vlez
Pedro Messa de la Cerda, 2nd Marquis of Vega de Armijo
Pedro Snchez de Tagle, 2nd Marquis of Altamira
Philip II, Marquis of Namur
Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil
Philippe Henri, marquis de Sgur
Philippe Marquis
Philippe, Marquis de Villette-Mursay
Pierre Brlart, marquis de Sillery
Pierre de Rigaud, marquis de Vaudreuil-Cavagnial
Pierre de Ruel, marquis de Beurnonville
Rafael de Sobremonte, 3rd Marquis of Sobremonte
Rainier, Marquis of Montferrat
Ranged Marquis
Ren de Galard de Barn, Marquis de Brassac
Ren-Eustache, marquis d'Osmond
Ren, Marquis of Elbeuf
Richard Marquis
Rodrigo Daz de Vivar y Mendoza, 1st Marquis of Cenete
Roger Marquis, 2nd Earl of Woolton
Rural Municipality of Marquis No. 191
Sains-ls-Marquion
Salvador Bermdez de Castro, Marquis of Lema
San Diego Marriott Marquis & Marina
San Francisco Marriott Marquis
Sarah Marquis
Sebastio Jos de Carvalho e Melo, 1st Marquis of Pombal
Simon Arnauld, Marquis de Pomponne
Simon Marquis, 3rd Earl of Woolton
Statue of the Marquis de Lafayette (New York City)
Sunset Marquis Hotel
The Dissection and Reconstruction of Music from the Past as Performed by the Inmates of Lalo Schifrin's Demented Ensemble as a Tribute to the Memory of the Marquis De Sade
The Marquis (comics)
The Marquise of Armiani
The Marquise of Clermont
The Marquise of O
The Marquise of O (film)
The Marquis of Bolibar
The Marquis of Ruvolito
Theodore II, Marquis of Montferrat
Theodore I, Marquis of Montferrat
The Sons of the Marquis Lucera
Thomas Bailey Marquis
Thomas de Mahy, Marquis de Favras
Thomas Marquis
Tmas Lemarquis
Toms Marn de Poveda, 1st Marquis of Caada Hermosa
Toms Xavier de Lima Teles da Silva, 1st Marquis of Ponte de Lima
Tomb of Marquis Yi of Zeng
USS Don Marquis (IX-215)
Vicente Cabeza de Vaca y Fernndez de Crdoba, Marquis of Portago
Victor de Riqueti, marquis de Mirabeau
Victor Henri Rochefort, Marquis de Rochefort-Luay
Vittorio Francesco, Marquis of Susa
Wenceslao Ramrez de Villa-Urrutia, 1st Marquis of Villa-Urrutia
William III, Marquis of Montferrat
William II, Marquis of Montferrat
William II, Marquis of Namur
William I, Marquis of Montferrat
William IV, Marquis of Montferrat
William IX, Marquis of Montferrat
William VIII, Marquis of Montferrat
William VII, Marquis of Montferrat
William VI, Marquis of Montferrat
William V. Marquis
William V, Marquis of Montferrat
Xavier Marquis
Yan, Marquis of Tian
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