NORTHROP FRYE AND THE CHILDREN OF NATURE

The characters who elude the moral antithesis of heroism and villainy (in the epic genres, ie chivalric romance, high fantasy, space opera...) generally are or suggest spirits of nature. They represent partly the moral neutrality of the intermediate world of nature and partly a world of mystery which is glimpsed but never seen, and which retreats when approached. Among female characters of this type are the shy nymphs of Classical legends and the elusive half-wild creatures who might be called daughter-figures, and include Spenser's Florimell, Hawthorne's Pearl, Wagner's Kundry, and Hudson's Rima. Their male counterparts have a little more variety. Kipling's Mowgli is the best known of the wild boys; a green man lurked in the forests of medieval England, appearing as Robin Hood and as the green knight of Gawain's adventure; the "savage man," represented in Spenser by Satyrane, is a Renaissance favorite, who, awkward but faithful with unkempt hair, has shambled amiably through the epic genres for centuries (I might like, decades after Frye, recognise him all the way from Sumerian Enkidu to 20th-century Wookiees like the most famous Chewbacca! Probably this character was born already in the Ice Age, as a result of the first Sapiens-Neanderthal reports).

Such characters are, more or less, children of nature, who can be brought to serve the hero/ine, like Enkidu or Friday, but retain the inscrutability of their origin. As servants or friends, they impart the mysterious rapport with nature that so often marks the central figure of epic (chivalric romance, high fantasy, space opera...). The paradox that many of these children of nature are "supernatural" beings is not as distressing in the epic genres as in logic. The helpful fairy, the grateful dead, the wonderful servant who has just the abilities the hero/ine needs in a crisis, are all folk tale commonplaces. They are epic intensifications of the comic tricky slave (ie the servus currens of Plautine comedy), the author's architectus. In James Thurber's The Thirteen Clocks this character type is called the "Golux," and there is no reason why the word should not be adopted as a critical term.

... In the nature-spirits just referred to we find the parallel in epic to the buffoon or master of ceremonies in comedy: that is, their function is to intensify and provide a focus for the chivalric mood. 


(Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism. p. 196)

19 THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT ME, THE GAY MALE SIDEKICK

19 THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT ME, THE GAY MALE SIDEKICK IN A ROMANTIC COMEDY

1. My part was first offered to Stanley Tucci. He said FUCK NO. I said FUCK YES.
2. I am 24. (Actually, 33)
3.  I got my MFA in Acting at Yale, bitch.
4.  I only took this role for the SAG health insurance.
5.  I can only talk while walking and escorting you to an important meeting/lunch/drop-in.
6. All the exposition I need to share with you is conveniently packed into that short walk to meeting/lunch.
7. I look like a gazelle fucked a marble kitchen countertop.
8. My character’s name is usually Chad, Derek, Marc, Mark, Joey, Danny, etc.
9. Usually remind you where you work: “YOU WORK AT VOGUE!”
10. Other fave lines:

1. “Well the boss is PRE-TTY pissed. You know how he gets on Thursdays…”
2. “WOOOOWWW”
3. “She’s really doing it!”
4. “YOU ARE TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM. WORD IS HE WORKS IN MARKETING…”

• 11. I don’t have a last name so don’t bother asking.

1. 12. My outfit is some sort of purple/orange monstrosity that is… ridiculous?
2. 13. I will give you a really good idea, but of course, let you think you came up with it yourself. Just happy to be a part of your narrative!
3. 14. I live at the office. I am never seen outside the office, and if I am it’s in some sort of ridiculous disguise getting your character some intel.
4. 15. I make more facial gestures in one scene than anyone else in the entire film. I am especially great with eye-rolls.
5. 16. At one point, the female lead will undoubtedly say, “Ugh, why can’t I just date you?” to which I will reply any of the following: “Tried it in college,” or “Do I look 19 anymore?”
6. 17. I secretly wish you were Cate Blanchett or Kate Winslet.
7. 18. I’ll be invited on the press junket but I am in a thespian play (Othello, bitch), so I won’t go.
8. 19. I firmly believe this dreck should have stayed a book.

KATE PINKERTON: LACOMBE STYLE

The "another woman" in Puccini's geisha opera had been a non-entity to me... until Benjamin Lacombe reimagined her, from her lieutenant husband's first-person POV, as an extraverted and fiery suffragette. Now I understand why he married her, and I put this character on my personal list of badasses!

(PS. The English translation below is my own)


KATE PINKERTON: LACOMBE STYLE


...ma douce Kate, ma vraie femme, ma femme...
Kate était libre, rieuse, franche, avisée. Je l'avais rencontrée alors qu'elle militait devant le Parlement pour le droit de vote des femmes. Elle tenait sa petite pancarte à la main avec une dizaine d'autres militantes en jupons, et me regardait d'un air frondeur. J'en étais tombé immédiatement amoureux.
Le droit de vote des femmes!

--Le lieutenant Pinkerton n'est pas seul. Il est accompagné de sa femme, lady Kate Pinkerton.

Kate réagit avec la sensibilité d'une femme, comprenant la peine...

--Je suis l'innocente cause de votre malheur. Pardonnez-moi! supplia Kate, au bord des larmes.

--¿Pourrez-vous me pardonner? demanda Kate, la voix temblante.
«Sous la grande arche du ciel, il n'existe pas de femme plus heureuse que vous. Restez-le toujours.


.....................................................................................................


...my sweet Kate, my true wife, my wife...
Kate was free, cheerful, outspoken, clever. I had met her for the first time when she was demonstrating outside Congress for women's right to vote. She was holding her little banner in hand, with ten or so other suffragettes in petticoats, and she was looking at me with that rebellious air of hers. I instantly fell head over heels in love with her.
Women's right to vote!

--Lieutenant Pinkerton is not alone. He is accompanied by his wife, Lady Kate Pinkerton.

Kate reacted with a true lady's sensibility and sensitivity, understanding the sorrow...

"I am the innocent cause of your misfortune. Pardon me!" Kate pleaded half in tears.
"May you pardon me?" asked Kate with a tremulous voice.
"Under the great arch of the heavens, there is no woman more fortunate than you. May you thus be forever."

MADAME ADÈLE MONTRÉVILLE, LADY OF WAR

Here's another female character worth mentioning

and praising: 

Madame Adèle (Adela) Montréville, created by 

Walter Scott.

The widow of an officer of fortune, self-made into

a female figurehead of power, wealthy and in command

of a host of soldiers. This lady Wallenstein is even 

compared to the Queen of Sheba, Semiramis, 

Zenobia, Boudicca... called an Amazonian princess...!

It's such a shame that she is meant for the role of

the rival in the story where she appears.

The hero calls her "unsexed woman" as an insult 

(compare Donegild as "mannish" in the Man of Law's 

Tale), which sounds rather unfair.

Her entourage is also all-male (once with the demure

heroine for a single female floozy, then she left).

In the end, having lost her fortune to the heroine and

her power-base to the crown, she dies poisoned either by

herself or by another person.

Read here:

A Semiramis-looking person, of unusual stature
and amplitude, arrayed in a sort of riding habit,
but so formed, and so looped and gallooned with
lace, as made it resemble the upper tunic of a native
chief. Her robe was composed of crimson silk,
rich with flowers of gold. She wore wide trousers
of light blue silk, a fine scarlet shawl around her
waist, in which was stuck a creeze, with a richly
ornamented handle. Her throat and arms were
loaded with chains and bracelets, and her turban,
formed of a shawl similar to that worn around
her waist, was decorated by a magnificent aigrette,
from which a blue ostrich plume flowed in one direction,
and a red one in another. The brow, of
European complexion, on which this tiara rested,
was too lofty for beauty, but seemed made for
command; the aquiline nose retained its form, but
the cheeks were a little sunken, and the complexion
so very brilliant, as to give strong evidence that
the whole countenance had undergone a thorough
repair since the lady had left her couch. A 

female slave, richly dressed, stood behind her with

a chowry, or cow's tail, having a silver handle,
which she used to keep off the flies. From the
mode in which she was addressed by those who
spoke to her, this lady appeared a person of too
much importance to be affronted or neglected, and
yet one with whom none desired further communication
than the occasion seemed in propriety to
demand.

 ``For Heaven's sake, what is that for a Zenobia?''

 ``Is it possible you do not know the Queen of
Sheba?'' You must know, then, that she is the

daughter of a Scotch emigrant, who lived and died
at Pondicherry, a sergeant in Lally's regiment. 
She managed to marry a partisan officer named
Montreville, a Swiss or Frenchman, I cannot tell
which. After the surrender of Pondicherry, this
hero and heroine---But hey---what the devil are
you thinking of?---If you stare at her that way,
you will make a scene; for she will think nothing
of scolding you across the table.''

With

a voice which in the force of its accents corresponded
with her commanding air, Mrs Montreville
addressed him in English, which savoured slightly
of a Swiss patois,---``You have come to us very
fast, sir, to say nothing at all. Are you sure you
did not get your tongue stolen by de way?''

 ``Some fair-skinned speculation of old Montreville's,
I suppose, that she has got either to toady
herself, or take in some of her friends with.

---Is it possible you have never heard of old Mother
Montreville?''

``Well, this lady is the

widow of a Swiss officer in the French service, who,
after the surrender of Pondicherry, went off into
the interior, and commenced soldier on his own
account. He got possession of a fort, under pretence
of keeping it for some simple Rajah or other;
assembled around him a parcel of desperate vagabonds,
of every colour in the rainbow; occupied a
considerable territory, of which he raised the duties
in his own name, and declared for independence.
But Hyder Naig understood no such interloping
proceedings, and down he came, besieged
the fort and took it, though some pretend it was
betrayed to him by this very woman. Be that as
it may, the poor Swiss was found dead on the ramparts.
Certain it is, she received large sums of
money,  under pretence of paying of her troops,
surrendering of hill-forts, and Heaven knows what
besides. She was permitted also to retain some
insignia of royalty; and, as she was wont to talk
of Hyder as the Eastern Solomon, she generally
became known by the title of Queen of Sheba. She
leaves her court when she pleases, and has been as
far as Fort St George before now. In a word, she
does pretty much as she likes. The great folks here
are civil to her, though they look on her as little
better than a spy. As to Hyder, it is supposed he
has ensured her fidelity by borrowing the greater
part of her treasures, which prevents her from
daring to break with him,---besides other causes
that smack of scandal of another sort.''

``Your old acquaintance,
Mr Tresham, or Mr Middlemas, or whatever else
he chooses to be called, has been complimented by
a report, that he stood very high in the good graces
of this same Boadicea. He certainly commanded
some troops which she still keeps on foot, and
acted at their head in the Nawaub's service, who
craftily employed him in whatever could render
him odious to his countrymen. The British prisoners
were intrusted to his charge, and, to judge
by what I felt myself, the devil might take a lesson
from him in severity.''

  ``And was he attached to, or connected with,
this woman?''

  ``So Mrs Rumour told us in our dungeon. Poor
Jack Ward had the bastinado for celebrating their
merits in a parody on the playhouse song,

    `Sure such a pair were never seen,
     So aptly formed to meet by nature.' ''

...such a woman...

into an apartment. The room opened on one

side into a small garden or parterre, filled with the
brilliant-coloured flowers of eastern climates; in
the midst of which the waters of a fountain rose
upwards in a sparkling jet, and fell back again into
a white marble cistern.

A step was heard---the door opened---
a female appeared-but it was the portly form of
Madame de Montreville.

  ``What you do please to want, sir?'' said the
lady; ``that is, if you have found your tongue this
morning, which you had lost yesterday.''

``How is this, my dear?'' said Mrs Montreville,
with unruffled front;

"`are you not gone out for two or three days, as I
tell this gentleman?--mais c'est égal--it is all one
thing. You will say, How d'ye do, and good-bye,
to Monsieur, who is so polite as to come to ask
after our healths, and as he sees us both very well,
he will go away home again.''

 ``That is to say, get you gone? but I do not
allow that---I do not like private conversation between
young man and pretty young woman; cela
n'est pas honnête. It cannot be in my house.''

The Queen of Sheba,
notwithstanding her natural assurance, was disconcerted
by the composure of Miss Gray's manner,
and left the room, apparently in displeasure. 

--why with this woman?''

``She is not, indeed, every thing that I expected,

but I must not be prejudiced by foreign manners, 

after the step I have taken---She is, besides, 

attentive, and generous in her way, and I shall 

soon be under better protection.''

Mrs Montreville, a lady of
rank, having large possessions and high interest in
the Mysore, would receive me on my arrival at
Fort St George, and conduct me safely to the dominions
of Hyder. It was further recommended,
that, considering the peculiar situation of Mr Middlemas,
his name should be concealed in the transaction,
and that the ostensible cause of my voyage
should be to fill an office in that lady's family.

The
references given, the sum of money lodged, were
considered as putting all scruples out of the question,
and my immediate protectress and kinswoman
was so earnest that I should accept of the offer
made me, as to intimate that she would not encourage
me to stand in my own light, by continuing
to give me shelter and food, (she gave me little
more,) if I was foolish enough to refuse compliance.

...this unsexed woman, who can no longer be
termed a European.

"Tell me only,

do you, of your own positive knowledge, aver that
you consider this woman as an unworthy and unfit
protectress for so young a person as I am?''

  ``Of my own knowledge I can say nothing; nay,
I must own, that reports differ even concerning
Mrs Montreville's character. But surely the mere
suspicion------''

" What, indeed, must

he be, should this Madam Montreville be other than
he represented her?''

 Meantime, Madam Montreville, followed by her

domestic, entered the apartment.

It appeared from
the conversation which follows, that they had from
some place of concealment overheard the dialogue
we have narrated in the former chapter.

  ``It is good luck, Sadoc,'' said the lady, ``that
there is in this world the great fool.''

  ``And the great villain,'' answered Sadoc, in
good English, but in a most sullen tone.

  ``This woman, now,'' continued the lady, ``is
what in Frangistan you call an angel.''

  ``Ay, and I have seen those in Hindostan you
may well call devil.''

  ``I am sure that this---how you call him---Hartley,
is a meddling devil. For what has he to do?
She will not have any of him. What is his business
who has her? I wish we were well up the
Ghauts again, my dear Sadoc.''

  ``For my part,'' answered the slave, ``I am half
determined never to ascend the Ghauts more. Hark
you, Adela, I begin to sicken of the plan we have
laid. This creature's confiding purity---call her
angel or woman, as you will---makes my practices
appear too vile, even in my own eyes. I feel myself
unfit to be your companion farther in the daring
paths which you pursue. Let us part, and part
friends.''

  ``Amen, coward. But the woman remains with
me,'' answered the Queen of Sheba.*

*    In order to maintain uninjured the tone of passion
     throughout this dialogue, it has been judged expedient to discard,
     in the language of the Begum, the patois of Madame
     Montreville.

  ``With thee!'' replied the seeming black---
``never. No, Adela. She is under the shadow
of the British flag, and she shall experience its
protection.''

  ``Yes---and what protection will it afford to you
yourself?'' retorted the Amazon. ``What if I
should clap my hands, and command a score of my
black servants to bind you like a sheep, and then
send word to the Governor of the Presidency that
one Richard Middlemas, who had been guilty of
mutiny, murder, desertion, and serving of the enemy
against his countrymen, is here, at Ram Sing Cottah's
house, in the disguise of a black servant?''
Middlemas covered his face with his hands, while
Madam Montreville proceeded to load him with
reproaches.---``Yes''; she said, ``slave, and son of
a slave! Since you wear the dress of my household,
you shall obey me as fully as the rest of them,
otherwise,---whips, fetters---the scaffold, renegade,
---the gallows, murderer! Dost thou dare to reflect
on the abyss of misery from which I raised
thee, to share my wealth and my affections? Dost
thou not remember that the picture of this pale,
cold, unimpassioned girl was then so indifferent to
thee, that thou didst sacrifice it as a tribute due to
the benevolence of her who relieved thee, to the affection
of her who, wretch as thou art, condescended
to love thee?''

  ``Yes, fell woman,'' answered Middlemas, ``but
was it I who encouraged the young tyrant's outrageous
passion for a portrait, or who formed the
abominable plan of placing the original within his
power?''

  ``No---for to do so required brain and wit. But
it was thine, flimsy villain, to execute the device
which a bolder genius planned; it was thine to entice
the woman to this foreign shore, under pretence
of a love, which, on thy part, cold-blooded
miscreant, never had existed."

  ``Peace, screech-owl!'' answered Middlemas,
``nor drive me to such madness as may lead me to
forget thou art a woman.''

  ``A woman, dastard! Is this thy pretext for
sparing me?---what, then, art thou, who tremblest
at a woman's looks, a woman's words?---I am a
woman, renegade, but one who wears a dagger,
and despises alike thy strength and thy courage. I
am a woman who has looked on more dying men
than thou hast killed deer and antelopes. Thou
must traffic for greatness?---thou hast thrust thyself
like a five-years' child, into the rough sports of
men, and wilt only be borne down and crushed for
thy pains. Thou wilt be a double traitor, forsooth
---betray thy betrothed to the Prince, in order to
obtain the  means of betraying the Prince to the
English, and thus gain thy pardon from thy countrymen.
But me thou shalt not betray. I will not
be made the tool of thy ambition---I will not give
thee the aid of my treasures and my soldiers, to be
sacrificed at last to this northern icicle. No, I will
watch thee as the fiend watches the wizard. Show
but a symptom of betraying me while we are here,
and I denounce thee to the English, who might
pardon the successful villain, but not him who can
only offer prayers for his life, in place of useful
services. Let me see thee flinch when we are beyond
the Ghauts, and the Nawaub shall know thy
intrigues with the Nizam and the Mahrattas, and
thy resolution to deliver up Bangalore to the English,
when the imprudence of Tippoo shall have
made thee Killedar. Go where thou wilt, slave,
thou shalt find me thy mistress.''

  ``And a fair, though an unkind one,'' said the
counterfeit Sadoc, suddenly changing his tone to
an affectation of tenderness. ``It is true I pity this
unhappy woman; true I would save her if I could
---but most unjust to suppose I would in any circumstances
prefer her to my Nourjehan, my light
of the world, my Mootee Mahul, my pearl of the
palace---''

  ``All false coin and empty compliment,'' said the
Begum. ``Let me hear, in two brief words, that
you leave this woman to my disposal.''

  ``But not to be interred alive under your seat,
like the Circassian of whom you were jealous,'' said
Middlemas, shuddering.

  ``No, fool; her lot shall not be worse than that
of being the favourite of a prince. Hast thou, fugitive
and criminal as thou art, a better fate to offer
her?''

  ``But,'' replied Middlemas, blushing even through
his base disguise at the consciousness of his abject
conduct, ``I will have no force on her inclinations.''

  ``Such truce she shall have as the laws of the
Zenana allow,'' replied the female tyrant. ``A
week is long enough for her to determine whether
she will be the willing mistress of a princely and
generous lover.''

  ``Ay,'' said Richard, ``and before that week
expires------'' He stopped short.

  ``What will happen before the week expires?''
said the Begum Montreville.

  ``No matter---nothing of consequence. I leave
the woman's fate with you.''

  ``'Tis well---we march to-night on our return,
so soon as the moon rises. Give orders to our
retinue.''

  ``To hear is to obey,''  replied  the  seeming  slave,
and left the apartment.   

  The eyes of the Begum remained   fixed   on   the
door through which he had passed.  ``Villain---
double-dyed villain!'' she said, ``I see thy drift;
thou wouldst betray Tippoo, in policy alike and in
love. But me thou canst not betray.---Ho, there,
who waits? Let a trusty messenger be ready to set
off instantly with letters, which I will presently make
ready. His departure must be a secret to every
one.---And now shall this pale phantom soon know
her destiny, and learn what it is to have rivalled
Adela Montreville.''

  While the Amazonian Princess meditated plans
of vengeance against her innocent rival and the
guilty lover...

 ``Doubt it not---the soldiers of the Begum
Mootee Mahul, whom the Europeans call Montreville,
are less hers than mine. I am myself her
Bukshee, [General,] and her Sirdars are at my
devotion. With these I could keep Bangalore for
two months, and the British army may be before
it in a week. What do you risk by advancing General
Smith's army nearer to the frontier?''

 The litter stopped as it approached the tank,
on the opposite side of which the Prince was seated
on his musnud. Middlemas assisted the Begum
to descend, and led her, deeply veiled with silver
muslin, towards the platform of marble. The rest
of the retinue of the Begum followed in their
richest and most gaudy attire, all males, however;
nor was there a symptom of woman being in her
train, expect that a close litter, guarded by twenty
black slaves, having their sabres drawn, remained
at some distance in a thicket of flowering shrubs.

  When Tippoo Saib, through the dim haze which
hung over the waterfall, discerned the splendid
train of the Begum advancing, he arose from his
musnud, so as to receive her near the foot of his
throne, and exchanged greetings with her upon
the pleasure of meeting, and enquiries after their
mutual health. He then conducted her to the
cushion placed near to his own, while his courtiers
anxiously showed their politeness in accommodating
those of the Begum with places upon the carpets
around, where they all sat down cross-legged.

 It would be
impossible to describe the feelings with which Hartley
recognised the

Amazonian Mrs Montreville.

The Nawaub, faithful to
his promise, remitted a sum of no less than
ten thousand gold Mohurs, extorted, as was surmised,
almost entirely from the hoards of the Begum
Mootee Mahul, or Montreville. Of the fate
of that adventuress nothing was known for certainty;
but her forts and government were taken
into Hyder's custody, and report said, that, her
power being abolished and her consequence lost,
she died by poison, either taken by herself, or administered
by some other person.

MEMOIRS OF A NORTHUMBRIAN MESSENGER

MEMOIRS OF A NORTHUMBRIAN MESSENGER
A spin-off of a well-known story
by Sandra Dermark
5th of May 2015

Call me Ethelred. Not long ago, I was a messenger at the service of the Crown of Northumbria, in my
early twenties, and still unmarried, more plain than dashing. In those days, our young King married a foreigner, of noble manners though her past has never been revealed, and the Queen Mother left court a little while later.
The Queen Mother, the Queen Dowager, Donegild. We should start with her, since she was the one who started it all. Or were it the Scots? It was the Queen Dowager and the Scots. Hadn't the latter got over Hadrian's Wall, our king wouldn't had left his castle, court, and spouse to fight on the front. Which was not that far from the Queen Mother's holdfast.
And why her retreat to this holdfast? Well, she was a good regent, a great ruler, some subjects still loyal to her (and their number is dwindling) say even better than her son. A shieldmaiden whose husband fell upon the battlefield and left her alone, a widow with an infant child, to rule a strange land. She needed to be strong, stronger than any male enemy at court or on the field. And she grew stronger.
Raised at court as the child of servants during her regency, I had to know that. That she was an iron lady. A real child of her times and lands, not worthy of the punishment she was given.
However, now her only son and heir had come of age, and their relationship had begun to become more and more distant, detached. And perchance Donegild had already realised that she had grown old and it would be wise to retire from matters of the realm.
Now, anyway, the young Queen had a little boy, an heir, and I was sent off to the battlefield to give my Liege the news in a scroll in a knapsack. And the sunset surprised me right before Donegild's holdfast.
Again, we may blame the ruler of the past who chose to lay the foundations of the holdfast in that place (whoever he may be), aside from the Queen Dowager and the Scots. That makes three guilty parties.
Anyway, let's stop fooling around and get to the point. So I had been riding the whole day until twilight without even stopping for a second. I was completely burned out, ablaze with thirst and exertion, so they led me into the holdfast, the Queen Mother welcomes me, gives me her finest chair to sit on, gives me her hand and embraces me, "Oh, Ethelred!"
All right, and then she orders her cupbearer to fill up my tankard for me. Mead, ale, Riesling: I drained the first tankard to quench my thirst, the second tankard to feel happy, the third tankard because... why was it? For no apparent reason. Then the room is reeling, then it all turns foggy, then everything turns dark before me. Like, I can't remember what happened that night. So I wake up, the gods know when, but it was already mid-day, to Donegild shaking me up: "Ethelred! Ethelred!" My head was filled with a throbbing pain, and I could not hold my breakfast. The servants also commented that I looked pale.
So let's be honest: it was the amber nectar. Not for the first time, nor for the last time in my life did that backstabbing usurper leave me bereft of reason. Of course this is a flaw, and a fatal flaw on top of that. So that took away my reason, and I passed out. Yet soon I would discover what had been done while I was unconscious.
The next day, I reached the encampment at dusk, on the eve of battle. I was led into King Allan's pavilion and showed him the letter from the regency. As my Liege read, he turned pale as the scroll, and I shuddered as well: the young Queen had birthed, not a healthy and well-formed child, but some "misshapen imp, too hideous to be described". Having seen the newborn prince with my own eyes, I instantly knew that it was meant to be a mistake. The letter from the regency told the truth, actually. When ever... Could it have been at Donegild's holdfast?
Still, my Liege smiled and took me by the hands, staying silent yet with a sorrowful look in his eyes: "I do not care whether I have sired an imp. Keep him and my love carefully, until I return, which I expect to be soon. I hope I will be sent an heir more of my liking." That was, to cut a long story short, what he wrote on the reverse side of the scroll before sealing it, giving it to me, and riding off into the fray on the battlefield. And thus, I set off for the royal castle, in the opposite direction.
All right, Ethelred... How could you have fallen twice into the same old trap? Let's face the facts: the circumstances were the same: I was thirsty and weary, the sun was setting, the holdfast was within my reach. And yes, it was the same holdfast, the Queen Dowager's.
She welcomed me as heartily as before, gave her cupbearer the same commands, and soon I was draining a new tankard every instant. And that left me bereft of reason. Then the room is reeling, then it all turns foggy, then everything turns dark before me. Like, I can't remember what happened that night. So I wake up, the gods know when, but it was already mid-day, to Donegild shaking me up: "Ethelred! Ethelred!" My head was filled with a throbbing pain, and I could not hold my breakfast. The servants also commented that I looked pale. So why was I so ill at ease?

So let's be honest: it was the amber nectar. The first time, it had not mattered. But this was the second time in that month that the backstabbing usurper left me bereft of reason. And it was when I had to give the Regency my reply. Of course this is a flaw, and a fatal flaw on top of that. So that took away my reason, and I passed out. Yet soon I would discover what had been done while I was unconscious, and the consequences would be fatal for the whole kingdom of Northumbria.

So let's be honest: I should not had drunk until my girdle was too tight... 

The Queen Mother, the Scots, the one who raised the holdfast, and the spirit of amber nectar. That makes four culprits, and the fourth is the most insidious of them all.

So I reach the castle the next day at twilight and the Constable, the Regent, reads the letter as he shudders, turning pale and then bright red as a strawberry:

"The king commands his constable, anon,
On pain of hanging by the high justice,
That he shall suffer not, in any guise,
Custance within the kingdom to abide
Beyond three days and quarter of a tide.
"But in the ship wherein she came to strand
She and her infant son and all her gear
Shall be embarked and pushed out from the land,
And charge her that she never again come here." 

He said there was no other way but this one, to maroon the queen and the prince of our lands, and declare them personae non gratae. The penalty of death has got such an effect on servants of the realm. Once I eavesdropped him, on the second day of the fatal three, say to himself:

"Ah, woe is me
That I must be your torturer, or die
A shameful death! There is no other way." 

Everyone in our country-esque and peaceful lands, children, women, elders, wept because of the letter King Allan had sent. Yet I had seen what my Liege had written. It was a forgery that the Regent had read. A forgery which had somehow been replaced... Anyway, I was there on the docks with the rest of the court, watching the rudderless ship set sail with the young Queen and her heir, no imp at all but rather a ruddy and rosy lad, until they had disappeared beyond the horizon of the vast blue ocean. Their whereabouts are still unknown to me, yet I hope that they are still alive and well somewhere.
To return to the theme of the forged letter...
Not long after the marooning, the war came to an end and our victorious king and warlords returned in triumph to the castle. I had still connected it to the war front by bringing court ladies married to, betrothed to, or whose fathers and/or brothers were officers of the realm tidings of their male relations on the battlefield, and vice versa. Anyway, there were revels for both the victory and the peace, and it was thus that our Liege asked for his wife and child, whom he had missed throughout the war. Upon hearing these words, the Constable shuddered, turning pale, and told the truth, showing King Allan the forged letter:

"My lord, as you commanded me,
On pain of death, so have I done- in vain!"

 Then, I felt as if a large chunk of sky were about to fall right on my head. The King's soldiers seized me and thrust me into a dungeon, where they shackled me to the wall. And then, to my astonishing surprise (I would have expected something more painful), they forced a tankardful of water down my throat. Which you may see as highly ironic, given the fact that I had got into this fine mess for quaffing far stronger fare.
Then a second tankard, then a third, then... at the thirteenth cup of water, I felt about to throw it all up, but what came out was no liquid. It was my confession. A couple of warlords, the King, and the Constable stood at the dungeon grate, listening attentively to all I had to say.
They might as well have used mead or beer instead of water to make me sing... but that spoils the ironies of life.
I told them where I had spent the night, in that holdfast you have already heard of...

And thus, by dint of subtle questioning,
'Twas reasoned out from whom this harm did spring. 

The next day, the Queen Dowager was summoned to court and tied to a stake in the courtyard, where her only son, with his very own hands and sword, gracefully severed his head. I was stunned. I could not believe that she had been the villainess of the story all along. Yet I loved her, and I thought she would make a far better ruler than King Allan himself.
So I did not know to whom I was true. Was I a traitor, an accomplice of the villainess, a fool who had sold his loyalty for a draught of liquid fire, like an Esau of our times? The answer is yes. But the other answer is that I was obliged to swear allegiance to my Liege, and that swear that the Queen Dowager was the villainess, against my will. The others were the villains, and I had to flee the land for my life.
Northumbria, once my birthplace, held no longer any attractive after that chain of unexpected events and backstabbing intrigues in which I was used as a key pawn.
So here am I now, on board this foreign ship in the middle of the vast blue ocean, talking to a shieldmaiden who reminds me of Queen Donegild when she was young and strong. Now you know my story, Astrid. I may appear weak, flawed, and/or self-indulgent from the events I got a lead role in, but I am sure that you still love me. When we land on the shores of Iceland, I promise that I will reform. Don't know if such an irresponsible and indiscrete officer will ever make a good father and spouse, only the gods will tell, but at least I will try not to prostitute myself in any way, to make you, and everyone else in my new home, feel happy and pleased with me, and trust me.

A SELF-MADE BANDIT LORD

Voltaire once created a wonderful character reminiscent of Euron Greyjoy, Captain Hook, and Wallenstein. A self-made, eccentric, cynical, hard-drinking bandit lord called Arbogad:

Arriving on the frontiers, one could see a pretty strong castle, from which a party of armed bandits sallied forth. They instantly surrounded travelers and cried, "All thou hast belongs to us, and thy person is the property of our master."

The master of the castle, whose name was Arbogad, having observed from a window... 
"All that passes over my lands," said he, "belongs to me, as well as what I find upon the lands of others; but thou seemest to be men of such undaunted courage that I will exempt thee from the common law." He then conducted his guests to his castle, ordering his men to treat him well; and in the evening Arbogad supped with them.

The lord of the castle was one of those people who are commonly called robbers; but he now and then performed some good actions amid a multitude of bad ones. He robbed with a furious rapacity, and granted favors with great generosity; he was intrepid in action; affable in company; a debauchee at table, but gay in debauchery; and particularly remarkable for his frank and open behaviour. 

"I advise thee to enroll thy name in my catalogue; thou canst not do better; this is not a bad trade; and thou mayest one day become what I am at present."

"May I take the liberty of asking thee, how long thou hast followed this noble profession?"

"From my most tender youth," replied the lord. "I was a servant to a pretty good-natured master, but could not endure the hardships of my situation. I was vexed to find that fate had given me no share of the earth, which equally belongs to everyone. I imparted the cause of my uneasiness to an old sage, who said to me: 'My son, do not despair; there was once a grain of sand that lamented that it was no more than a neglected grain in the desert; at the end of a few years it became a diamond; and is now the brightest ornament in the crown of the King.' This discourse made a deep impression on my mind. I was the grain of sand, and I resolved to become the diamond. I began by stealing two horses; I soon got a party of companions; I put myself in a condition to rob small caravans; and thus, by degrees, I destroyed the difference which had formerly subsisted between me and other men. I had my share of the good things of this world; and was even recompensed with usury for the hardships I had suffered. I was greatly respected, and became the captain of a band of robbers. I seized this castle by force. The governor of this province had a mind to dispossess me of it; but I was too rich to have any thing to fear. I gave the Governor a handsome present, a nice sum of money, by which means I preserved my castle and increased my possessions. He even appointed me treasurer of the tributes which the other province across the frontier pays to the king of kings. I perform my office of receiver with great punctuality; but take the freedom to dispense with that of paymaster.

"The Church sent hither a pretty crony in the name of the King, to have me strangled. This man arrived with his orders: I was apprised of all; I caused to be strangled in his presence the four persons he had brought with him to draw the noose; after which I asked him how much his commission of strangling me might be worth. He replied, that his fees would amount to about three hundred pieces of gold. I then convinced him that he might gain more by staying with me. I made him an inferior robber; and he is now one of my best and richest officers. If thou wilt take my advice thy success may be equal to his; never was there a better season for plunder, since the King is killed, and all the realm thrown into confusion."

"I know not," replied Arbogad. "All I know is, that His Majesty lost his senses and was killed; that all the empire is desolated; that there are some fine strokes to be struck yet; and that, for my own part, I have struck some that are admirable."

"I have heard something of a prince of Hircania; if the Queen was not killed in the tumult, she is probably one of his concubines; but I am much fonder of booty than news. I have taken several women in my excursions; but I keep none of them. I sell them at a high price, when they are beautiful, without inquiring who they are. In commodities of this kind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is ugly will never find a merchant. Perhaps I may have sold her; perhaps she is dead; but, be it as it will, it is of little consequence to me, and I should imagine of as little to thee." So saying he drank a large draught which threw all his ideas into such confusion that one could obtain no further information.

Arbogad continued drinking; told stories; constantly repeated that he was the happiest man in the world...  At last the soporiferous fumes of the wine lulled him into a gentle repose.

The empire is rent in pieces; and this robber is happy. O fortune! O destiny! A robber is happy...

all those met in the castle; but they were all busy, and one received no answer. During the night they had made a new capture, and they were now employed in dividing the spoils, in this hurry and confusion.

at the castle of the robber Arbogad. 

The captive Queen also mentions Arbogad: 

"As I approached the frontiers, a famous robber, named Arbogad, seized me and sold me to some merchants, who brought me to this castle, where Lord Ogul resides. He bought me without knowing who I was. He is a voluptuary, ambitious of nothing but good living, and thinks that God sent him into the world for no other purpose than to sit at table. He is so extremely corpulent that he is always in danger of suffocation. His physician, who has but little credit with him when he has a good digestion, governs him with a despotic sway when he has eaten too much."

An analysis of Arbogad says:
les bontés d'un brigand cynique
Quelques personnages échappent un peu au cliché. Du moins ont-ils une vie résumable et quelques traits singuliers. Il s'agit surtout du brigand Arbogad, homme sans scrupule et sympathique, plus ambigu et plus original que tous les autres. Le bandit expérimente à l'envers un destin: sa malhonnêteté lui a donné le bonheur.
aspect du bonheur: celui qui procurent les biens de ce monde, amassés par brigandage
des crapules vivent sans scrupule ni remords, heureux et craints (Arbogad)
le sort réservé par le brigand Arbogad à ses autres prisonniers
FANATISME:
À cet aveuglement nocif, il faut opposer la sagesse des hommes du concret (Arbogad)
JUSTICE: Cette insistance est une dénonciation du règne de la force.

WATERFIRE SAGA REVIEW: SETTINGS, CHARACTERS...

The Waterfire Saga, that merfolk epic by Jennifer Donnelly, has recently come up in Spain:

The story is about feuding kingdoms of merfolk coming together to face a common threat. There were a couple of places and characters that made me SQUEE, so here are the fact:

SETTINGS!!

Tsarno, a fortress town in the western Mediterranean. 
So outpostly!! So Küstrin-like!! And with a Slavic name, in a Mediterranean kingdom... also spells C-R-O-A-T-I-A!
the fortress at Tsarno.
Also, there are villages in all the kingdoms, and rural areas called Barrens...
(The only con is that the Colleggio, the in-'verse university, is located in the capital of the realm, instead of in some more provincial community... at least so I thought in Book I, the second has revealed that there IS A UNIVERSITY IN TSARNO!!!)
Ondalina, the mer realm in the Arctic waters

CHARACTERS
Each of the heroines was from a different nation and had a different power. 
There were two girls... well... merls in the team of heroines that caught my attention: Astrid, the Nordic and the warrior (a healer), 

Astrid has long, white-blonde hair, icy blue eyes... she wears a long sealskin vest embroidered with silver thread and scabbard made from sealskin hanging from her waist, her hair is in two ornate braids running along the sides of her head with the rest of it loose. Astrid is rather fond of dueling. In Deep Blue she is also shown to have skills with throwing a ball as well as having a good sense of humor, despite her tough exterior.
Astrid is shown to be very brave and tough. Also, she doesn't back down from a fight. Deep inside, Astrid was afraid of the dangers and admitted that she couldn't choose how to use her magic. Astrid, unlike the other mermaids, doesn't use much magic, she prefers fighting with her sword. She is demonstrated to have great sword skills, shown when she cut off one of Abbadon's hands.
LONG STORY SHORT: CHUCK NORRIS IS SCARED STIFF OF ASTRID KOLFINNSDOTTIR.

and Ling, the clever omnivoxa or polyglot (an Asian). 

Astrid comes from the North/Arctic/Scandinavia, and she's the tomboy/warrior/Rainbow Dash/Brienne of the team... 
There's also another character, Becca, who appears to be both a nerd, a bookworm tomboy... and the Applejack kind of career- and family-oriented character so rarely found in magical girl series. Becca is a firebender with nerd spectacles and a university student to whom her career is the most important thing...
Becca carries a pocketwatch around her neck. She wears a plaid dress with a high collar.When she is first introduced in the book, she wears gold-rimmed glasses, a pearl necklace, hair combs and carries a travelling case. She used to work after school at a pearl shop, where they put songspells in pearls and released them. Her full name is Rebecca Quickfin, she is an orphan, and left-handed.
She describes herself as 'nobody' and 'invisible', showing that she isn't very self-confident and is also very quiet. It is said that she often tries to please her mother. Becca is colourful and laughing, with a keen attitude for learning. 

And Ava, the visually impaired Afro-Brazilian one endowed with a prophet's sight. Rapier wit due to outsider status (both race and disability), much à la Tyrion Lannister! Due to her powers (she is a seer and a clairvoyant in spite of being visually impaired) and her sarcasm, she reminds me of Toph Beifong...

while Lin, the clever and gentle bookworm, has the power to speak and understand all languages in existence (human, animal, or even vegetable!!)

Ling is from Qin and speaks and understands all language due to her descent from Sycorax; she’s an omnivoxa, One Who Sings All Creatures’ Songs with a responsibility to speak Truth. 

Kingdom of Ondalina
Based in the Arctic. Admiral Kolfinn seems to be the ruler. Astrid is his daughter, and a descendant of Orfeo (the healer god). She was supposed to be part of the hostage exchange.
Kolfinn's sister, Sigurlin (she has got an aunt as well) is also mentioned.

Astrid, Kolfinn's daughter... She appears to gbe a real badass. You know I love Brienne of Tarth and Rainbow Dash. Well I've got another character on my hit list:

Astrid yelled, defty ducking the missile.
"Where does this crazy little tour end, anyway?", Astrid called out from the back.
Astrid had gone back to bouncing her caballabong ball.
"Nevermind. Just forget it", Astrid said. "I can't be part of this nutsy little playdate any longer. The realms are on the verge of war, in case you haven't noticed".
But Astrid didn't listen. With a warrior's roar, she swung her sword at the monster...
But instead of talking, Astrid brusquely pushed back her.
Suddenly, a blur of black and white flashed past them. It was Astrid, moving with deadly speed. "Not If I can help it", she growled.
"This is totally insane", Astrid said.
"Nothing", Astrid said brusquely. "It's been real. Good luck with it all." She tried to swim out of the study, but two armed frogs blocked her.
"Astrid, you are totally out of line!", Ava said. But Astrid didn't listen.

On Ling and her omnivoxa powers:

"I can speak Dracdemara, his language. I'm an omnivoxa"
She was born an omnivoxa, and her magical powers strenghtened her gift.
She could speak not just many languages, but every language. Not only human tongues, but those of animals, trees, and flowers.
Ling had tears in her eyes.
Ling said "Uh-oh".
A hand closed on her arm. It was Ling.
"Great", Ling said.  looking over her shoulder. 

Astrid and Ling having good chemistry?

"Astrid, you're funny", Ling said when the laughter had subsided. "Who knew?" "Don't tell anyone", Astrid said, bouncing her ball again.
- Les Opafago dévorent leurs victimes vivants, tu sais ça ? lança Astrid. Pour que leur coeur continue de battre et de faire circuler le sang. Ca rend la chair plus juteuse. 
- Astrid, tu es mon rayon de soleil, dit Ling en sautant de la table où elle était assise.

Then we’ve got Ling, who can speak almost any language underneath the sea, which I think is awesome, she’s more of the quiet type.
Astrid, Admiral Kolfin’s daughter of the Ondalina.

Ling is soft, peaceful and smart. She uses her brains and gentle nature to communicate with plants and animals.
Astrid is the oddball of the bunch. She’s bold and headstrong, but deep-rooted issues keep her from trusting the girls at first.

I could as well be Ling, who’s so smart, but I’m probably Astrid, who’s obstinate, tactless, and quick-tempered.

Ling, forte e gentile allo stesso tempo, con un acuto intelletto, non ha paura di mostrare con orgoglio la spada che porta sulla schiena. Parla fluentemente le lingue di tutte le creature, persone, animali, fiori e alberi. Sempre pronta a mettere pace e abile negoziatrice.

Becca, impetuosa e veloce con i capelli rossi e ricci, gli occhi azzurri e le lentiggini.

Ava, spiritosa, sincera, capace di prevedere il futuro, con lunghissime trecce nere e squame marroni, indossa sempre occhiali da sole e ha per animale domestico un piranha che tiene al guinzaglio, sa predire il futuro.

Astrid, testarda, coraggiosa e in possesso di poteri magici potentissimi, con lunghe trecce bionde e gelidi occhi azzurri, ha striature bianche e nere simili a quelle di un’orca. Astrid è tagliata fuori dal gruppo ma saprà riconquistarsi la loro fiducia mettendosi in gioco in prima persona per il bene del popolo marino.

Tsarno is a fortress.

GIVES ME AN IDEA FOR FANDOM (TSARNO AS SETTING, OR LING AND ASTRID AS CHARACTERS, OR SOMEONE BEING AN OMNIVOXA... Astrid captive at Tsarno, Lin arrives, what else can ensue then?)

LORAS TYRELL INSPIRATION?

Russian illustrations of the character. Medieval armour on the left, Renaissance armour on the right.

A rather secondary character in an Oscar Wilde story, a royal guard with very little storytime, is described as "one whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers". 

Surely he must be an officer, given the detail of his attire (the Penguin Readers version omits any reference to his armour and calls him "an officer") 

He whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers (although the flowers aren't much prominent in this depiction), Craig Russell

The one whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers.

A thesis highlights that this is "splendid armour": ... the new guard’s splendid armour ... and tells of his action as he appears;’. . . inlaid with gilt flowers,'
"The same guard, comes forward. He is reintroduced with exactly the same syntactic structure as before ...
'. . . whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers,'"


Possible inspiration for Loras Tyrell's character?

I'm planning to use this quote in my Snow Queen story "The Queen Beyond the Wall":

And then, through the crowd, she saw a blond breastplated knight from behind, golden locks cascading down the nape of his neck all the way to his back, loosely tied together with a green ribbon. She walked quickly towards him, her heart throbbing with excitement. There was so much they had to talk about!
Finally, the maiden stood a few steps away from him. She called his name out loud: "Jaime!" Suddenly, he turned around and stepped towards her... It wasn't Jaime!
The young knight did resemble Jaime, and he was certainly dashing as well: his hair was curly and a darker shade of blond, and his eyes were a more hazel colour. His armour was inlaid with gilt flowers.
From a distance, King Renly, dressed in gold and green, a dark strip of little hairs shading his upper lip, came towards them and asked what the matter was. He was doubtlessly dashing and tall, a true Baratheon. His bride Margaery, dark-haired as well and dressed in a lavender gown, followed him closely. She was petite and beautiful, teal-eyed and lilywhite with rosy lips.
And then, Brienne bowed before the royals and asked if she could explain the reason for that in private. And all four of them gathered in a grand hall inlaid with tapestries of great battles, where Brienne told them her tale: how much she loved Jaime, how much he had changed, how coldly they had parted... even the fact that Storm's End was under siege, and that she had been kept captive in the camp where heretics were burned.
"Oh! So you're a girl? No matter, we'll keep your secret. If discovered, it may lead to unpleasant consequences later on in your life."
"I don't think Storm's End will hold any longer... Our army is already prepared to retake our fallen lands! Nevertheless... having come from as far as Tarth... that's a feat of daring-do! Shouldn't we try to help you?", His Grace replied, with a wistful smile on his heart-shaped face.
The royals ordered that a supper should be prepared for Brienne. And thus, she had supper in the banquet hall where the bannermen had already supped, with the King and Queen and their Lord Commander (the maiden learned that he was Loras Tyrell, the Queen's youngest brother and the King's closest friend) for company. So, Brienne was served a cool fruit soup, peaches in honey, and fire-plum mousse, washed down with blood-red, sweet summer wine. She told the royals all about Jaime and more about her quest, and she thanked them for all of their kindness, though the words she could find were few.
No longer did she address them as His and Her Grace: they told her she was free to call them Renly and Margaery. And to call Loras by first name, without the "Ser", as well.
After supper, she was led into the Lord Commander's elegant bedroom and dressed in a fine negligé of crimson silk. Ser Loras courteously offered her to stay in his own bed: he would spend the whole night in the nearby Royal Bedchamber, watching for his crowned sister and brother-in-law.
He said he could do no more.
As Brienne wrapped herself in the soft mint-green brocade bedsheets and drew the golden velvet bed-curtains, she thought of the kindness she had encountered at the court. That night, sweet dreams came to her: she was leaving Highgarden, leaving the Reach, she came into an open field in more northern lands, a rider galloped towards her... it was Jaime, this time, no longer cold or detached, offering her his hand, and both of them riding away past holdfasts and cots. But it was only a dream, and thus, it faded away as soon as she awoke.
The King of the Reach himself peeped in through her bed-curtains, his attendants bringing forth an armour of cobalt blue steel, inlaid with bluebells and forget-me-nots.
So she was dressed in this blue armour, that sparkled on her reflection in the mirror that covered a whole panel of the bedroom wall.
As for Edric, he had eaten supper and then slept with the army officers, having already enlisted in the ranks of the Reach.
For breakfast, there were spiced honey cakes and various fruit pies, served with clear lager and with mint tea. The maiden sat to the left side of Queen Margaery, and the Lord Commander to the right side of King Renly, both royals sitting on the thrones that presided the banquet-hall table.
They talked about the invasion of Storm's End, and Brienne learned that the invaders' leader was also a Baratheon, one of Renly's older brothers, with whom he had broken ties long time ago. The vast army of the Reach had been already trained and prepared for the upcoming conflict.
The royals offered to have a notice about Jaime's whereabouts sent throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and detachments to carry on the inquiry Westeros-wide while the rest of the army was fighting the war.
Renly offered Brienne to enlist in his ranks and join them at the war front, where she could perform gallant feats, but she only asked for a horse, new weapons, and provisions to carry on her search for Jaime.
And thus, right before she crossed the garden gate, she beheld a white gelding, caparisoned in cobalt steel as well, with a green silk saddlecloth, on which the embroidered golden rose of Tyrell and stag of Baratheon shone brightly as stars. From the saddlecloth hung a fine longsword, with the sun and moon of Tarth on its hilt, in a finely ornate scabbard, aside from a fine mint-green silken bag, also embroidered with the Tyrell rose, containing a glass canteen full of summer wine and a dozen journey-cakes.
King Renly and Ser Loras helped her get on her steed, embraced her, and wished her good luck. So did the rest of the royal family. Even Edric came to say farewell, for he was going to war. The young bannerman looked like a child Renly in his breastplate and doublet. He had been given permission to be part of her escort, and thus, they should have a little more time together
"Farewell! Farewell!" said Loras and Renly, and Queen Margaery as well. Looking back at Highgarden for every now and then, the maiden crossed the garden gates with the detachment she had been given for an escort. At the borders of the Reach, the other riders departed to join the army, as Brienne took Edric in her arms and they kissed each other for maybe the last time.
"Farewell!", both said in tears, for maybe they wouldn't see each other anymore. Then, Edric departed with the rest of the riders, leaving Brienne on her own, riding up north. Maybe Jaime had joined the Night's Watch to escape his father's expectations. If so, she was most likely to meet him at the icy Wall where the known world came to an end.
So, she led her steed into more Northern lands. At the first inn, she had to exchange that horse for a dun mare after having had breakfast and spent the night there, unaware that there were also scoundrels at that very tavern, and that she'd better be careful with the rarities she carried.


one whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers

einer, dessen Rüstung mit goldenen Blumen inkrustiert war 

uno cuya armadura tenía en incrustación flores doradas

uno, cuya armadura llevaba incrustadas flores doradas

un, dont la cuirasse était émaillée de fleurs d'or

egy harmadik katona, aranyvirágokkal díszített vértben

en man, vars rustning var prydd med blommor i guld

algú amb l'armadura encastada de flors daurades


Mivel hogy nem szép, nem is hasznos többé – jelentette ki a művészetek egyetemi professzora.
--Lo que carece de belleza es inútil --afirmó el profesor de Estética de la Universidad.

 a lo que le sigue una crítica ante la afirmación del profesor de estética según la cual lo que carece de belleza es inútil; De este modo, al amor en el dolor se le suma la idea de la muerte que cuestiona una vez más el esteticismo y la utilidad. Más que una crítica a la afirmación de la acción sin interés, cuestiona el sentido del común.