Dal diario di Aelfwine: HEART SHALL BE BOLDER
Honour: Something that is lost nowadays. Yes, probably Byrthnoth went a bit too far at Maldon by offering the Vikings a better terrain. But today it is the opposite. The political enemy (as if it were necessary to talk about "enemies" when trying to govern a country which should be a common goal! this already is dismaying) is reviled, his followers despised, his intentions transformed into pure evil. And common people see these examples and conform to them.
I must really be of another time, I who can't avoid respecting adversaries. Or maybe that time never was and Byrthnoth never did what he did, and I am just a freak of the ages. (I can just hear an incoming comment from Wyrd.)
To go on a tangent, HONOUR always triggers an association in me: DECENCY and DEATH. It comes from a poem by Charles Péguy (1873-1914) which never fails to bring tears to my eyes. It's called "Chateau de la Loire", and the last castle it mentions is Chinon, where Joan of Ark stopped for a while.
Here is the poem in French:
Le long du coteau courbe et des nobles vallées
Les châteaux sont semés comme des reposoirs,
Et dans la majesté des matins et des soirs
La Loire et ses vassaux s’en vont par ces allées.
Cent vingt châteaux lui font une suite courtoise,
Plus nombreux, plus nerveux, plus fins que des palais.
Ils ont nom Valençay, Saint Aignan et Langeais,
Chenonceaux et Chambord, Azay, le Lude, Amboise.
Et moi j’en connais un dans les châteaux de la Loire
Qui s’élève plus haut que le château de Blois,
Plus haut que la terrasse où les derniers Valois
Regardaient le soleil se coucher dans sa gloire.
La moulure est plus fine et l’arceau plus léger,
La dentelle de pierre est plus dure et plus grave.
La décence et l’honneur de la mort qui s’y grave
Ont inscrit leur histoire au coeur de ce verger.
Et c’est le souvenir qui a laissé sur ces bords
Une enfant qui menait son cheval vers le fleuve.
Son âme était récente et sa cotte était neuve.
Innocente elle allait vers le plus grand des sorts.
Car celle qui venait du pays Tourangeau,
C’était la même enfant qui quelques jours plus tard,
Gouvernant d’un seul mot le rustre et soudard,
Descendait devers Meung ou montait vers Jargeau.
And here is my pitiful attempt at translation of the stanzas that move me:
And I know one of the castles of Loire
Standing taller than the castle of Blois
Taller than the terrace where the last Valois
Watched the sun going down in its glory.
Finer is the moulding and lighter its arcs
Harder and more solemn is the lace of stone
Decency and honour and death there engraved
Have written their story at this garden's heart.
And it is the memory left on these banks
By a child leading her horse to the river
Her soul was fresh and her mail shirt was new
Innocent she went to the greatest of fates... |