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snorri_di

concerning Royalists

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Dec. 28th, 2008 | 02:45 am
music: G.-F.Handel - Sarabande

Нет, это не Мальчиш-Кибальчиш перед буржуинами и даже не хоббит, над которым глумятся орки, а отважный роялистский отрок, которого допрашивают злобные пуритане. "Где твой отец?" гласит название сего полотна. Сразу видно, что художник придерживался правильных взглядов на историю Гражданской войны




Джон Эверетт Миллес "Роялист вне закона"



Уильям Бёртон "Раненый роялист"



По мотивам этой картины Роберт Бёррис даже написал одноименное стихотворение.

The Wounded Cavalier
a poem by Robert Burriss based on the painting by William Burton


Canto First

‘Twas one and twenty years in full
Since Charles had taken up his crown,
And four of those since parliament
Had tried to make him lay it down
‘Pon England ’s ground.

The civil war had run its course,
With all its battles staged and fought,
And all the fighting for the king,
Though valorous had come to nought:
Lost was his court.

Such was the clime on this fair day,
As autumn dusk caressed the land
Where two young Christians took a walk
Along a tumbled wall of sand
While holding hands.

“The air is warm, the path is firm,
And blessed are we who walk this way,”
The fair girl sighed as skipped she o’er
The browning furze. “Sun shines this day;
For peace, as hay.”

And all was true the young girl spake,
As sunlight trickled ‘twixt the trees
To scent the air with cedar sap
And sparkle on the torpid bees
That rode the breeze.

“Yet peace is but a summer’s day
And therefore has a certain end,”
The Christian boy with firmness spake.
“We must not from our duty bend,
But faith defend.”

“How wouldst thou do so?” spake the girl.
“Through pious prayer to our true Lord?
Yet prayer is not enough and thou
Hast neither faced a Roy’list hoarde
Nor held a sword.”

The boy let slip his lover’s hand
And twitched his crimson lips and said,
“Though prayer suffice, still would I kill
Resolvedly a Roy’list dead,
And dock his head.”

Despite herself, the young girl laughed,
And held a hand upon her cheek.
“I love thee truly,” so she spake,
“But never wilt thou battle seek,
Thou art too weak.”

The boy spake not, but gently hissed
As if he were an angered snake.
The girl apologised and though
She with her hand did his hand take,
Off did he shake.

From high above a raven cawed,
Then swooped along the sanded wall
And lit there as the lovers passed.
The boy saw black as coffin pall
And tasted gall.

On walked the pair in silent thought,
Too sorry, she, and he, too proud,
Till lo! amongst the amber fern
The pair a stricken soldier found
Upon the ground.


Canto Second

And up rushed she, and followed he,
And shocked were they by what they saw:
A Roy’list soldier with a brow
As wet and white as horrid hoar,
All stuck with gore.

“Ay, me! Poor man!” the young girl cried,
And set the soldier on her knee.
“What happened here? Where art thou cut?
“Why is thy sword stuck in yon tree?
“Who did this deed?”

The Roy’list ’s lips began to move
And in a quieted voice spake he,
“Fair lady, press against my neck
For that is where he gashed at me
And where I bleed.”

The Christian girl applied her shawl
Against the stricken soldier’s throat
And mopped the pulse of purple blood
That flowed from out the fev’rish coat
Of mellilote.

“Press not too close upon the man,”
The girl’s young lover softly spake.
“For though his sword-blade’s snapped away
He may snatch up where it did break
And thy life take.”

“Fear not,” the pallid soldier spake,
“Alone I’ll go to fill my grave.”
The Christian girl embraced him tight
And spake, “Fear not thou too, be brave,
Thou shalt I save.”

And now she turned and faced her man,
Who stood there craven as the crow,
And spake, “Go now for help!” Spake he,
“This wood may well be thick with foes,
I will not go.”

The soldier’s slash a sudden stream
Of blood disgorged which then did spill
Upon his armoured breastplate and
His robe. The girl spake, “Do my will,
Or he thou kill.”

The Christian boy his bible gripped,
“This Cavalier a traitor is!”
The Cavalier looked faint than spake,
“Is that my love?” A cough, then this,
“I beg, a kiss!”

“’Tis time we left, for all we know
There may be more,” the Christian hissed,
And watched with anger as his love
Touched softly on the Roy’list ’s wrist
And as they kissed.

The Christian boy stepped near and pulled
The girl from off the dying man.
She cried, “Stand back, thou doest ill!
“I’ll go for help; help all thou can,”
And off she ran.


Canto Third

The copse was quiet, the only sound
The Roy’list soldier’s sticky rasp.
The Christian boy his cloying robe
Took up, and hissing as an asp,
Undid the clasp.

The rasping ceased, the Roy’list breathed
And spake he, “Thank you, Christian friend.”
Then with a start, “Where is my love?”
“Lay back, for help my wife’ll send;
This wrong we’ll mend.

“Though while she’s gone,” the boy pursued,
“Speak up, and tell of how you came
To be so cut, and almost killed.
Who sliced thy throat and thee did maim –
Who is to blame?”

With whitened tongue the Roy’list lapped
On his pellucid lips a sheen.
“I carry code to Bristol and
‘Tis like tonight I would have been
There, if less keen.

“For thinking I would save an hour
Or two by cutting through this wood,
I did just that but met I with
A Roundhead. Spake he, “Foe, I would
Spill all thy blood.”

And with this shared, the Roy’list swooned.
The Christian fanned him with his cloak.
“Speak up, what next?” he softy hissed.
“We swung our swords,” the Roy’list choked,
“But my sword broke.”

“What then, thou fool? He cut thy neck?
But number now necks cut by thee!”
And with this spake the boy took up
The hilt that lay beside the tree:
But tarried he.

“Thou art not brave,” he softly sobbed.
The Roy’list oped a silken eye.
“Didst thou my true love hap to see?”
Spake he. “Once would I her descry
Afore I die.”

“Thy love is dead as dead art thee!”
The Christian boy in fury howled.
“Yet thou hast my love kissed, and killed
My kin! For this I disembowel
Thy corpse most foul!”

The soldier woke from out his spell
And made to crawl beneath the fern.
“Kill me not yet!” he cried. “Not yet!
Ah me! I’m fit for nacred worms!
O, Love! Return!”

The Christian yelled, “Buy thee a sword!
Take thee thy velvet robe to sell.
And know thou art a coward, fit
For nought except the mire of hell!
Hear thee thy knell!”

Then plunged the Christian boy the hilt
Beneath the Roy’list ’s armoured plate.
The flesh was torn, the innards spilt,
The Roy’list whispered, “Friend, please wait.
Abate, Abate.”


Canto Fourth

But mercy none was shown that day,
The Roy’list ’s soul was emptied out.
The Christian dropped the hilt and cried,
“Thou art a heathen, but these gouts
Show I’m devout.”

And staggered back he ‘gainst the tree
And deeply breathed the easy air.
And as he breathed, the girl returned
And fell upon the ground in prayer.
“O, soldier-fair!

“Forgive me, do, I found no help
And now thou art a soulless mort!
Yet seepeth here what form of gore?
Some sorry sort of scarlet ort:
Thine innards, swart!”

Up leapt the girl, her fingers smeared
As were her lover’s hands and brow.
“This soldier died a double death!”
Cried she. “And I am certain how:
For it was thou!”

“Yes, it was I,” the boy confessed,
“And right was I to kill him so,
For in his dev’lish lust he vowed,
On whitest snow and blackest crow,
He was our foe!”

The girl wept tears that stung her eyne.
“He was our foe, ‘tis true, but good
Was he, as like I thought thou wert,
And yet thou mad’st this gory flood:
Thine is his blood!”

The boy wiped off his hands upon
The spattered grass and wept. “Expel
Thy tears,” the girl replied. “And know:
While he and I by God shall dwell,
Thou art for hell!”

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Comments {35}

maariia

(no subject)

from: maariia
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 07:52 am (UTC)
Link

Беррис прекрасен! Йуный садист-шизофреник прям до слез пронял.
Для пополнения коллекции есть еще королевский дубок.

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:14 pm (UTC)
Link

В смысле, на картине или у тебя в коллекции?

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(no subject)

from: zarazka2004
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 08:53 am (UTC)
Link

Облизнулась на картинки, да :)
Благодарю Вас)

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:14 pm (UTC)
Link

Всегда пожалуйста! ;-)
Роялист роялисту - друг, товарищ и брат.

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melanyja

(no subject)

from: melanyja
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 08:53 am (UTC)
Link

На первой картине пуритане допрашивают именно детей, а не мамашу - хотят у них всё выведать обманом, недаром лицо главного допрашивателя такое приторно доброе

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:15 pm (UTC)
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Да уж, добрые дяди...

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black_queen

(no subject)

from: black_queen
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 09:04 am (UTC)
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Какая душераздирающая история!

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:16 pm (UTC)
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Сама плачу :-)))

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Brevalaer

(no subject)

from: morrigan_in_me
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 10:17 am (UTC)
Link

Хм... поэзия как-то в тему: http://morrigan-in-me.livejournal.com/68918.html.

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:40 pm (UTC)
Link

Как поется в одной песне: "The history book on a shelf is always repeating itself".

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ir_researcher

(no subject)

from: ir_researcher
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 10:41 am (UTC)
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Интересная традиция. Прямо белое движение...

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:17 pm (UTC)
Link

Как это обычно и бывает в гражданскую войну.

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Терн (Марьяна Скуратовская)

(no subject)

from: eregwen
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 11:57 am (UTC)
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По мальчику сразу видно - не выдаст.. Как бы девочка не сломалась!

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:17 pm (UTC)
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Эх, узнать бы... :-)

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Джоанна

(no subject)

from: johanna_d
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 04:56 pm (UTC)
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"Это был мой отец! Я не желаю знать его беспутства, его преступлений, его пороков!"

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 06:20 pm (UTC)
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Эх, Джонни, Джонни... :-)

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Маргарита Сент-Жюст

(no subject)

from: margo_sant_just
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 07:51 pm (UTC)
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Хочется, чтобы паре, на второй картинке повезло скрыться от врагов. Просто не картина. а иллюстрация к приключенческому роману

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 28th, 2008 10:46 pm (UTC)
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Наверняка, такой роман был написан.

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his_earlship

(no subject)

from: his_earlship
date: Dec. 29th, 2008 08:54 am (UTC)
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...это такой Павлик прям Морозов какой то...не....хороший мальчик, от папы не отречецца * вспоминается сцена из Штирлица, где на глазах у радистки Кэт мучали ея младенца, дабы подейственней было, ужас*. А вот юноша в дереве согрел сердце воспоминаниями о старине Чарли и - как ни странно - о "Slleepy Hollow" *странно, да?*

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Сноррь

(no subject)

from: snorri_di
date: Dec. 30th, 2008 03:58 pm (UTC)
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Так хороший или нехороший мальчик? ;-)

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Avery (aka) Sweet Little Queen XIII

(no subject)

from: kavery
date: Dec. 29th, 2008 02:53 pm (UTC)
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Первая картина очень пронзительная. И как хорошо показаны чувства и эмоции всех героев.

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(Deleted comment)

Сноррь

Re: Confess, boy, confess!!!!

from: snorri_di
date: Jan. 8th, 2009 07:03 pm (UTC)
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Ага, именно что confessed. Только никак не разгляжу я подушек и кресла...

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(Deleted comment)