Reasons to Read Gerald Morris
Feb. 26th, 2006 08:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiralamouseI hope I can manage to post this properly. And I hope that friends-locking it deals with copyright issues. But I have to share. :)
Reason #1 - The Squire's Tale -
"Suppose you tell me of your... your woes," Gawain invited.
Sir Pelleas sighed and signed for Gawain to be seated. Terence stood beside the chair while Sir Pelleas paced.
"I love the most beautiful woman in the world," he began, his eyes fixed dreamily on the rafters. "She is the most perfect example of ladyhood to be found. In no matter is she lacking. Her nose is a vessel of beauty, straight and white, which no desecrating freckle has ever been permitted to touch. I've written a sonnet to her nose. Would you like to hear it? It goes: 'J'entends de la musique, c'est son museau, son nez -'"
Gawain choked. Sir Pelleas stopped reciting and waited patiently. Gawain spoke before he could continue. "In French, of course."
"The language of love," Sir Pelleas sighed.
"But you're not a French-speaker yourself, are you?"
"Well, I'm not really fluent, but -"
"Yes, well, my own French is a touch rusty," Gawain said, "but I don't think you should call your lady's nose a museau. It means snout."
"Really? But I thought the similarity in sound to the musique was so effective."
"Ah, I daresay I'm mistaken," Gawain said affably. "I think, though, that I have grasped the perfection of your lady's nose. Perhaps we can move on."
"Ah, her eyebrows -" Sir Pelleas sighed dreamily. Gawain let out his breath and sank into his chair. After close to half an hour of rapturous description that included eyebrows, eyelashes, eyes, ears, hair, cheeks, neck, waist, and a full ten minutes on lips, Sir Pelleas caught his breath with a sob and concluded, "But she'll have none of me!"
Gawain let him sob for a moment, then said, "And... what made you fall in love with this paragon?"
Sir Pelleas looked surprised. "Can you doubt it? It was love at first sight!"
"I see. But you have spoken to her, haven't you?"
[...]
Sir Pelleas started to run from the room, but Gawain stopped him. "Say, does Lady Ettard speak French?"
"But of course!"
"Then leave the sonnets here, all right?"
Reason #2 (and possibly best) - The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady -
As Gawain had predicted, years of watching swordplay had given Terence a natural eye and instinctive reactions. His only weakness - or so Gawain said - was an unwillingness to attack. Finally, Gawain dropped his sword arm after a stroke and left Terence a wide opening. Terence made no move. "Look here, Terence," Gawain said, stopping, "you can't afford to let openings like that pass you by."
Terence stepped prudently out of Gawain's reach and said, "How do I know you weren't setting a trap for me?"
"Nobody sets a trap that obvious. You could have thumped me a good one."
Terence took a breath. "But I don't want to thump you a good one, milord. I don't want to thump you at all."
Gawain looked at him curiously. "Not even to see if you could?"
"Why would I care if I could do something that I don't want to do to begin with?"
"All right. So you don't want to thump me. But what if I were someone else?"
"Who, for instance?"
"Who would you like to thump?"
"How about Guinevere?" Terence asked hopefully.
"Terence, you can't go around thumping women. Especially her."
"There, you see? What's the sense in being a knight? I have to thump the people I don't want to thump, and I can't thump the people who would really be better off for a good thumping."
"How about Sir Lancelot? You'd like to thump him, wouldn't you?"
Terence thought about this. "No, I'd like to hang him by his toes over the edge of the North Tower."
Gawain paused, struck by this. "In a cold wind?"
"In armor, without underclothes," Terence added.
Gawain's lips quivered, but he pressed on. "But wouldn't you like to thump him too?"
"While he's hanging helpless like that? Certainly not! Wouldn't be chivalrous."
"No, I mean if you couldn't hang him by his toes, wouldn't you like to thump him instead?"
"Well, it won't be the same, but I suppose I could give it a go."
"Good. Pretend that I'm Sir Lancelot."
"What? You? Impossible. Your clothes are muddy. And besides, there's no lace on your shirt."
"Terence, I only mean -"
"And couldn't you wear a feather somewhere? In your belt or braided through your hair maybe?"
"Terence -" Gawain shook his head in amused exasperation and covered his eyes with his left hand.
Terence thumped him. "Take that, Sir Lancelot, thou recreant knight," he said.
Reason #3 - The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf -
The knight glanced ruefully at his armor. "Mother wanted me to be 'The Crimson Knight,' but it's gone a bit pink in the sun, hasn't it? I really should touch it up. Embarrassing to be 'The Pink Knight.'"
Her sense of humor stirred, Lynet interrupted. "It's really quite a lovely shade of rose. How about 'The Knight of the Rose'?"
Roger and the knight chuckled, and the knight stepped toward Lynet in greeting. "Or you could call me Sir Perimones, my lady. It's my name."
Before Sir Perimones reached Lynet, though, Beaumains stepped between them. "Draw thy sword, foul recreant!" he demanded, "for cause of thy cowardice and thy lies about Sir Lancelot." He took a menacing step forward. "I shall not rest until thou art cleaved in twain."
Sir Perimones frowned and glanced at Roger. "Is that right? 'Cleaved'?"
"I thought it was 'clove,'" Roger said pensively.
"Oh, I don't fancy that," Sir Perimones protested. "It sounds like part of a recipe. Is it 'cleaven,' maybe?"
"Look," Roger said. "You say 'cloven,' right? Like 'cloven hoof'? So it must be 'clove.'"
Lynet looked at Beaumains, standing awkwardly to one side, and she almost felt sorry for him. Clearly no one had ever told him what to do when a challenge was ignored.
"Hold on," the knight said suddenly, "what about 'cleft'?"
Roger nodded dubiously. "Maybe. What do you think of 'clave'?"
Beaumains had had enough.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to share a few more reasons, including the one that inspired me to post. :) Meanwhile, I'm off.
Reason #1 - The Squire's Tale -
"Suppose you tell me of your... your woes," Gawain invited.
Sir Pelleas sighed and signed for Gawain to be seated. Terence stood beside the chair while Sir Pelleas paced.
"I love the most beautiful woman in the world," he began, his eyes fixed dreamily on the rafters. "She is the most perfect example of ladyhood to be found. In no matter is she lacking. Her nose is a vessel of beauty, straight and white, which no desecrating freckle has ever been permitted to touch. I've written a sonnet to her nose. Would you like to hear it? It goes: 'J'entends de la musique, c'est son museau, son nez -'"
Gawain choked. Sir Pelleas stopped reciting and waited patiently. Gawain spoke before he could continue. "In French, of course."
"The language of love," Sir Pelleas sighed.
"But you're not a French-speaker yourself, are you?"
"Well, I'm not really fluent, but -"
"Yes, well, my own French is a touch rusty," Gawain said, "but I don't think you should call your lady's nose a museau. It means snout."
"Really? But I thought the similarity in sound to the musique was so effective."
"Ah, I daresay I'm mistaken," Gawain said affably. "I think, though, that I have grasped the perfection of your lady's nose. Perhaps we can move on."
"Ah, her eyebrows -" Sir Pelleas sighed dreamily. Gawain let out his breath and sank into his chair. After close to half an hour of rapturous description that included eyebrows, eyelashes, eyes, ears, hair, cheeks, neck, waist, and a full ten minutes on lips, Sir Pelleas caught his breath with a sob and concluded, "But she'll have none of me!"
Gawain let him sob for a moment, then said, "And... what made you fall in love with this paragon?"
Sir Pelleas looked surprised. "Can you doubt it? It was love at first sight!"
"I see. But you have spoken to her, haven't you?"
[...]
Sir Pelleas started to run from the room, but Gawain stopped him. "Say, does Lady Ettard speak French?"
"But of course!"
"Then leave the sonnets here, all right?"
Reason #2 (and possibly best) - The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady -
As Gawain had predicted, years of watching swordplay had given Terence a natural eye and instinctive reactions. His only weakness - or so Gawain said - was an unwillingness to attack. Finally, Gawain dropped his sword arm after a stroke and left Terence a wide opening. Terence made no move. "Look here, Terence," Gawain said, stopping, "you can't afford to let openings like that pass you by."
Terence stepped prudently out of Gawain's reach and said, "How do I know you weren't setting a trap for me?"
"Nobody sets a trap that obvious. You could have thumped me a good one."
Terence took a breath. "But I don't want to thump you a good one, milord. I don't want to thump you at all."
Gawain looked at him curiously. "Not even to see if you could?"
"Why would I care if I could do something that I don't want to do to begin with?"
"All right. So you don't want to thump me. But what if I were someone else?"
"Who, for instance?"
"Who would you like to thump?"
"How about Guinevere?" Terence asked hopefully.
"Terence, you can't go around thumping women. Especially her."
"There, you see? What's the sense in being a knight? I have to thump the people I don't want to thump, and I can't thump the people who would really be better off for a good thumping."
"How about Sir Lancelot? You'd like to thump him, wouldn't you?"
Terence thought about this. "No, I'd like to hang him by his toes over the edge of the North Tower."
Gawain paused, struck by this. "In a cold wind?"
"In armor, without underclothes," Terence added.
Gawain's lips quivered, but he pressed on. "But wouldn't you like to thump him too?"
"While he's hanging helpless like that? Certainly not! Wouldn't be chivalrous."
"No, I mean if you couldn't hang him by his toes, wouldn't you like to thump him instead?"
"Well, it won't be the same, but I suppose I could give it a go."
"Good. Pretend that I'm Sir Lancelot."
"What? You? Impossible. Your clothes are muddy. And besides, there's no lace on your shirt."
"Terence, I only mean -"
"And couldn't you wear a feather somewhere? In your belt or braided through your hair maybe?"
"Terence -" Gawain shook his head in amused exasperation and covered his eyes with his left hand.
Terence thumped him. "Take that, Sir Lancelot, thou recreant knight," he said.
Reason #3 - The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf -
The knight glanced ruefully at his armor. "Mother wanted me to be 'The Crimson Knight,' but it's gone a bit pink in the sun, hasn't it? I really should touch it up. Embarrassing to be 'The Pink Knight.'"
Her sense of humor stirred, Lynet interrupted. "It's really quite a lovely shade of rose. How about 'The Knight of the Rose'?"
Roger and the knight chuckled, and the knight stepped toward Lynet in greeting. "Or you could call me Sir Perimones, my lady. It's my name."
Before Sir Perimones reached Lynet, though, Beaumains stepped between them. "Draw thy sword, foul recreant!" he demanded, "for cause of thy cowardice and thy lies about Sir Lancelot." He took a menacing step forward. "I shall not rest until thou art cleaved in twain."
Sir Perimones frowned and glanced at Roger. "Is that right? 'Cleaved'?"
"I thought it was 'clove,'" Roger said pensively.
"Oh, I don't fancy that," Sir Perimones protested. "It sounds like part of a recipe. Is it 'cleaven,' maybe?"
"Look," Roger said. "You say 'cloven,' right? Like 'cloven hoof'? So it must be 'clove.'"
Lynet looked at Beaumains, standing awkwardly to one side, and she almost felt sorry for him. Clearly no one had ever told him what to do when a challenge was ignored.
"Hold on," the knight said suddenly, "what about 'cleft'?"
Roger nodded dubiously. "Maybe. What do you think of 'clave'?"
Beaumains had had enough.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to share a few more reasons, including the one that inspired me to post. :) Meanwhile, I'm off.
