Don Rodriguez , livre ebook

The Floating Press - Lord Dunsany

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

134 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Fans of classic fantasy will revel in this coming-of-age story from Irish author Lord Dunsany. Set in long-ago Spain, the novel follows the development of Don Rodriguez, a charming young aristocrat who is forced by his family to make his own way in the world. Relying on nothing but his sword, his wit, and his trusty sidekick Morano, Rodriguez sets off on a series of life-or-death adventures.

Sujets

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Fantasy

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775457121
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

DON RODRIGUEZ
CHRONICLES OF SHADOW VALLEY
* * *
LORD DUNSANY

*
Don Rodriguez Chronicles of Shadow Valley First published in 1922 ISBN 978-1-77545-712-1 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chronology The First Chronicle - How He Met and Said Farewell to Mine Host of the Dragon and Knight The Second Chronicle - How He Hired a Memorable Servant The Third Chronicle - How He Came to the House of Wonder The Fourth Chronicle - How He Came to the Mountains of the Sun The Fifth Chronicle - How He Rode in the Twilight and Saw Serafina The Sixth Chronicle - How He Sang to His Mandolin and What Came of His Singing The Seventh Chronicle - How He Came to Shadow Valley The Eighth Chronicle - How He Travelled Far The Ninth Chronicle - How He Won a Castle in Spain The Tenth Chronicle - How He Came Back to Lowlight The Eleventh Chronicle - How He Turned to Gardening and His Sword Rested The Twelfth Chronicle - The Building of Castle Rodriguez and the Ending of These Chronicles Endnotes
*
To WILLIAM BEEBE
Chronology
*
After long and patient research I am still unable to give to the readerof these Chronicles the exact date of the times that they tell of. Wereit merely a matter of history there could be no doubts about theperiod; but where magic is concerned, to however slight an extent,there must always be some element of mystery, arising partly out ofignorance and partly from the compulsion of those oaths by which magicprotects its precincts from the tiptoe of curiosity.
Moreover, magic, even in small quantities, appears to affect time, muchas acids affect some metals, curiously changing its substance, untildates seem to melt into a mercurial form that renders them elusive evento the eye of the most watchful historian.
It is the magic appearing in Chronicles III and IV that has gravelyaffected the date, so that all I can tell the reader with certainty ofthe period is that it fell in the later years of the Golden Age inSpain.
The First Chronicle - How He Met and Said Farewell to Mine Host of the Dragon and Knight
*
Being convinced that his end was nearly come, and having lived long onearth (and all those years in Spain, in the golden time), the Lord ofthe Valleys of Arguento Harez, whose heights see not Valladolid, calledfor his eldest son. And so he addressed him when he was come to hischamber, dim with its strange red hangings and august with thesplendour of Spain: "O eldest son of mine, your younger brother beingdull and clever, on whom those traits that women love have not beenbestowed by God; and know my eldest son that here on earth, and forought I know Hereafter, but certainly here on earth, these women be thearbiters of all things; and how this be so God knoweth only, for theyare vain and variable, yet it is surely so: your younger brother thennot having been given those ways that women prize, and God knows whythey prize them for they are vain ways that I have in my mind and thatwon me the Valleys of Arguento Harez, from whose heights Angelico sworehe saw Valladolid once, and that won me moreover also ... but that islong ago and is all gone now ... ah well, well ... what was I saying?"And being reminded of his discourse, the old lord continued, saying,"For himself he will win nothing, and therefore I will leave him thesemy valleys, for not unlikely it was for some sin of mine that hisspirit was visited with dullness, as Holy Writ sets forth, the sins ofthe fathers being visited on the children; and thus I make him amends.But to you I leave my long, most flexible, ancient Castilian blade,which infidels dreaded if old songs be true. Merry and lithe it is, andits true temper singeth when it meets another blade as two friends singwhen met after many years. It is most subtle, nimble and exultant; andwhat it will not win for you in the wars, that shall be won for you byyour mandolin, for you have a way with it that goes well with the oldairs of Spain. And choose, my son, rather a moonlight night when yousing under those curved balconies that I knew, ah me, so well; forthere is much advantage in the moon. In the first place maidens see inthe light of the moon, especially in the Spring, more romance than youmight credit, for it adds for them a mystery to the darkness which thenight has not when it is merely black. And if any statue should gleamon the grass near by, or if the magnolia be in blossom, or even thenightingale singing, or if anything be beautiful in the night, in anyof these things also there is advantage; for a maiden will attribute toher lover all manner of things that are not his at all, but are onlyoutpourings from the hand of God. There is this advantage also in themoon, that, if interrupters come, the moonlight is better suited to theplay of a blade than the mere darkness of night; indeed but the merryplay of my sword in the moonlight was often a joy to see, it soflashed, so danced, so sparkled. In the moonlight also one makes nounworthy stroke, but hath scope for those fair passes that Sevastianitaught, which were long ago the wonder of Madrid."
The old lord paused, and breathed for a little space, as it weregathering breath for his last words to his son. He breatheddeliberately, then spoke again. "I leave you," he said, "well contentthat you have the two accomplishments, my son, that are most needful ina Christian man, skill with the sword and a way with the mandolin.There be other arts indeed among the heathen, for the world is wide andhath full many customs, but these two alone are needful." And then withthat grand manner that they had at that time in Spain, although hisstrength was failing, he gave to his eldest son his Castilian sword. Helay back then in the huge, carved, canopied bed; his eyes closed, thered silk curtains rustled, and there was no sound of his breathing. Butthe old lord's spirit, whatever journey it purposed, lingered yet inits ancient habitation, and his voice came again, but feebly now andrambling; he muttered awhile of gardens, such gardens no doubt as thehidalgos guarded in that fertile region of sunshine in the proudestperiod of Spain; he would have known no others. So for awhile hismemory seemed to stray, half blind among those perfumed earthlywonders; perhaps among these memories his spirit halted, and tarriedthose last few moments, mistaking those Spanish gardens, remembered bymoonlight in Spring, for the other end of his journey, the glades ofParadise. However it be, it tarried. These rambling memories ceased andsilence fell again, with scarcely the sound of breathing. Thengathering up his strength for the last time and looking at his son,"The sword to the wars," he said. "The mandolin to the balconies." Withthat he fell back dead.
Now there were no wars at that time so far as was known in Spain, butthat old lord's eldest son, regarding those last words of his father asa commandment, determined then and there in that dim, vast chamber togird his legacy to him and seek for the wars, wherever the wars mightbe, so soon as the obsequies of the sepulture were ended. And of thoseobsequies I tell not here, for they are fully told in the Black Booksof Spain, and the deeds of that old lord's youth are told in the GoldenStories. The Book of Maidens mentions him, and again we read of him inGardens of Spain. I take my leave of him, happy, I trust, in Paradise,for he had himself the accomplishments that he held needful in aChristian, skill with the sword and a way with the mandolin; and ifthere be some harder, better way to salvation than to follow that whichwe believe to be good, then are we all damned. So he was buried, andhis eldest son fared forth with his legacy dangling from his girdle inits long, straight, lovely scabbard, blue velvet, with emeralds on it,fared forth on foot along a road of Spain. And though the road turnedleft and right and sometimes nearly ceased, as though to let the smallwild flowers grow, out of sheer good will such as some roads neverhave; though it ran west and east and sometimes south, yet in the mainit ran northward, though wandered is a better word than ran, and theLord of the Valleys of Arguento Harez who owned no valleys, or anythingbut a sword, kept company with it looking for the wars. Upon his backhe had slung his mandolin. Now the time of the year was Spring, notSpring as we know it in England, for it was but early March, but it wasthe time when Spring coming up out of Africa, or unknown lands to thesouth, first touches Spain, and multitudes of anemones come forth ather feet.
Thence she comes north to our islands, no less wonderful in our woodsthan in Andalusian valleys, fresh as a new song, fabulous as a rune,but a little pale through travel, so that our flowers do not quiteflare forth with all the myriad blaze of the flowers of Spain.
And all the way as he went the young man looked at the flame of thosesouthern flowers, flashing on either side of him all the way, as thoughthe rainbow had been broken in Heaven and its fragments fallen onSpain. All the way as he went he gazed at those flowers, the firstanemones of the year; and long after, whenever he sang to old airs ofSpain, he thought of Spain as it appeared that day in all the wonder ofSpring; the memory lent a beauty to his voice and a wistfulness to hiseyes that accorded not ill with the theme of the songs he sang, andwere more than once to melt proud hearts deemed cold. And so gazing hecame to a town that stood o