Speaker 1: Cool Zone Media. It's the cools On Media book Club,
Speaker 1: which has always been our jingle. I'm your host, Margaret
Speaker 1: Kiljoy and this week, Uncles On Media book Club, I'm
Speaker 1: going to read you a story. How was that different
Speaker 1: from other weeks? It's not. That's the great thing about
Speaker 1: podcasts is that they do a thing and then they
Speaker 1: keep doing that thing forever wherever. Anyway, Okay, so last
Speaker 1: week I brought you a story by William Morris, who
Speaker 1: was the in case anyone missed that one, William Morris
Speaker 1: is this wildly fascinating man. He was the socialist in
Speaker 1: nineteenth century England who was from a upper middle class background,
Speaker 1: who became the primary one of the primary interior designers
Speaker 1: and like textile designers of Victorian England, and like set
Speaker 1: so many of the aesthetic ideas. When you imagine Victorian wallpaper,
Speaker 1: you were imagining something that William Morris either designed or
Speaker 1: was designing very similar things. But he was also kind
Speaker 1: of the inventor of the fantasy genre. There's other people
Speaker 1: who argue about other books that will have done this prior,
Speaker 1: but in a lot of ways, the modern fantasy genre
Speaker 1: can be tracked to William Morris. Writing a bunch of
Speaker 1: novels about secondary worlds with magic, and he's one of
Speaker 1: the primary inspirations for JR. Tolkien. And why am I
Speaker 1: talking so much about him when we read him last week?
Speaker 1: Because we're going to read him again. I'm going to
Speaker 1: read a slightly longer story and it's going to be
Speaker 1: this week and next week. And the reason I want
Speaker 1: to read you all this story is because not only
Speaker 1: did William Morris inspire JR. Tolkien, I suspeact inspired Ursula
Speaker 1: Lagwin and Ursula Gwinn. For those who are not familiar,
Speaker 1: which is probably very few of you, but I don't know.
Speaker 1: Everyone starts somewhere. Ursulo Gwin is one of the most
Speaker 1: important feminist science fiction writers of all time. I consider
Speaker 1: her personally to be the greatest English language anarchist fiction writer.
Speaker 1: And I care about her work a lot, and a
Speaker 1: lot of my friends do too. And she wrote this
Speaker 1: one story that I won't read to you because I
Speaker 1: don't I'd have to get in touch with her estate
Speaker 1: in order to make that happen. But she and also
Speaker 1: it's like not long enough for this podcast. She wrote
Speaker 1: the story called The Ones Who Walked Away from Omelas
Speaker 1: and this story, I'm gonna spoil it for you because
Speaker 1: it's just a little thought experiment. And in that story,
Speaker 1: there's like a perfect, happy, utopian society where the children
Speaker 1: are playing and the banners are flying and everything is
Speaker 1: good and lovely. And the way that they make that
Speaker 1: happen is that one child is locked up and tortured.
Speaker 1: And how looking at this perfect society but based on
Speaker 1: this fundamentally evil thing, some people walk away, some people leave.
Speaker 1: Omelas LeGuin was an anarchist pacifist, and that idea comes,
Speaker 1: you know, I think that that is that story is
Speaker 1: maybe the most perfect encapsulation of anarchist pacifism as a
Speaker 1: as a parable, and it's a very important story in
Speaker 1: the sort of science fiction canon. A lot of authors
Speaker 1: have sort of written responses or follow ups or sequels
Speaker 1: or you know, other things that tie into it. Personally,
Speaker 1: nothing I've read quite touches the original and sort of
Speaker 1: a like perfectness. And it's so you can only write
Speaker 1: perfect stuff if you write really short, you know, you
Speaker 1: can do a little perfect, little parable. And I've never
Speaker 1: before run across anything that made me think, oh this
Speaker 1: might have inspired Legwin with o Malas. And then also
Speaker 1: Legwin wrote a book called The Eye of the Heron
Speaker 1: that is in some ways a more book length exploration
Speaker 1: of that idea of pacifism and walking away. But then
Speaker 1: I was reading a lot of William Morris stories and
Speaker 1: I read a story called Svend and his Brethren from
Speaker 1: eighteen fifty six. And that's the story I'm going to
Speaker 1: read to you today because I think it's related. And
Speaker 1: I could be wrong, but I would suspect that this book,
Speaker 1: the story inspired Legwin to some level. Now, this story
Speaker 1: was written in eighteen fifty six. Like the last story
Speaker 1: I wrote, William Morris wrote a bunch of romances, as
Speaker 1: they were called, which meant like thet of fantasy fables, right,
Speaker 1: not like more like romantic the art movement, not like
Speaker 1: romance novels, although I would read the Shit out of
Speaker 1: a Wayamore's romance novel based on that last story we
Speaker 1: read where he's talking about how beautiful this man is.
Speaker 1: But he wrote all these stories I think while he
Speaker 1: was in college. I think while he was in college,
Speaker 1: while he was at Oxford, and they were published in
Speaker 1: the Literary Journal there, and that's like more or less
Speaker 1: his short story output. And after that he wrote epic
Speaker 1: poetry for a long time, and then later in his
Speaker 1: life he wrote all of the novels, which are much
Speaker 1: more influential overall. And this story, like the last one,
Speaker 1: it's a little bit I'm gonna use this word imprecisely.
Speaker 1: It's a little bit baroque. It's a little bit the
Speaker 1: writing is a little bit flowery. Some certain things you're
Speaker 1: not entirely certain what's happening. And because one hundred and
Speaker 1: seventy years have passed since this story came out, I'll
Speaker 1: just kind of go ahead and tell you a little
Speaker 1: bit about the plots of an easier time following it,
Speaker 1: because I would have done me some good. This is
Speaker 1: a story about out one country conquering another, And at
Speaker 1: the start of it, it is about one country conquering another.
Speaker 1: And how is someone, a woman from that conquered country,
Speaker 1: in order to stop the war, marries the king of
Speaker 1: the other country and is not happy about it. But
Speaker 1: then it's a story about their children and the decisions
Speaker 1: that they choose to make. And that's the part where
Speaker 1: it starts getting well, what's all interesting. I hope you
Speaker 1: like it. I hope you like it as much as
Speaker 1: I do, because I'll be reading it this week and
Speaker 1: next week, and it's called Svend and his Brethren from
Speaker 1: eighteen fifty six by William Morris. A king in the
Speaker 1: olden time ruled over a mighty nation. A proud man,
Speaker 1: he must have been any man who was king of
Speaker 1: that nation. Hundreds of lords each, a prince over many people,
Speaker 1: sat about him in the council chamber under the dim
Speaker 1: vault that was blue like the vault of heaven, and
Speaker 1: shone with innumerable glistenings of golden stars. North, south, east
Speaker 1: and west. Spread that land of his. The sea did
Speaker 1: not stop it. His empire clomb the high mountains and
Speaker 1: spread abroad its arms over the valleys of them. All
Speaker 1: along the sea lined shore cities set with their crowns
Speaker 1: of towers in the midst of broad bays, each fit.
Speaker 1: It seemed to be a harbor for the navies of
Speaker 1: all the world. Inland, the pastures and cornlands lay checkered,
Speaker 1: much with climbing over tumbling grape vines under the sun
Speaker 1: that crumbled their clods and drew up the young wheat
Speaker 1: in the springtime, under the rain that made the long
Speaker 1: grass soft and fine. Under all fair fertilizing influences. The
Speaker 1: streams leapt down from the mountain tops or cleft their
Speaker 1: way through the ridged ravines. They grew great rivers like seas.
Speaker 1: Each one. The mountains were cloven and gave forth from
Speaker 1: their scarred sides wealth of ore and splendor of marble.
Speaker 1: All things this people that King Valdemar ruled over could do.
Speaker 1: They leveled mountains that over the smooth roads the wains
Speaker 1: might go laden with silks and spices. From the sea.
Speaker 1: They drained lakes that the land might yield more and
Speaker 1: more As year by year the serfs, driven like cattle,
Speaker 1: but worse fed, worse housed, died slowly scarce. Knowing they
Speaker 1: had souls, They builded them huge ships, and said they
Speaker 1: were masters of the sea too. Only I trow the
Speaker 1: sea was an unruly subject, and often sent them back
Speaker 1: their ships cut into more pieces than the pines of
Speaker 1: them were when the ads first fell upon them. They
Speaker 1: raised towers and bridges, and marble palaces with endless corridors,
Speaker 1: rose scented and cooled with welling fountains. They sent great
Speaker 1: armies and fleets to all points of heaven that the
Speaker 1: winds blow from. Who took and burned many happy cities, wasted,
Speaker 1: many fields and valleys blotted out from the memory of men.
Speaker 1: The names of nations made their men's lives a hopeless
Speaker 1: shame and misery to them, their women's lives disgrace, And
Speaker 1: then came home to have flowers thrown on them in showers,
Speaker 1: to be feasted and called heroes. Should not then their
Speaker 1: king be proud of them? Moreover, they could fashion stone
Speaker 1: and brass into the shapes of men. They could write books.
Speaker 1: They knew the names of the stars and their number.
Speaker 1: They knew what moved the passions of men in the
Speaker 1: hearts of them, and could draw you up cunningly catalogs
Speaker 1: of virtues and vices. Their wise men could prove to
Speaker 1: you that any lie was true, that any truth was false,
Speaker 1: till your head grew dizzy and your heart sick, and
Speaker 1: you almost doubted if there were a god. Should not
Speaker 1: then their king be proud of them? Their men were
Speaker 1: strong in body and moved about gracefully like dancers, and
Speaker 1: the purple, black scented hair of their gold clothed knights
Speaker 1: seemed to shoot out rays under the blaze of light
Speaker 1: that shone like many suns in the king's halls. Their
Speaker 1: women's faces were very fair in red and white, their
Speaker 1: skins fair and half transparent like the marble of their mountains,
Speaker 1: and their voices sounded like the rising of soft music
Speaker 1: from step to step of their own white palaces. Should not,
Speaker 1: then their king be proud of such a people who
Speaker 1: seemed to help so in carrying on the world to
Speaker 1: its consummate perfection, which they even hoped their grandchildren would see.
Speaker 1: Alas alas they were slaves, king and priest, noble and burgher,
Speaker 1: just as much as the meanest task surf, perhaps more
Speaker 1: even than he, for they were so willingly and he
Speaker 1: unwillingly enough they could do everything but justice and truth
Speaker 1: and mercy. Therefore God's judgments hung over their heads, not
Speaker 1: fallen yet, but surely to fall one time or other.
Speaker 1: For ages past they had warred against one people only
Speaker 1: whom they could not utterly subdue, a feeble people in
Speaker 1: numbers dwelling in the very midst of them among the mountains.
Speaker 1: Yet now they were pressing them close, acre after acre,
Speaker 1: with seas of blood to purchase. Each acre had been
Speaker 1: wrested from the free people, and their end seeming drawing
Speaker 1: near and this time the king Valdemar had marched to
Speaker 1: their land with a great army to make war on them.
Speaker 1: He boasted to himself, almost for the last time, a
Speaker 1: walled town in the free land. In that town a
Speaker 1: house built of rough, splintery stones, and in a great,
Speaker 1: low browed room of that house a gray haired man
Speaker 1: paid seen to and fro impatiently. Will she never come,
Speaker 1: he says, it is two hours since the sunset. News
Speaker 1: too of the enemy's being in the land. How dreadful
Speaker 1: if she is taken. His great broad face is marked
Speaker 1: with many furrows, made by the fierce, restless energy of
Speaker 1: the man. But there is a wearied look on it,
Speaker 1: the look of a man who, having done his best,
Speaker 1: is yet beaten. He seemed to long to be gone
Speaker 1: and be at peace. He, the fighter in many battles,
Speaker 1: who often had seemed with his single arm to roll
Speaker 1: back the whole tide of fight, felt despairing enough. Now,
Speaker 1: this last invasion, he thought, must surely quite settle the matter.
Speaker 1: Wave after wave, wave after wave had broken on that
Speaker 1: dear land and been rolled back from it, and yet
Speaker 1: the hungry sea pressed on. They must be finally drowned
Speaker 1: in that sea how fearfully they had been tried for
Speaker 1: their sins. Back again to his anxiety concerning Cecilla, his daughter,
Speaker 1: go his thoughts, and he still paces up and down, wearily,
Speaker 1: stopping now and then to gaze intently on things which
Speaker 1: he has seen a hundred times. And the night has
Speaker 1: altogether come on. But what you have probably seen a
Speaker 1: hundred times is me make cynical ad transitions in the
Speaker 1: middle of podcasts like this one. And we're back at last.
Speaker 1: The blast of a horn from outside, a challenge and
Speaker 1: counter challenge, and the wicket to the courtyard is swung open.
Speaker 1: For this house, being in a part of the city
Speaker 1: where the walls are somewhat weak, is a little fortress
Speaker 1: in itself, and is very carefully guarded. The old man's
Speaker 1: face brightened at the sound of the newcomer, and he
Speaker 1: went toward the entrance of the house, where he was
Speaker 1: met by two young knights fully armed, and a maiden.
Speaker 1: Thank god you are come, he says, but stops when
Speaker 1: he sees her face, which is quite pale, almost wild,
Speaker 1: with some sorrow. The Saint Cecilia, what is it, he says,
Speaker 1: Father Eric will tell you. Then suddenly a clang for
Speaker 1: Eric has thrown on the ground a richly jeweled sword sheathed,
Speaker 1: and sets his foot on it, crunching the pearls on
Speaker 1: the sheath, then says, flinging up his head. There, father,
Speaker 1: the enemy is in the land. May that happen to
Speaker 1: every one of them. But for my part, I've accounted
Speaker 1: for two already, son, Eric, Son, Eric, you talk forever
Speaker 1: about yourself. Quick, tell me about Cecilia instead. If you
Speaker 1: go on boasting and talking always about yourself, you will
Speaker 1: come to no good end. Son after all, But as
Speaker 1: he says this, he smiles nevertheless, and his eyes glistens. Well, father, listen,
Speaker 1: such a strange thing she tells us. Not to be
Speaker 1: believed if she did not tell us herself. The enemy
Speaker 1: has suddenly got generous, one of them at least, which
Speaker 1: is something of a disappointment to me. Ah, pardon about
Speaker 1: myself again, And that is about myself too. Well, Father,
Speaker 1: what am I to do? But Cecila, she has wandered
Speaker 1: some way from her maidens. When Ah, but I never
Speaker 1: could tell a story properly. Let her tell it herself
Speaker 1: here Cecilla. Well, well, I see she is better employed
Speaker 1: talking namely, How should I know what with sure in
Speaker 1: the window seat yonder. But she has told us that
Speaker 1: as she wandered, almost by herself, she presently heard shouts
Speaker 1: and saw many of the enemy's knights riding quickly towards her.
Speaker 1: Whereat she knelt only and prayed to God, who was
Speaker 1: very gracious to her, For when as she thought something
Speaker 1: dreadful was about to happen, the chief of the knights,
Speaker 1: a very noble looking man, she said, rescued her, and,
Speaker 1: after he had gave earnestly into her face, told her
Speaker 1: she might go back again to her own home and
Speaker 1: her maids with her, if only she would tell him
Speaker 1: where she dwelt in her name, and withal. He sent
Speaker 1: three knights to escort her some way toward the city.
Speaker 1: Then he turned and rode away with all his knights,
Speaker 1: but those three, who, when they knew that he had
Speaker 1: quite gone, she says, began to talk horribly, saying things
Speaker 1: whereof in her terror, she understood the import Only then,
Speaker 1: before worse came to pass, came I and slew too,
Speaker 1: as I said, And the other ran away lustily with
Speaker 1: a good courage. And that is the sword of one
Speaker 1: of the slain knights, or as one might rather call
Speaker 1: them rascally katiffs. The old man's thoughts seemed to have
Speaker 1: gone wandering after his son had finished, for he said
Speaker 1: nothing for some time, but at last spoke dejectedly, Eric,
Speaker 1: brave son. When I was your age, I too hoped,
Speaker 1: and my hopes are to come to this at last.
Speaker 1: You are blind in your hopeful, youth, Eric, And do
Speaker 1: not see that this king, for the king it certainly was,
Speaker 1: will crush us, and not the less surely, because he
Speaker 1: is plainly not ungenerous, but rather a good, courteous knight.
Speaker 1: Alas poor old gunner, broken down now and ready to die,
Speaker 1: as your country is. How often in the olden time
Speaker 1: thou used to say to thyself, as thou didst ride
Speaker 1: at the head of our glorious house, this charge may
Speaker 1: finish this matter, this battle must They passed away, those
Speaker 1: gallant fights, and still the foe pressed on, and hope
Speaker 1: too slowly ebbed away, as the boundaries of our land
Speaker 1: grew less and less. Behold, this is the last wave,
Speaker 1: but one or two, and then for a sad farewell
Speaker 1: to name and freedom. Yet surely the end of the
Speaker 1: world must come, when we are swept off the face
Speaker 1: of the earth. God waits long, they say, before he
Speaker 1: avenges his own. As he was speaking, shure and Cecilia
Speaker 1: came nearer to him, and Sellah, all traces of her
Speaker 1: late terror gone from her face. Now, raising her lips
Speaker 1: to his bended forehead, kissed him fondly and said, with
Speaker 1: glowing face, Father, how can I help our people? Do
Speaker 1: they want deaths? I will die? Do they want happiness?
Speaker 1: I will live miserably through years and years, Nor ever
Speaker 1: pray for death. Some hope or other seemed growing up
Speaker 1: his heart and showing through his face when he spoke again,
Speaker 1: putting back the hair from off her face and clasping
Speaker 1: it about with both his hands while he stooped to
Speaker 1: kiss her, much like I have stooped to selling ads
Speaker 1: for a living. Here's the ads, and we're back. God,
Speaker 1: remember your mother, Cissela. Then it was no dream after all,
Speaker 1: but true, perhaps as indeed it seemed at the time.
Speaker 1: But it must come quickly, that woman's deliverance, or not
Speaker 1: at all? When was it that I heard that old
Speaker 1: tale that sounded even then true to my ears? For
Speaker 1: we have not been punished for naught, my son. That
Speaker 1: is not God's way. It comes across my memory, somehow
Speaker 1: mingled in a wonderful manner with the purple of the
Speaker 1: pines on the hillside, with the fragrance of them born
Speaker 1: from far towards me. For know, my children, that in
Speaker 1: times passed long long past, now we did an evil
Speaker 1: deed for our forefathers, who have been dead now and
Speaker 1: forgiven so long ago. Once, mad with rage at some
Speaker 1: defeat from their enemies, fired a church and burned therein
Speaker 1: many women who had fled thither for refuge. And from
Speaker 1: that time a curse cleaves to us. Only they say
Speaker 1: that at last we may be saved from utter destruction
Speaker 1: by a woman. I know not, God grant it may
Speaker 1: be so. Then she said, father, brother, and you sure
Speaker 1: come with with me to the chapel. I wish you
Speaker 1: to witness me make an oath. Her face was pale,
Speaker 1: her lips were pale. Her golden hail was pale, but
Speaker 1: not pale. It seemed from any sinking of blood, but
Speaker 1: from gathering of intensest light from somewhere her eyes perhaps,
Speaker 1: for they appeared to burn Inwardly. They followed the sweeping
Speaker 1: of her purple robe in silence through the low, heavy
Speaker 1: beamed passages they entered the little chapel, dimly lighted by
Speaker 1: the moon that night as it shone through one of
Speaker 1: the three arrow slits of windows at the east end.
Speaker 1: There was little wealth of marble there I trow little
Speaker 1: time had those fighting men for stone smoothing, albeit one
Speaker 1: noted many semblances of flowers even in the dim half light.
Speaker 1: And here and there the faces of brave men, roughly
Speaker 1: cut enough, but grand because the hand of the carver
Speaker 1: had followed his loving heart. Neither was their gold. Wanting
Speaker 1: to the altar and its canopy. Above the low pillars
Speaker 1: of the knave hung banners taken from the foe by
Speaker 1: the men of that house. Gallant with gold and jewels,
Speaker 1: she walked up to the altar and took the Blessed
Speaker 1: Book of the Gospels from the left side of it,
Speaker 1: then knelt in prayer for a moment or two while
Speaker 1: the three men stood behind her reverently. When she rose,
Speaker 1: she made a sign to them, and from their scabbards
Speaker 1: gleamed three swords in the moonlight. Then, while they held
Speaker 1: them aloft and pointed toward the altar, she opened the
Speaker 1: book at the page whereon was painted Christ, the Lord
Speaker 1: dying on the cross, pale against the gleaming gold, She said,
Speaker 1: in a firm voice, Christ, God, who dietist for all men,
Speaker 1: so help me, as I refuse not life, happiness, even
Speaker 1: honor for this people whom I love. Then she kissed
Speaker 1: the face so pale against the gold, and knelt again.
Speaker 1: But when she had risen, and before she could leave
Speaker 1: the space by the altar, Shore had stepped up to
Speaker 1: her and seized her hurriedly, folding both his arms about her.
Speaker 1: She let herself be held there, her bosom against his.
Speaker 1: Then he held her away from him a little space,
Speaker 1: holding her by the arms near the shoulder. Then he
Speaker 1: took her hands and laid them across his shoulders, so
Speaker 1: that now she held him. And they said nothing. What
Speaker 1: could they say? Do you know any word for what
Speaker 1: they meant? And the father and brother stood by, looking
Speaker 1: quite awe struck more so than they seemed by her
Speaker 1: solemn oath. Till Shore, raising his head from where it lay,
Speaker 1: cried out aloud, May God forgive me as I am
Speaker 1: true to her. Hear you. Father and brother, then said Cecilia,
Speaker 1: may God help me in my need, as I am
Speaker 1: true to shure. And the others went, and the two
Speaker 1: were left standing there alone, with no little awe over them,
Speaker 1: strange and shy as they had never been yet to
Speaker 1: each other. Cecilla shuddered and said, in a quick whisper,
Speaker 1: sure on your knees and pray that these oaths may
Speaker 1: never clash? Can they? Cecilia? He said, Oh love, she cried,
Speaker 1: you have loosed my hand. Take it again, or I
Speaker 1: shall die. Sure. He took both her hands and held
Speaker 1: them fast to his lips and to his forehead. He said, no,
Speaker 1: God does not allow such things. Truth does not lie.
Speaker 1: You are truth. This need not be prayed for. She said, Oh,
Speaker 1: forgive me yet Yet this old chapel is damp and cold,
Speaker 1: even in the burning summer weather. Oh night, sure something
Speaker 1: strikes through me. I pray, you kneel and pray. He
Speaker 1: looked steadily at her for a long time without answering,
Speaker 1: as if he were trying once and for all to
Speaker 1: become indeed one with her. Then said, yes, it is possible.
Speaker 1: In no other way could you give up everything. Then
Speaker 1: he took off from his finger a thin golden ring
Speaker 1: and broke it in two and gave her the one half, saying,
Speaker 1: when will they come together? Then within a while they
Speaker 1: left the chapel and walked as in a dream, between
Speaker 1: the dazzling nights of the hall where the knight sat. Now,
Speaker 1: and between those lights sat down together, dreaming still the
Speaker 1: same dream, each of them, while all the knights shouted
Speaker 1: for sure and Cecilla. Even if a man had spent
Speaker 1: all his life looking for sorrowful things, even if he
Speaker 1: had sought them with all his heart and soul, even
Speaker 1: though he had grown gray in that quest, yet would
Speaker 1: he have found nothing in all the world, or perhaps
Speaker 1: in all the stars, either so sorrowful as Cecila. They
Speaker 1: had accepted her sacrifice after long deliberation. They had arrayed
Speaker 1: her in purple and scarlet. They had crowned her with gold,
Speaker 1: wrought about with jewels. They had spread abroad the veil
Speaker 1: of her golden hair. Yet now as they led her
Speaker 1: forth in the midst of the band of knights, her
Speaker 1: brother Eric holding fast her hand, each man felt like
Speaker 1: a murderer when he beheld her face, whereon was no tear,
Speaker 1: wherein was no writhing of muscle, twitching of nerve, wherein
Speaker 1: was no sorrow mark of her own, but only the
Speaker 1: sorrow mark which God sent her, and which she must
Speaker 1: perforce whear. Yet they had not caught eagerly at her offer.
Speaker 1: They had said, at first, almost to a man, nay,
Speaker 1: this thing shall not be let us die altogether, rather
Speaker 1: than this. Yet, as they sat and said this to
Speaker 1: each man of the council, came floating dim memories of
Speaker 1: that curse of the burned women and its remedy. To
Speaker 1: many it ran rhythmically, an old song, better known by
Speaker 1: the music than the words heard once and again long ago,
Speaker 1: when the gusty wind overmastered the chestnut boughs and strewed
Speaker 1: the smooth sward with their star leaves. With all came
Speaker 1: thoughts to each man, partly selfishly, partly wise and just,
Speaker 1: concerning his own wife and children, concerning children yet unborn,
Speaker 1: thoughts too of the glory of the old name, all
Speaker 1: that had and suffered and done, that the glorious free
Speaker 1: land might yet be a nation. And the spirit of hope,
Speaker 1: never dead but sleeping, only woke up within their hearts.
Speaker 1: We may yet be a people, they said to themselves,
Speaker 1: if we can but get breathing time. And as they
Speaker 1: thought these things and doubted, shure rose up in the
Speaker 1: midst of them, and said, you are right. In what
Speaker 1: you think, countrymen, and she is right. She is altogether
Speaker 1: good and noble. Sent her forth. Then, with one look
Speaker 1: of utter despair at her, as she stood statue like,
Speaker 1: he left the council, lest he should fall down and
Speaker 1: die in the midst of them, he said. Yet he
Speaker 1: died not then, but lived for many years afterwards. But
Speaker 1: they rose from their seats, and when they were armed,
Speaker 1: and she was royally arrayed, they went with her, leading
Speaker 1: her through the dear streets, whence you always saw the
Speaker 1: great pine shadowed mountains. She went away from all that
Speaker 1: was dear to her, to go and sit a crowned
Speaker 1: queen in the dreary Monde marble Palace, whose outer walls
Speaker 1: rose up from the weary hearted sea. She could not
Speaker 1: think she durst not. She feared if she did that
Speaker 1: she would curse her beauty, almost curse the name of love.
Speaker 1: Curse Sure. Though she knew he was right for not
Speaker 1: slaying her, she feared she might curse God. So she
Speaker 1: thought not at all, steeping her senses utterly, and forgetfulness
Speaker 1: of the happy past, destroying all anticipation of the future. Yet,
Speaker 1: as they left the city, amidst the tears of women
Speaker 1: and fixed sorrowful gaze of men. She turned round once
Speaker 1: and stretched her arms out involuntarily, like a dumb, senseless thing,
Speaker 1: towards the place where she was born, and where her
Speaker 1: life grew happier day by day, and where his arms
Speaker 1: first crept round about her. She turned away and thought,
Speaker 1: but in a cold, speculative manner, how it was possible
Speaker 1: that she was bearing this sorrow, as she often before
Speaker 1: had wondered when slight things vexed her over much, how
Speaker 1: people had such sorrow? Rosen lived, and almost doubted if
Speaker 1: the pain was so much greater in great sorrows than
Speaker 1: in small troubles, or whether the nobleness was only greater,
Speaker 1: the pain not sharper, but more lingering. Half way towards
Speaker 1: the camp, the king's people met her, and over trampled
Speaker 1: ground where they had fought so fiercely, but a little
Speaker 1: time before, they spread breadth of golden cloth that her
Speaker 1: feet might not touch the arms of her dead countrymen
Speaker 1: or their brave bodies. And so they came at last,
Speaker 1: with many trumpet blasts, to the king's tent, who stood
Speaker 1: at the door of it to welcome his bride that
Speaker 1: was to be a noble man truly to look on
Speaker 1: kindly and genialized. The red blood sprang up all over
Speaker 1: his face when she came near, and she looked back
Speaker 1: no more, but bowed before him, almost to the ground,
Speaker 1: and would have knelt, but that he caught her in
Speaker 1: his arms and kissed her. She was pale now no more,
Speaker 1: and the king, as he gazed delightedly at her, did
Speaker 1: not notice that sorrow mark, which was plain enough to
Speaker 1: her own people. And so the trumpet sounded again, one
Speaker 1: long peal that seemed to make all the air real
Speaker 1: and quiver, and the soldiers and Lord shouted Hurrah for
Speaker 1: the peace Queen Cecela. And that's where we're gonna leave
Speaker 1: this story for this week. Cecilla has now sacrificed herself
Speaker 1: and left her family to go marry the king. What's
Speaker 1: gonna happen? Well, I'm not gonna tell you. You can either
Speaker 1: look it up, I suppose, or you can wait a week.
Speaker 1: Or maybe it's the future and you don't have to
Speaker 1: wait a week and you just binge listen to podcasts
Speaker 1: like a normal person. Anyway, I'll talk to you all
Speaker 1: next week. Oh, I'm Margaret Kiljoy. I have a book out.
Speaker 1: I'm on tour right now, Okay, well, right now I'm
Speaker 1: at home because I drove home to see my dog
Speaker 1: because my dog could only come on the first couldn't
Speaker 1: come on the first leg of the tour. But he's
Speaker 1: gonna be with me on the rest of the tour.
Speaker 1: But I went to all this that my dog wouldn't
Speaker 1: be really excited about on the first couple of days,
Speaker 1: and so now I'm reunited. I know that's what you
Speaker 1: all are most concerned about, But don't worry. I'm back
Speaker 1: home with Rentroll. But I am on tour. I am
Speaker 1: touring with a book called The Sapling Cage, and I
Speaker 1: wrote a bunch of folklore said in the same world
Speaker 1: as that book, and so I'm reading. If you want
Speaker 1: to come hear me read stories, and notice that I
Speaker 1: clearly read fables and old stories a lot. You can
Speaker 1: come hear me. Do it. I will be traveling all
Speaker 1: over the United States. If I don't come to your city,
Speaker 1: it's because I personally have a problem with you, and
Speaker 1: that is the reason I did not come. But I
Speaker 1: will be. Let's see, I was in Baltimore yesterday at
Speaker 1: the time. You listen to this, If you listen to it,
Speaker 1: on time. I will be in Brooklyn today if you're
Speaker 1: listening to this, and then I'll be in Boston the
Speaker 1: weekend after followed by Portland, Maine, followed by Rockland, Maine,
Speaker 1: and then after that, I'm going to go on a
Speaker 1: huge ass tour. I'm going to go up to Pittsburgh
Speaker 1: and Cleveland and maybe Buffalo. I'm not sure. Don't hold
Speaker 1: me to that. I just started talking to someone about
Speaker 1: that today. And I'm going to go ann Harbor and
Speaker 1: I'm going to go to Madison, Wisconsin. I'm going to
Speaker 1: go to Minneapolis. I'm going to go to Lincoln, Nebraska.
Speaker 1: I'm going to go to Fort Collins, Colorado. I'm going
Speaker 1: to go to Fruit of Colorado. I'm going to go
Speaker 1: to Salt Lake City. I might go somewhere between Salt
Speaker 1: Lake City and Quilseleine, Washington, but who's to know. I'm
Speaker 1: going to be in quose to Washington. I'm going to
Speaker 1: be in Portland, Oregon, where I'll be speaking with friend
Speaker 1: of the pod, Robert Evans, friend of the pod. He's
Speaker 1: on the pods. I think his name is in the
Speaker 1: official title of the pod. November first, I'll be at
Speaker 1: Powell's Books with Robert Evans and also be at other
Speaker 1: places because then I have to get back home. But
Speaker 1: I haven't booked that part of the tour yet, so
Speaker 1: you're just going to have to listen to the future
Speaker 1: or look at my substack where I'll be talking more
Speaker 1: about being on tour and you should come. If I
Speaker 1: talk fast enough then it sounds exciting. That's my theory.
Speaker 1: I'll talk to you next week. It could Happen here
Speaker 1: as a production of cool Zone Media. For more podcasts
Speaker 1: from cool Zone Media, visit our website cool Zonemedia dot com,
Speaker 1: or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts,
Speaker 1: or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources
Speaker 1: for It Could Happen Here, updated monthly at cool Zone
Speaker 1: need to dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening.