July 18, 2018 – davidbruceblog #2

The English had taken the town of Orleans. Inside the town, Lord Talbot, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Burgundy, a Captain, and some others were standing.

The Duke of Bedford said, “The day begins to break, and it now has fled the night, whose pitch-black mantle over-veiled the Earth. Here we will sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.”

The retreat sounded.

Lord Talbot said, “Bring forth the body of the old Earl of Salisbury, and here raise it in the marketplace, the middle center of this cursed town. Now I have paid the vow I made to his soul; for every drop of blood that was drawn from him, at least five Frenchmen have died tonight. And so that future ages may behold what devastation happened in revenge of him, within their most important temple — the cathedral — I’ll erect a tomb in which his corpse shall be interred. Upon the tomb so that everyone may read it shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, the treacherous manner of his mournful death, and what a terror he had been to France.

“But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I wonder that we did not meet with his ‘grace’ the Dauphin, his newly come champion — the ‘virtuous’ Joan of Arc — or with any of his false confederates.”

The Duke of Bedford said, “It is thought, Lord Talbot, that when the fight began, roused suddenly from their drowsy beds, amongst the troops of armed men they leapt over the wall in order to find refuge in the fields.”

The Duke of Burgundy said, “As for myself, as far as I could well see through the smoke and dusky vapors of the night, I am sure I scared the Dauphin and his slut; they both came swiftly running arm in arm as if they were a pair of loving turtledoves that could not live apart day or night. After things are set in order here, we’ll follow them with all the power we have.”

A messenger arrived and said, “All hail, my lords! Which of this Princely train do you call the warlike Talbot because of his acts throughout the realm of France that are so much applauded?”

Lord Talbot said, “Here is the Talbot. Who wants to speak with him?”

The messenger replied, “The virtuous French lady, the Countess of Auvergne, with modesty admiring your renown, by me entreats, great lord, you to agree to visit her poor castle where she lives, so that she may boast she has beheld the man whose glory fills the world with loud acclamation.”

The Duke of Burgundy said, “Is that so? So, then, I see that our wars will turn into a peaceful comic sport, when ladies crave to be encountered with.”

One meaning of “to encounter” was “to have sex.”

He added, “You may not, my lord, despise her gentle request. You must see her.”

“Never trust me if I despise her gentle request,” Lord Talbot said, “for when a world of men could not prevail with all their oratory and rhetoric, yet a woman’s kindness has prevailed, and therefore, messenger, tell her that I return great thanks to her and as she requests I will visit her.”

He then asked the other lords, “Will not your honors bear me company when I visit her?”

“No, truly,” the Duke of Bedford said. “It is more than manners demand, and I have heard it said that uninvited guests are often most welcome when they are gone.”

“Well then I will go alone, since there’s no remedy,” Lord Talbot said. “I mean to try this lady’s courtesy.”

He then said, “Come here, Captain.”

He whispered to the Captain and then asked, “Do you understand your orders?”

The Captain replied, “I do, my lord, and I will obey them.”

— 2.3 —

The Countess of Auvergne and her porter were in her castle, preparing for Lord Talbot’s visit. Porters take care of gates and entrances.

She said, “Porter, remember what I ordered you to do, and when you have done that, bring the keys to me.”

“Madam, I will,” the porter said, and then he exited.

Alone, the Countess of Auvergne said to herself, “The plot is laid. If all things fall out right, as a result of this exploit I shall become as famous as the Scythian Tomyris became by Cyrus the Great’s death.”

Tomyris, the Queen of the Scythians, sought revenge for the death of her son, who committed suicide after being captured by the Persian King Cyrus the Great’s army. Queen Tomyris led an army against Cyrus the Great’s army, and her army was triumphant and killed Cyrus the Great. According to the Greek historian Herodotus, she had Cyrus the Great’s body decapitated and then took his head and shoved it into a wineskin filled with human blood, saying as she did so, “I warned you that I would quench your thirst for blood!”

The Countess of Auvergne continued, “Great is the rumored reputation of this dreaded knight, and his achievements are of no less account. My eyes and my ears would gladly witness him so that they can criticize and judge these rare reports.”

The messenger entered the room, accompanied by Lord Talbot, who was carrying a horn.

The messenger said, “Madam, just as your ladyship desired, and by message craved, so has Lord Talbot come to visit you.”

“And he is welcome,” the Countess of Auvergne said. “What! Is this the man?”

“Madam, he is,” the messenger said.

“Is this man the scourge of France?” the Countess of Auvergne asked. “Is this the Talbot, who is so much feared abroad that with his name mothers quiet their babes? I see that the reports about him are fabulous and false. I thought that I should have seen some Hercules, a second Hector, for his grim aspect, and the large size of his strongly knit and muscular limbs. Alas, this is a child, a feeble dwarf! It cannot be true that this weak and wrinkled shrimp strikes such terror in his enemies.”

Hercules was an enormously strong PanHellenic hero, famous for the labors he performed in the ancient world. Hector was the greatest Trojan warrior during the Trojan War.

“Madam, I have been bold to trouble you,” Lord Talbot said. “But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I’ll arrange some other time to visit you.”

He turned to leave.

“What is he doing?” the Countess of Auvergne asked. “Go and ask him where he is going.”

“Stay, my Lord Talbot,” the messenger said, “for my lady wants to know the reason for your abrupt departure.”

“I want to show her that she is mistaken,” Lord Talbot said. “I go to certify to her that Talbot is here.”

The Countess of Auvergne thought that Lord Talbot was unimpressive. He was leaving to show her that he in fact was a man who was in control.

The porter came back. He had done his job of locking the gate to the courtyard.

The Countess of Auvergne said, “If you are Talbot, then you are a prisoner.”

“A prisoner!” Lord Talbot said. “To whom?”

“To me, bloodthirsty lord,” the Countess of Auvergne said. “That is the reason I lured you to my house. For a long time your shadow — your appearance — has been a captive to me, for in my gallery your picture hangs. But now the substance — the real man — shall endure the same captivity, and I will chain these legs and arms of yours that have by tyranny these many years wasted our country, slain our citizens, and sent our sons and husbands into captivity.”

Lord Talbot laughed.

“Are you laughing, wretch?” the Countess of Auvergne said. “Your laughing shall change to moaning.”

Lord Talbot said, “I laugh to see that your ladyship is so foolish as to think that you have anything other than Talbot’s shadow on which to practice your cruelty.”

“Why, aren’t you Talbot?” the Countess of Auvergne asked.

“I am indeed.”

“Then I have your substance as well as your shadow.”

“No, no,” Talbot said. “I am only the shadow of myself. You are deceived; my substance is not here, for what you see in front of you is only the smallest part and least proportion of manhood. I tell you, madam, that if the whole frame were here, it is of such a spacious lofty height, your roof were not sufficiently high to contain it.”

He meant that although he was the leader of the English army, he was only a small part of that army. He may have been the head of the army, but the army was the body. His army was much too large for the Countess of Auvergne’s castle to contain.

The Countess of Auvergne said, “This man is a purveyor of riddles for the occasion. Talbot is here, and yet he is not here. How can these contradictory facts agree?”

“I will show you that right now,” Lord Talbot said.

He blew his horn. Military drums started playing, and a cannon fired a cannonball through the courtyard gate. Armed English soldiers rushed into the room.

“What do you say now, madam?” Lord Talbot said. “Are you now persuaded that Talbot is only a shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength with which he yokes and makes submit your rebellious necks, razes your cities, and destroys your towns and in a moment makes them desolate.”

“Victorious Talbot!” the Countess of Auvergne said. “Pardon my deception. I find that you are no less than your fame and reputation have proclaimed you to be and that you are more than may be gathered by your shape. Let my presumption not provoke your wrath, for I am sorry that I did not treat you with reverence as you are.”

“Be not dismayed, fair lady,” Lord Talbot said. “And do not misconstrue the mind of Talbot, as you misconstrued the outward composition of his body. What you have done has not offended me, and I do not crave other satisfaction except only, with your permission, that we may taste your wine and see what delicacies you have, for soldiers’ stomachs always serve them well.”

The Countess of Auvergne replied, “With all my heart, and believe that I am honored to feast so great a warrior in my house.”

***

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David Bruce: Music Anecdotes

The Ramones were an odd-looking group to many people in the American Midwest. On one tour, they had been in a van for hours, and when they finally got out—somewhat bedraggled—and went into a Texas gas-station mini-market, the gas-station attendant turned to tour manager Monte A. Melnick and said, “It’s so nice of you to take care of those retarded boys.” Other people grouped the Ramones with such bands as the Sex Pistols because they played punk rock. Of course, the Sex Pistols were loud and cruel in their personal lives, and they trashed motel rooms. In the 1970s, in Cincinnati, Ohio, the Ramones stayed in a motel where the Sex Pistols had stayed, and Mr. Melnick saw this note behind the desk: “Watch out for the Ramones. They are dangerous.” Actually, the Ramones didn’t trash many motel or hotel rooms—they simply weren’t making enough money to pay for the damage. Not making much money led to some creative cost-cutting maneuvers. They discovered that in exchange for a few autographed photographs, they could often get free meals at such restaurants as the Cracker Barrel, and so they carried around a lot of autographed photographs just for that purpose.

As a child, future heavyweight champion Joe Louis sometimes fought other children in the streets. His mother wanted him to stay busy and stay out of trouble, so she bought him a violin and made him take violin lessons, something for which he had no aptitude. Of course, many of the people around him teased him about the violin. One day, Golden Gloves champion Thurston McKinney invited him to spar for a few rounds. At first, Mr. McKinney was able to hit Mr. Louis at will, but Mr. Louis got mad and hit Mr. McKinney—hard. Mr. McKinnon shook it off, then advised Mr. Louis, “Man, throw that violin away!” Mr. Louis did get rid of the violin. Another kid teased him once too often about it, so Mr. Louis broke it over the kid’s head.

Jazz musicians strive for perfection in their improvising; in fact, this striving is what Oscar Peterson calls the “will to perfection,” which he explains by saying that “it requires you to collect all your senses, emotions, physical strength, and mental power, and focus them entirely onto the performance, with utter dedication, every time you play. And if that is scary, it is also uniquely exciting … you never get rid of it. Nor do you want to, for you come to believe that if you get it all right, you will be capable of virtually anything.” As important as perfection is, however, one thing is more important than perfection: the striving toward perfection. Coleman Hawkins performed a brilliant solo in the Freedom Now Suite, but as brilliant as the solo was, a squeak appeared in it. The squeak could easily have been edited out for the album, but Mr. Hawkins insisted, “Don’t splice that! When it’s all perfect in a piece like this, there’s something very wrong.”

Younger musicians are often in awe of older, more established musicians. The 18-year-old jazz saxophonist Charlie “Bird” Parker washed dishes at Jimmy’s Chicken Shack, a nightclub in Harlem. Playing at the nightclub was jazz pianist Art Tatum. Mr. Parker learned about improvisation from Mr. Tatum during the three months that they worked at Jimmy’s Chicken Shack, but he was so in awe of Mr. Tatum that he never spoke to him. Of course, older musicians tend not to be in awe of younger musicians, even immensely talented young musicians. In 1943, the 23-year-old Bird was playing tenor saxophone in a style that he helped invent. Older tenor saxophonist Ben Webster, who played for Duke Ellington, took the horn out of Bird’s mouth and told him, “That horn ain’t supposed to sound that fast.”

Mishaps did occur when Bob Hope was entertaining the troops. While on a plane headed for Iceland, Les Brown, who provided music for Mr. Hope’s USO tours, learned that his drummer wasn’t on board, so the plane turned around to get the drummer. Once back in the air, Mr. Brown discovered that the sax player wasn’t on board, so the plane turned around to get the sax player. This time, the pilot of the plane wanted a head count before taking off again, but Mr. Brown said, “That won’t be necessary. Get out your instruments, fellas, and strike a chord. I’ll know then if anyone is missing.”

When Gustav Mahler was conductor of the Berlin Symphony Orchestra, anti-Semites made fun of his prominent nose, which they called Jewish. (In fact, he was a Jew.) Tiring of the anti-Semitism, Mr. Mahler eventually left Berlin and began working in Vienna. Because of Mr. Mahler’s talent as a conductor and as a composer, Berlin music lovers wanted him back, and they soon wrote him that conditions in Berlin had changed. Mr. Mahler wrote back, “Conditions may have changed, but my nose is still the same.”

Famed photographer Yousuf Karsh took cellist Pablo Casals’ portrait from the back, something he rarely did. The portrait was once on exhibit at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, and an elderly man came into the museum and stood in front of the portrait for a long time each day. Curious, the curator of the exhibit asked the old man, “Sir, why do you come here day after day and stand in front of this portrait?” The old man replied, “Hush, young man, hush. Can’t you see? I am listening to the music.”

Stephen Foster decided to write a song, and he asked his brother to name a Southern river that he could write the song about. His brother suggested the Pee Dee River, but Mr. Foster rejected his suggestion and instead wrote the lyric “Way Down Upon the Swanee River.” (The title of the song is “Old Folks at Home.”) Mr. Foster had deliberately misspelled “Suwannee” to fit the rhythm, and he never saw the Florida river. As advertising copywriter Edward S. Jordan writes, the brother knew geography, but Mr. Foster knew rhythm.

When Sophie Tucker needed an accompanist, she told Ted Shapiro to audition, and if he was good enough, she would give him a contract. Forty years later, Mr. Shapiro was still accompanying Ms. Tucker, and he still didn’t have a contract.

***

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Edgar Lee Masters: The Unknown (Spoon River Anthology)

YE aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown
Who lies here with no stone to mark the place.
As a boy reckless and wanton,
Wandering with gun in hand through the forest
Near the mansion of Aaron Hatfield,
I shot a hawk perched on the top
Of a dead tree. He fell with guttural cry
At my feet, his wing broken.
Then I put him in a cage
Where he lived many days cawing angrily at me
When I offered him food.
Daily I search the realms of Hades
For the soul of the hawk,
That I may offer him the friendship
Of one whom life wounded and caged.