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chelidonThanks to the dear friend who posted "A Feri Response to Bullshit....." You know who you are. Much appreciated, sis, may I return the favor one day.
In the meantime, three stories in return, from Lord Dunsany's delightful, quirky 1915 edition of "Fifty-one Tales":
A Mistaken Identity
Fame as she walked at evening in a city saw the painted face of Notoriety flaunting beneath a gas-lamp, and many kneeled unto her in the dirt of the road.
"Who are you?" Fame said to her.
"I am Fame," said Notoriety.
Then Fame stole softly away so that no one knew she had gone.
And Notoriety presently went forth and all her worshippers rose and followed after, and she led them, as was most meet, to her native Pit.
The Demagogue and the Demi-monde
A demagogue and a demi-mondaine chanced to arrive together at the gate of Paradise. And the Saint looked sorrowfully at them both.
"Why were you a demagogue?" he said to the first.
"Because," said the demagogue, "I stood for those principles that have made us what we are and have endeared our Party to the great heart of the people. In a word I stood unflinchingly on the plank of popular representation."
"And you?"" said the Saint to her of the demi-monde.
"I wanted money," said the demi-mondaine.
And after some moments' thought the Saint said: "Well, come in; though you don't deserve to."
But to the demagogue he said: "We genuinely regret that the limited space at our disposal and our unfortunate lack of interest in those Questions that you have gone so far as to inculcate and have so ably upheld in the past, prevent us from giving you the support for which you seek."
And he shut the golden door.
The Storm
They saw a little ship that was far at sea and that went by the name of the Petite Esperance. And because of its uncouth rig and its lonely air and the look that it had of coming from strangers' lands they said: "It is neither a ship to greet nor desire, nor yet to succor when in the hands of the sea."
And the sea rose up as is the wont of the sea and the little ship from afar was in his hands, and frailer than ever seemed its feeble masts with their sails of fantastic cut and their alien flags. And the sea made a great and very triumphing voice, as the sea doth. And then there arose a wave that was very strong, even the ninth-born son of the hurricane and the tide, and hid the little ship and hid the whole of the far parts of the sea. Thereat said those who stood on the good dry land:
"'Twas but a little, worthless, alien ship and it is sunk at sea, and it is good and right that the storm have spoil." And they turned and watched the course of the merchantmen, laden with silver and appeasing spice; year after year they cheered them into port and praised their goods and their familiar sails. And many years went by.
And at last with decks and bulwarks covered with cloth of gold; with age-old parrots that had known the troubadours, singing illustrious songs and preening their feathers of gold; with a hold full of emeralds and rubies; all silken with Indian loot; furling as it came in its way-worn alien sails, a galleon glided into port, shutting the sunlight from the merchantmen: and lo! it loomed the equal of the cliff's.
"Who are you," they asked, "far-travelled, wonderful ship?"
And they said: "The Petite Esperance."
"O," said the people on shore. "We thought you were sunk at sea."
"Sunk at sea?" sang the sailors. "We could not be sunk at sea -- we had the gods on board."
In the meantime, three stories in return, from Lord Dunsany's delightful, quirky 1915 edition of "Fifty-one Tales":
A Mistaken Identity
Fame as she walked at evening in a city saw the painted face of Notoriety flaunting beneath a gas-lamp, and many kneeled unto her in the dirt of the road.
"Who are you?" Fame said to her.
"I am Fame," said Notoriety.
Then Fame stole softly away so that no one knew she had gone.
And Notoriety presently went forth and all her worshippers rose and followed after, and she led them, as was most meet, to her native Pit.
The Demagogue and the Demi-monde
A demagogue and a demi-mondaine chanced to arrive together at the gate of Paradise. And the Saint looked sorrowfully at them both.
"Why were you a demagogue?" he said to the first.
"Because," said the demagogue, "I stood for those principles that have made us what we are and have endeared our Party to the great heart of the people. In a word I stood unflinchingly on the plank of popular representation."
"And you?"" said the Saint to her of the demi-monde.
"I wanted money," said the demi-mondaine.
And after some moments' thought the Saint said: "Well, come in; though you don't deserve to."
But to the demagogue he said: "We genuinely regret that the limited space at our disposal and our unfortunate lack of interest in those Questions that you have gone so far as to inculcate and have so ably upheld in the past, prevent us from giving you the support for which you seek."
And he shut the golden door.
The Storm
They saw a little ship that was far at sea and that went by the name of the Petite Esperance. And because of its uncouth rig and its lonely air and the look that it had of coming from strangers' lands they said: "It is neither a ship to greet nor desire, nor yet to succor when in the hands of the sea."
And the sea rose up as is the wont of the sea and the little ship from afar was in his hands, and frailer than ever seemed its feeble masts with their sails of fantastic cut and their alien flags. And the sea made a great and very triumphing voice, as the sea doth. And then there arose a wave that was very strong, even the ninth-born son of the hurricane and the tide, and hid the little ship and hid the whole of the far parts of the sea. Thereat said those who stood on the good dry land:
"'Twas but a little, worthless, alien ship and it is sunk at sea, and it is good and right that the storm have spoil." And they turned and watched the course of the merchantmen, laden with silver and appeasing spice; year after year they cheered them into port and praised their goods and their familiar sails. And many years went by.
And at last with decks and bulwarks covered with cloth of gold; with age-old parrots that had known the troubadours, singing illustrious songs and preening their feathers of gold; with a hold full of emeralds and rubies; all silken with Indian loot; furling as it came in its way-worn alien sails, a galleon glided into port, shutting the sunlight from the merchantmen: and lo! it loomed the equal of the cliff's.
"Who are you," they asked, "far-travelled, wonderful ship?"
And they said: "The Petite Esperance."
"O," said the people on shore. "We thought you were sunk at sea."
"Sunk at sea?" sang the sailors. "We could not be sunk at sea -- we had the gods on board."
