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| Parables: De Rei Cordis |
Posted by
Arthegarn on Saturday, August 24, 2002 - 04:18 AM PST
This is just a little something I wrote recently about the consequences of pain. I guess you all know what I am talking about... I have wanted to translate and post it for quite some time, but didn't have the chance until now. Well, here it goes.
DE REI CORDIS
The city of Cor was born, pure and shining, so long ago and in such a gradual way, that no one remembers its true origins are lost in antiquity. Its inhabitants always had a reputation for being generous and cheerful and the city, situated in the cross point of several trade routes, was, from its remote foundation, a milestone for the merchant’s caravans who traded with the exotic Orient. Being as it was several weeks away from the nearest comparable city, travelers arrived at Cor exhausted, desiring only to rest and enjoy themselves for a few days before resuming their journey towards East or West.
Its citizens’ good humour was contagious and no sadness lasted long amongst their songs and laughers. After some visits, all merchants making these routes took heart in the most hazardous moments of their journey by thinking that soon they’d see Cor again with its cheerful denizens all dressed in white, its lovely small houses, its immense flower fields and the sun glittering in the sky.
The caravans grew and became more numerous, and the people from Cor soon started to dedicate themselves to little more than cheering these merchants who stayed in their city. The caravans, rich in gold when they went East and in trade when went West, left part of their riches in the city as a payment for the city’s hospitality, and often they also left small gifts for their hosts. With this gold Cor could buy from the small peasant towns nearby all it needed to subsist. Thanks to these trade goods, there was an abundance of linen, cotton, silk and perfume, and its people enjoyed, with joy and simplicity, luxuries that would have made pale the Court of the Emperor himself. Its population grew in beauty and in number, as did the travelers who visited it.
Time went by and the first generations of merchants grew old and decided to retire. Many chose to do so in that beautiful city which evoked so many good memories, and there they went with their fortunes. They built temples and palaces making the city more splendorous and beautiful, and always kept it open and joyful. Cor grew richer without stop, due to not only the gold and the riches of the merchants, but also with the stories about far countries that they brought with them.
Cor’s fame grew and expanded. The best bards and minstrels came to hear new songs and sing the ones from their own lands; or to listen to some ancient and nearly forgotten ones. Many new songs were composed in that city. The sages from far off lands came to consult with its elders, counted amongst the wisest in the World because they accumulated the ancestral wisdom of so many different cultures and traditions. With time many libraries were built in Cor, magnificent buildings that offered their knowledge to all those who wanted to learn it. Architects brought new techniques, new arches, vaults, and domes with them. Cor became the happy, pulsating heart of that land, dissipating tiredness wherever it existed. Many people came to Cor to marvel at its beauty and joy.
These travelers told stories about their homelands, some populated by blue-eyed, golden-manned warriors who forgot in Cor their wars, others by ambitious tradesmen who in Cor forgot their traveling lust, others by frowning, serious conquistadors who forgot in Cor their ruling desires. They told stories about the lands they had traveled; lands populated by black men with golden rings on their noses, or yellow men who let their fingernails long, or green men who worshipped fifty million different gods. Cor prospered in culture as well as in wealth: all its citizens could read and write, they could speak a myriad of different languages, talk about any theme, and they also were the best of audiences, always ready to marvel with the stories the travelers told.
It happened that news of the city and its riches came to the ears of a petty barbarian king whose name is lost to History, who decided to conquer it. And so, with the coming of winter and the caravans being scarcer, he galloped to the city leading his many warriors and took it. He was surprised to find such a jewel in the plains without armies or walls, and more so when he saw with how much joy and generosity his warriors were greeted. Thinking that the leaders of Cor had surrendered in fear at the sight of his men, he entered the city on horseback and decided to enjoy himself in the only grotesque way he knew.
He ate and drank and then, having satiated two of his three obscene appetites, he decided to satisfy the third with one of the serving girls. When she resisted he forced her, and when Victor, the man who loved her, tried to defend her, this brutal barbarian took up his saber and killed him. And then, with the fall of the first drop of blood, Hell broke loose in Cor. His men raped, murdered, stole, and abused at will while the people of Cor ran terrified unable to understand what was happening.
The next morning the people of Cor woke up cold and numb after having slept outside their stolen and sullied homes. The signs of the abuses, the dead, and the wounded were all around them and something unknown gripped the people of Cor. They waited for the night serving their new masters and then, while the barbarians who had not already left with their booty slept recovering from the orgy of death and destruction they had committed last night, they murdered them one by one, dismembered their bodies with no ceremony, and fed their pigs with them.
After that they beheld their lovely city in ruins: many of the beautiful temples and palaces had been plundered and burned, the great Library had been aflame all night, the marble of their streets was no longer white but red and black. They decided that such tragedy would never happen again, and they built around their city such large walls nobody could ever climb them, and they withdrew inside to rebuild their city.
Winter passed and spring thaw arrived. Word of to Cor spread from kingdom to kingdom and all those who heard it were filled with pity and indignation. Those who had been to Cor decided to return to help the people of Cor who had helped them without asking for anything in return. Whomever had ever heard a song carried a lyre, whomever had ever had cherished a book carried three, whomever had ever heard a prayer carried an icon, whomever had ever laughed carried himself. A great caravan reached Cor with help and presents with the first blooms of spring, made of the blond and the dark, the black and the white, the green and the yellow.
The people of Cor heard their arrival through the immense gates and cheered. As they were about to open the doors, the first lass forced by the nameless barbarian king, the first one who had lost her love under the invaders’ sword, cried out.
“Fools!” she said “What are you doing? What are you trying? How are going to open the doors? Don’t you realize that, doubtlessly, the warriors who escaped our revenge have returned with more of their own to avenge the death of comrades? Don’t open those doors or we will face them again, them and their destruction”
The men at the other side of the walls heard that and cried that it was them, the merchants, the minstrels, the doctors and the sages, that they only wanted to help them, and that if they were given the chance they would prove so.
But the walls surrounding Cor were so high that nobody could climb them, and those inside could not see those outside. It was all a matter of faith. The Legate of Cor looked at his fellow citizens and considered his options: the city could survive without the help of those outside if they were those they claimed to be, but if they were not so, a new attack would be devastating. And he made his decision and the doors remained shut and all those who loved that city could not enter to help it, but the city was intact.
And intact it remained for many generations, enjoying its riches. And its people lived safe and without more trouble than the ordinary, but never again were any new songs heard, nor any stories from far away lands, nor did their hearts rejoice in the simple pleasure of giving pleasure to somebody else.
The name of that Legate didn’t make it into History either, nor the name of the lass.
Here is the original translation
DE REI CORDIS
The city of Cor was born, pure and shining, so long ago and in such a gradual way that no one remembers its true origins, which were doubtlessly antique. Its inhabitants always had a reputation for being generous and cheerful and the city, situated in the crosspoint of several trade routes, was from its remote foundation a milestone for the merchant’s caravans who traded with the exotic Orient. Being as it was several weeks away from the nearest comparable city, travellers arrived to Cor exhausted, with a desire to repose and enjoy themselves for a few days before resuming their journey towards east or west. Its citizens’ good humour was contagious and no pity lasted long amongst their songs and laughers. After some visits, all merchants making these routes took force in the most hazardous moments of their journey thinking that soon they’d see Cor again, with its cheerful denizens all dressed in white, its lovely small houses, its immense flower fields and the sun glittering in the sky.
The caravans grew and become more numerous, and the people from Cor soon started to dedicate themselves to little more than cheering these merchants who staid in their city. The caravans, rich in gold when they went East and in trade when went West, left part of their riches in the city as a payment for the city’s hospitality, and many times they also left a small token to their hosts. With that gold Cor could buy from the small peasant towns nearby all it needed to subsist, and thanks to these trade goods there was never lack of linen or cotton or silk or perfume, and its people enjoyed, with joy and simplicity, of luxuries that would have made pale the Court of the Emperor himself. Its population grew in beauty and in number, as the travellers who visited it.
The time went by and the first generation of merchants grew old until they decided to retire. And many chose to do so in that beautiful city which so many good memories evoked, and there they went with their fortunes. They built temples and palaces, they engranded the city, and always kept it open and joyful. On the meantime Cor got richer without a stop, not only due to the gold and the riches of the travellers, but also with the stories about far countries that they brought along. Stories about the lands they came from, populated some by blue-eyed, golden-manned warriors who forgot in Cor their wars, others by ambitious tradesmen who in Cor forgot their travelling lust, others by frowning, serious conquistadors who forgot in Cor their ruling desires. And also stories about the lands they travelled to, lands populated by black men with golden rings on their noses, or yellow men who let their fingernails long, or green men who worshipped fifty million different gods., Cor prospered in culture as well as in wealth: all its citizens could read and write, they could speak a myriad of different languages, talk about any theme, and they also were the best of audiences, always ready to marvel with the stories the travellers told.
Cor’s fame grew and expanded. The best bards and minstrels travelled there to hear new songs and sing the ones from their own lands; or to listen some ancient and forgotten ones and sing themselves the new ones. The sages went to consult with its elders, who counted themselves amongst the wisest in the World as they accumulated the ancestral wisdom of so many different cultures and traditions. With time many bibliotheques were built in Cor, magnificent buildings that offered their knowledge to all those who wanted to learn it. Architects brought new techniques, new arches and vaults and domes with them. Cor became the happy, pulsating heart of that land, dissipating tiredness wherever it existed.
But so it happened that news of the city and its riches came to the ears of some petty barbarian king whose name did no enter History, who decided to conquer it. And so, leading his many warriors, as soon as the caravans started being more scarce with the coming of winter, he galloped to the city and took it. At the beginning, he was surprised to find such a jewel in the plains without armies or walls, and more so when he saw with how much joy and generosity his warriors were greeted. Thinking that perhaps Cor had laid down in fear at the sight of his men, he entered the city on horseback and decided to enjoy himself in the only grotesque way he knew. He ate and drank and then, having satiated two of his three obscene appetites, he decided to satisfy the third with one of the serving girls. When she resisted he forced her, and when Victor, the man who loved her, tried to defend her, he killed him with his sabre. And then, with the fall of the first drop of blood, Hell broke loose in Cor and his men raped, murdered and abused at will while the people of Cor ran terrified with no understanding of what was happening.
The mooring after the people of Cor woke up. Cold and numb after having slept outside their homes, these vexed, abused those, wounded or dead the third ones, something unknown grabbed a hold on them. They waited for the night serving their new masters and then, while those who had not already left with their booty slept recovering from the orgy of death and destruction they had committed last night, they murdered them one by one and dismembered their bodies with no ceremony, and fed their pigs with them.
After that they beheld their lovely city in ruins: many of the beautiful temples and palaces had been plundered and burned, the great Bibliotheque had been aflame all night, the marble of their streets was no longer white but red and black. And they decided that such tragedy would never happen again, and they built around their city such large walls nobody could ever climb them, and they withdrew inside they to reconstruct their city.
Winter passed and spring arrived. And word of what had happened to Cor was heard across all kingdoms, and filled with pity and indignation all those who heard it. And, spontaneously, al, those who had ever been to Cor decided to return to help those who had helped them without asking for anything in return. Whomever had ever heard a song carried a lyre, whomever had ever looked up in a book carried three, whomever had ever heard a prayer carried an icon, whomever had ever laughed carried himself. And a great caravan reached Cor with help and presents with the first blooms of spring, made of the blond and the dark, the black and the white, the green and the yellow.
The people of Cor heard their arrival through the immense gates and cheered. And so they were just to open the doors when the first lass who had been forced by the horde’s chieftain, the first one who had lost her love under the invaders’ sword made herself heard by his fellow citizens.
“Fools!” she said “What are you doing? What are you trying? How are going to open the doors? Don’t you realise that, doubtlessly, the warriors who escaped our revenge have returned with more of their own to avenge the death of those of their comrades who stayed here? Don’t open those doors again or we will face them again, them and their destruction”
The men at the other side of the walls heard that and cried that it was them, the merchants, the minstrels, the doctors and the sages, that they only wanted to help them, and that if they were given the chance they would prove so. But the walls surrounding Cor were so high that nobody could climb them, and those inside could not see those outside. It was all a matter of faith. The Legate of Cor looked at his fellow citizens and considered his options: the city could survive without the help of those outside if they were those they claimed to be. But if they were not so, a new attack would be devastating. And he took his decision and the doors remained shut and all those who loved that city could not enter to help it, but the city was intact
And intact it remained for many generations, enjoying its riches. And its people lived safe and without more trouble than the ordinary, but never again were any new songs heard, nor any stories from far lands, nor their hearts rejoiced in the simple pleasure of giving pleasure to somebody else
The name of that Legate didn’t make it into History, neither. Nor the name of that lass
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| Note: At the bottem is the original translation. This has been edited to impart the feel of the parable or ancient story in a more American pattern. |
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| De Rei Cordis | Login/Create an account | 5 Comments |
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Re: De Rei Cordis
by dead-cell (Tarant-zero@nandomail.com)
on Aug 25, 2002 - 06:35 AM
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Great story Arthegarn; can't believ no one else has posted a reply.
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Re: De Rei Cordis
by dead-cell (Tarant-zero@nandomail.com)
on Aug 25, 2002 - 06:36 AM
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Great story Arthegarn; can't believe no one else has posted a reply.
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Re: De Rei Cordis
by Shade (Shade@Gothcult.com)
on Aug 29, 2002 - 10:16 AM
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http://www.hotelshade.com
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Wow, that was really well written. It makes you stop and think about your life and all the walls we build in response to pain. I hate to think what we may be missing and losing by not allowing those who would help us back into our hearts. Thank you for a beautiful lesson Arthegarn.
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