The Scholar's Story E-Book

Elizabeth Gaskell

• Herausgeber: Elizabeth Gaskell
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell (29 September 1810 — 12 November 1865) was an English novelist and short story writer during the Victorian era. Her novels offer a detailed portrait of the lives of many strata of society, including the very poor, and are of interest to social historians as well as lovers of literature.

Leseprobe

The Scholar's Story

Household Words, Extra Christmas Number, 1853

By

Elizabeth Gaskell

I.

SOLE child of her house, a lovely maid,

In the lordly balls of Rohan played.

Played till thirteen, when her sire was bent

To see her wed; and she gave consent.

And many a lord of high degree

Came suing, her chosen knight to be;

But amongst them all there pleased her none

Save the noble Count Mathieu alone;

Lord of the Castle of Trongoli,

A princely knight of Italy.

To him so courteous, true, and brave,

Her heart the maiden freely gave.

Three years since the day they first were wed

In peace and in bliss away had sped,

When tidings came on the winds abroad

That all were to take the cross of God.

Then spake the Count like a noble knight:

“Aye first in birth should be first in fight!

“And, since to this Paynim war I must,

Dear cousin, I leave thee here in trust.

“My wife and my child I leave to thee;

Guard them, good clerk, as thy life for me!”

Early next morn, from his castle gate,

As rode forth the knight in bannered state,

Down the marble steps, all full of fears,

The lady hied her, with moans and tears —

“The loving, sweet lady, sobbing wild —

And, laid on her breast, her baby child.

She ran to her lord with breathless speed,

As backward he reined his fiery steed;

She caught and she clasped him round the knee;

She wept, and she prayed him piteously:

“Oh stay with me, stay! my lord, my love!

Go not, I beg, by the saints above;

“Leave me not here alone, I pray,

To weep on your baby’s face alway!”

The knight was touched with her sad despair,

And fondly gazed on her face so fair;

And stretched out his hand, and stooping low,

Raised her up straight to his saddle-bow;

And held her pressed to his bosom then,

And kissed her o’er and o’er agen.

“Come, dry these tears, my little Joan;

A single year, it will soon be flown!”

His baby dear in his arms he took,

And looked on him with a proud, fond look:

“My boy, when thou’rt a man,” said he,

Wilt ride to the wars along with me?”

Then away he spurred across the plain,

And old and young they wept amain;

Both rich and poor, wept every one;

But that same clerk — ah! he wept none.

II