“Pride is a Luxury
That Few Can Afford”
“It is a rare bird who can grace the world with such
beauty”, thought Peacock to himself. He
would look in the mirrored lake of the palace ground each morning and preen,
for that was his one, solitary duty and he looked after it with due
solemnity. He spent each waking hour
(and perhaps some sleeping ones too) polishing the gloss on his feathers,
practicing the art of fanning and turning his head to the most flattering angle. One day he reached the peak of his perfection,
why, he was radiant in his handsome refinement.
He caught the eye of the princess, who promptly ordered him to the
castle. Once inside he was massaged and
covered in all manner of unctuous perfumed concoctions. Shortly thereafter his neck was wrung, each
beautiful feather was removed unceremoniously from his chicken-y body and he
was shoved into the ovens a confused-looking and ugly bird. After he was done baking, each lustrous
feather was painstakingly replaced and he was rested upon a platter made of the
finest gold. But it did not matter one
jot to Peacock. Because he was dead.
Pride yourself in your
accomplishments but be wary, lest self-satisfaction lead to passionate
consumption. Do not make oneself seem
too tasty for the eaters of this world.
“Music is the Food”
A woman designed to be the first to heal with the sound of
her lyre. When she was but a youth, she
had been jilted by a man she had thought loved her entirely. She hoped to prevent that for others in her
station. She would not knit bones together as some claimed the wizard “doctors”
could do, but would aim, instead, to heal the hearts of broken people. So she spent the next decade honing her
skills and sacrificing every aspect of her life in devotion to this one
goal. She knew exactly what chord would
send tears back behind the eyes, which melody would make a person put down a
self-destructive dagger and dance as if she was playing them instead. She fed the love-starved and gave them a
feast of emotional satisfaction. The
woman had such success that she was sought far and wide for her powers of
joy-giving. The only requirement she had
was that she would always be separated from the audience by a thick curtain. Otherwise the restored man or woman would be
wont to fall in love with her themselves, caught up in the emotion of her
song. Decades passed and she helped
anyone who came to her in need. One
night, as she played for a man on the opposite side of the curtain, she felt a
familiar sensation as she heard the man cry his last tears while he spilled his
woeful tale. He had left the one person
he had ever loved many years ago in order to fulfill an obligation of marriage
he was bound to when he was but a child.
His wife had died some years back and he had gone in search of his young
love only to find that she lived at home no longer and so he had spent all the
years until now searching for her. His
heart had ached so eloquently for so many years. And as her song finished its magic spell, he
dried his tears and began to hum. The
woman threw back the curtain just in time to see the man from her youth leave
with not a care in the world.
Unfortunately, she had cured him of his love for her. In all this time, the woman had failed to
heal her own heart and upon that point, died of a broken one.
Desire neither good
nor ill and you will never be disappointed.
Like I am disappointed in my son, who is a laze-about. Heinrich, do the dishes for the sake of all
the saints!
“The View of Others”
Three sisters flocked to the opera house for every bi-weekly
performance. They each hoped to fetch
themselves a handsome husband with large pockets. From their reserved balcony seat, they
watched not the drama on stage, but the rapt audience. Though they struggled in finding worthy suitors,
they were witness to many secrets that people thought secure. But the sisters had become experts in the
social lives of all who attended the shows regularly. Some brought mistresses, others wore fashions
no longer in mode as their finances faltered and still others were the
bachelors on which the sisters fixated.
Oh, lucky man who would be set upon by any one of them. The first sister found herself a gentleman
who attended only with his mother. She
soon inveigled herself to him and corrected the situation when she had the
mother shipped off to a gentile home for convalescing old ladies. The third sister met her match soon after, in
the arms of an usher, with whom she would have run away had the others not
prevented that catastrophe from occurring.
Instead, the two paramours cast lovesick looks at each other throughout
the performances and she swore she would never marry. The second sister, jealous of the first and third
sisters redoubled her efforts and vowed that she would be the next to fall in
love. She had almost given up hope when
she heard a voice that made her tremble.
For the first time in years, she turned her attention to the stage and
there was the opera’s star singing, it would seem, directly to her. He reached out his arms and beckoned, what
could she do but obey? She toppled right
off the balcony and survived only by a quick-thinking surgeon and rapid
trepanning. She spent the rest of her
life with the brilliant, single, rich and handsome doctor. As a patient in his madhouse.
Infatuation sometimes
leads to glorious encounters, sometimes to irreversible brain damage.
“Disinterest
Overcomes Reason”
A musician, renowned far and wide for his songs, as a bard
in the olden days, set his sights on a lovely patron of the music hall. Every time he played there, she was reclined
on a divan, pretending to read, but obviously stealing small glances now and
again. Surely she would feel well and
truly blessed if she could but meet a man of such inarguable talents. After one
of his performances he approached her and told her that he would be willing to
offer her music lessons. She simply
flipped to the next page of her book.
“Ah, playing hard to get, are we, minx?” He laughed to himself. He learned her place of residence from
another regular of the hall and went to pitch his woo. He stood outside and sang his greatest song
of love, knowing that she would have to admit her interest in him and his
music. She opened the window and gazed
upon him with disdain. “Please leave me
alone” was the reply to his heartfelt strumming. He was stunned. He had never before experienced such a
reaction. Surely, it was past a jest
now. She was trying, for some
unfathomable reason, to wound him. “But
you must love me, you have not missed one of my performances at the hall!” he
insisted. She sighed. “I am there every night. I do not even care for the entertainment, I
go for the coffee,” the lady said just before closing the shutters. It didn’t matter, the musician assured
himself. He knew that she worshipped
him, but perhaps did not feel herself worthy to be in his presence. He could understand that. He would just have to convince her that he
was willing to go below his station in order to be with her. He would prove to her that they belonged together. Even if he spent every night in her bushes,
watching, waiting for the first sign of interest. Then he would have her! Even if it took the rest of her pathetic and
sad life.
Often, one is
constrained by lack of proficiency or skill.
Sometimes the person simply does not care what you are doing, nor do
they wish to join in your tatted obsessions.
“The Writ of Fools
Oft Falls Flat”
A man of intellect determined to gain the affection of a
poetess he had lately made acquaintance of.
She scorned him at every meeting: every tearoom, every parlor, every
dinner and every play. This only
increased his ardor to own her heart.
She knew that in certain circles he was considered a genius, but she
found no value in his views, nor did she honor his opinions. To be frank, she thought him a right
dolt. After a few months of his unwanted
attention, it was clear that she would not reciprocate his feelings. The man of intellect would have to find
another means of claiming her. He
appealed to her father and in these days of arranged marriage, it was quietly
decided between the two men that the poetess and he should wed. The night he made his pronouncement, the lady
gave a great groan of disgust and rolled her eyes, planting her face firmly on
the table. No matter. The man would have
what he wanted and she would come around to his way eventually. After a few prone minutes, she lifted her
head and fluttered her eyelashes. “My
dear sir, would you join me for a tea tomorrow afternoon so that I may become
better acquainted with my future spouse?”
His heart leapt with joy and his calculating mind congratulated itself
on their easy victory. He arrived the
next afternoon and immediately began acting as the proprietor of the home. For surely he would inherit the estate soon
enough. His wife-to-be waited on him,
seemingly very anxious to please. “How
is the tea, dear sir? Is it to your
liking?” He nodded that it was adequate
and to prove his pleasure, he took another large sip. But then he began to feel strange. “What is in this tea?” he queried. “Blackberry?”
The poetess immediately straightened up and the haughty look settled
back over her face. “I’m afraid
not.” She settled into the chair next to
him. “You couldn't leave well enough
alone. I actually despise you and your
supposed cleverness. To think, that I
would actually ever submit myself to you!
Ha!” She sipped her non-arsenic
laced tea and watched the man of intellect slowly sink into a stupor that would
eventually lead him to the great land of the afterdeath.
Endeavor for its own
sake is often pointless, holding one up for ridicule among peers, leaving one
bloody and full of regret. Or regretful and full of blood. I am always forgetting which one.
“”A Gentleman’s
Agreement”
Two men of gentle quality went about a picnic on a finally
summer day. “What better way to spend a
free afternoon?” one remarked to the other.
“Indeed.” It was so agreed that they should dilly and dally among the
elite, who had also stepped out for a stroll in the park. Whilst on this stroll, the first man did spot
a lady of rosed-cheeks and fair countenance.
Not wanting to appear too interested, he quickly turned to his companion
and was about to mention his discovery when the bosom friend suddenly let out
an “I say!” The second man quickly made
strides towards the lovely young thing seated, rather scandalously, alone on
the park bench. The first man quickly
apprehended the eager suitor and claimed that he had seen the woman first. Therefore he had first claim upon her. He cited a long honored rule about such
things which were never written down, but supposed to exist, in brotherhood,
between each man. The second man responded
with a “tsk” and pushed his friend out of the way in effort of pursuit. A slap was heard as the first man connected
his upturned palm to the second’s face.
This quickly led into a dirty brawl in the lane and when they had
finished, both were exhausted and neither felt the victor. A 20-year friendship had been sacrificed, a nose
bloodied and knuckles broken. When the
second man opened his swollen eye, he saw his friend curled on the ground in
pain and then saw the empty park bench.
In pursuing love,
there is no code of honor. Sometimes the
sting of a brotherly slap rings sharper than the song of steel against steel
but quickly leads to indifference on the part of the fairer sex.
“The Drive to Becoming ”
It is said that the desire to marry is one of the most
natural things in the world. The
gentleman and his lady certainly thought so and as they had been going steady
for a decent amount of time, it was decided they should wed. Off they hopped in their jalopy to get
hitched and honeymoon at Niagara Falls.
On the long drive from their wedding to upstate New York they realized
it was the longest time they had spent together, alone, since they had begun
courting. Soon, the easy banter fell to
awkward silences, which quickly gave way to muttered grievances. By the time they reached New York the lady
was shouting something about her mother being right about him. The gentleman parried with the comment that
his previous girlfriend had not been such a harpy and perhaps he had chosen the
wrong woman to bind his life to. When
they finally arrived at the falls, both deemed it better to keep going, past
the honeymoon suite prepared especially for them, past the tourist attractions
and straight over the falls into the foamy roaring of the water itself. The silence that followed was the most blissful
moment in either of their attenuated lives.
Do not desire to
marry. It can only end in knife-fights
and attempts to emotionally destroy one another in a show of one-upmanship that
eventually leads to murder-suicide. I mean,
my marriage didn’t work out, but I don't like to think of myself as a bitter
person…
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