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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:52:42 GMT
The following work originally appeared at HOL under the Book Writing Project, but since it touches on my family history, at least in the sense that the nutcase who is discussed in the book spent a large chunk of his life on my family estate, I thought I'd replicate it here (and also to fill out this section of the forum a bit) Original link Chapter 1 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer" Introduction There can be few scholars of Wizarding academia who have not encountered the works of infamous Renaissance sorcerer Aelfric Lackreed. Opinion is still divided as to whether Lackreed was a genius, a madman, a visionary or a fraud, but there is no doubt that his corpus of poetry forms one of the most intriguing collections of literature in the Wizarding World. Notoriously reclusive, Lackreed rarely ventured out of his tower in the remote wilds of Northern England and preferred to communicate with his contemporaries by means of specially bred owls which he had rendered untrackable by magic and who were sworn to avian secrecy about his location. What is apparent however is that Lackreed was an accomplished and prolific poet, who demonstrated both an instinctive grasp of the complexities of poesy and a most lamentable sense of humour. Indeed he seemed to play games with his readers' expectations; sometimes his poetry showed the inspired touch of a poetic genius, with soaring flights of rhythm and imagery, at other times he seemed to take a perverse delight in wrenching both meter and rhyme in ways that a novice would blush at. More intriguingly however, his poetry seems to contain hints of future events. This is still a controversial subject and the opinions of academics are divided. Those who subscribe to the viewpoint that Lackreed was a prophetic figure point to clear indications within his poetry of incidents and characters who lived long after Lackreed's own death. Opponents of this view condemn such opinions as mere speculation and wishful thinking. Consequently Lackreed has been described variously as the greatest visionary writer of the last thousand years, and as the most mischievously deceptive fraud in history. This book makes no judgement as to this controversy, and will content itself simply with presenting some of his better known pieces. The Sonnet Form Lackreed wrote exclusively in the English Sonnet form, and a word about this form would not be out of place here. The sonnets written by Lackreed all follow the same structure, as follows: Fourteen lines of five iambic feet (ten syllables with a stressed followed by an unstressed syllable per foot) each, divided into three quatrains followed by a rhyming couplet. The rhyme scheme is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG How better to close this chapter than by quoting one of Lackreed's most famous sonnets, the cryptic "Sonnet 23" or "Ravenscall" To Ravenscall I go and shan't come back No songs to sing, no light to cheer my heart A tower strong, stone built in blocks of black With solitude enough to bear my part Away with lions, roaring foolish things Away with badgers grubbing in the earth Away with gaudy soaring eagle wings Away with serpents' foul sarcastic mirth My books I have and they alone will stand My words are all of me that I will show No trace will Lackreed leave upon this land I shan't come back. To Ravenscall I'll go. So Aelfric Lackreed's final words are writ Another in his empty throne shall sit.
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:54:21 GMT
Chapter 2 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
The Unaccomplished Pearl
The early life of Aelfric Lackreed is as shrouded in mystery as his later career, though hints exist in contemporary documents that suggest he travelled widely and achieved a reputation as a scholastic prodigy.
Outside of his corpus of poetry, a number of early documents exist that bear the hallmarks of his style and treat with a range of academic subjects both magical and otherwise. Since this work is focussed entirely on his poetic output however, his other works will be discussed only in so far as they relate to this subject, or shed light upon his inspiration and themes.
For instance, an early magical treatise penned by Lackreed has been discovered in the vaults of Beauxbatons and discusses the varying nature of magical energies when filtered through magnetic fields. The treatise is academically detailed, but quite workmanlike and dry in tone as though his heart was not entirely in his work. One of his first known sonnets, written at about the same time may give some insight as to why:
Pearl of Great Price In secret tropic depths pearls hidden grow Concealed twixt shells of silent secrecy Not here in Gallic pastures do they glow With shining azure eyes that capture me. My pearl, she has a voice, a form, a face A pearl with arms, and legs, and silken hair She talks, this pearl, with wisdom, moves with grace And weaves enchantments; pearl beyond compare! How great a price would any fellow pay To win a pearl so perfect for his own? What words forbidden would he dare to say To win this pearl, this pearl, this pearl alone? But in another setting it must stand And worn upon another’s stinking hand.
It seems apparent that this sonnet, composed during his time conducting research at Beauxbatons, concerns itself with a woman resident at that establishment for whom Lackreed had romantic feelings. The identity of the subject of his affection has never been conclusively proven but it is likely, given Lackreed’s evident pleasure in wordplay and allusion, that the clue to her identity lies in the text itself. The repeated image of the pearl, and the woman being described as a pearl, is the primary focus of this sonnet. At the time of Lackreed’s visit to Beauxbatons, one of the senior female students there was the soon-to-be-famous Witch Marguerite Gaudet, a notable beauty. And the name Marguerite has the meaning Pearl,, derived from the Greek.
The last couplet of the sonnet speaks of an unfavourable end to Lackreed’s intentions however: the Pearl was indeed worn upon the hand of another, since Gaudet was betrothed to the powerful French sorcerer Auguste Gabriel at the time.
Lackreed’s dislike of Gabriel almost certainly stemmed from this time (see his Sonnets Fool’s Annunciation and Winter in August for examples of his opinions on that individual) and though Gaudet’s marriage never took place it appears that Lackreed never encountered her again until their tragic meeting over two decades later.
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:54:47 GMT
Chapter 3 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
Prophetic Works
In this chapter we will examine some of Aelfric Lackreed’s earliest prophetic works. As mentioned earlier, the opinions of scholars vary wildly over just how much of Lackreed’s work is actually concerned with prophesy, and how much was either mistakenly open to such interpretation or indeed how much was deliberately contrived by Lackreed as a joke aimed at the gullible.
Sad to say the latter possibility is not as ridiculous as it sounds. Aelfric Lackreed’s opinion of credulous Wizards and Witches was not high, and he openly mocked the trend, common in his day, of over reliance upon what he termed "the rank superstitions and hedge wizardry of the diviners and soothsayers, indulging the fancies of old maids and foolish little misses."
Be that as it may, scholars of Lackreed’s work do claim to see prophetic elements within some of his poems, though many of these (like the ones that Italian Witch Claudia Vespucci penned on Nostradamus’ behalf as a belated birthday present) are only recognisable as such after the events they describe.
Two such follow.
The first rather maudlin piece seems to be another of his “Lost Love” sequence, but the details also seem to relate very specifically to the death of Angelique Deschaines, the granddaughter of his own reluctant inamorata Marguerite Gaudet:
The seashore empty waits, no sails are seen Though salt-soaked eyes scour o’er the vacant sea And cold despair takes hold where hope had been And empty fear consumes what ought to be. From ocean’s treasure you were brought to life, Now ocean waves shall claim the heart you bear. A child, a girl, a woman, never wife, Cut short before your time, and so unfair Dragged down. The careless waves are now your bed Your chamber is the cold and lifeless sand, Foul fish, not pretty bows around your head, And worms, not jewelled rings adorn your hands. Enough of sea, and sand and empty shore I’ll turn and close my eyes and dream no more.
The second of the Sonnets in this chapter is claimed, by some, to relate to the rise of a group of Dark Magicians in the mid nineteenth century who attempted to overthrow the Ministry of Magic with the intent of openly establishing the rule of Wizards over Muggles. Thankfully as we know the attempt failed, as indeed Lackreed predicted centuries earlier.
You’d like to wear a crown? You two faced fool Not fit to wear a robe, or wand to wield, You’d overthrow the wise, cast off their rule? And openly announce what was concealed? Your words are pretty words, your thoughts are slime. Your cause, I know your heart, is foul and base. Don’t think of ruling kingdoms for all time You’ll dwell – all time – in a far hotter place. So gather up your Magi, foolish man And round your banner hatch your evil scheme But there will rise a group to scotch your plan And will a nightmare make of your sick dream. And when your foes a crushing loss shall bring My laughter cross the centuries shall ring
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:55:26 GMT
Chapter 4 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
Biting Satire
After his self imposed seclusion from the Wizarding World, Aelfric Lackreed communicated with his peers via a collection of trained and highly discreet owls. In addition to his personal communication with those few exclusive individuals who he deemed worthy of his time, he also kept up a stream of correspondence to some less fortunate individuals. Less fortunate in that he had nothing but scorn for them and his letters made that clear.
Needless to say, few of his diatribes remain. Receiving a critical letter from Aelfric Lackreed must have been considerably more unpleasant that receiving a Howler would be today. Lackreed’s letters may have lacked the gaudy special effects of a shrieking Howler, but the contents would be no less piercing.
But though the letters themselves have not survived, one can get a taste for Lackreed’s style in a number of his satirical sonnets which were distributed around his correspondents at the time and achieved a larger audience. The reclusive Wizard knew well that poetry gets repeated, gets passed on… and therefore his opinions of his targets would circulate far and wide if put into verse form.
The following poem was sent by Lackreed to a Witch of his acquaintance along with a letter consoling her about the situation she had found herself in, in which credit for her work had been taken by her mentor, the respected Thaumaturge Donovan Gilbert.
Go find yourself a finer task to do, Indulge your love of academic toil, Learn from your mentor what he thinks of you, Be calm, don’t let your anger overboil. Each mediocre wit, it seems, shall steal, Reaping rewards that were not his to take. The honours that attend him are not real, The accolades he cherishes are fake. Hold out, be strong, for justice will be done, I cannot say how soon the axe will fall, Each lie he’s caught in is a triumph won, Vengeance attends upon exposure’s call. Excel my friend, don’t mind the bites of fleas. Scorn Donovan’s deceit, he’s a disease.
Following the circulation of this sonnet, Donovan Gilbert was openly challenged by the Wizengamot to account for the authorship of his most recent studies and, upon being unable to do so, resigned his teaching post in disgrace. A year later he vanished after openly declaring his intention to challenge Aelfric Lackreed to a Wizard’s duel to avenge his honour.
Whether he actually confronted Lackreed or not, at Ravenscall Tower, is not certain but Gilbert Donovan was never heard from again.
The use of acrostic messages was a common feature of some of Lackreed’s work and this poem is an example. Not only is Donovan openly slandered in the final line, but a more blatant message is concealed in the initial letters of each line of the sonnet.
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:59:15 GMT
Chapter 5 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
Visions of Glory
Not all of Lackreed’s corpus of writing however concerned itself with sardonic mockery. As he himself wrote in a letter to a former student of his in his last days:
How tiresome even the finest wit must grow, if all that wit means is chiding and mockery. A little spice is fine in food, too much makes the whole unpalatable, and causes great confusion of the bowels.
It’s easy on reading some of Aelfric Lackreed’s more biting poetry to miss the fact that he was in fact both an excellent sorcerer with a great understanding of the magical world, and a man who took enormous delight in the glories around him.
Two of his sonnets have been chosen to illustrate this less ‘unpalatable’ (in his own words) side of Lackreed.
In the silence of the heart of ages Stirs a voice that lovingly commands me In this place, remote as any mage’s know that here is one that understands me. Her name is Magic and her voice is sweet She whispers loving secrets in my soul Her touch, her hand in mine, makes me complete Her presence, so divine, it makes me whole. She speaks of vision, though my eyes are blind She speaks of music though my ears are closed Though I am lost she tells me she will find Me where I am, and clothe me if exposed. If not for you I’d yet regret my birth O Magic, sweetest music of this earth
*
Who would turn now from knowing what we know? Who would discard aside his wand or staff Who would into safe silence once more go Or tread a simpler, safer, surer path? Not I, nor anyone who magic knew Would ever wish themselves unknowing now It is a destiny so pure and true No one would take their hand from off the plough And should the path we walk lead into night And should that night be filled with forces dark And should foul creatures wait for us to fight, We’ll light the way and win through magic’s spark For all my faults, and many they must be I never mourn that magic’s chosen me.
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 8:59:43 GMT
Chapter 6 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
Longer Works
As we have seen, Aelfric Lackreed’s favoured poetic form was the sonnet. However he did occasionally compose works using variant forms, more or less it seems in order to keep himself fresh and inspired. Since this book treats solely with the sonnets of Lackreed’s composition however we will have to leave discussion of his ballads, ottava rima and hexameters for another occasion.
However fragments survive of a longer work he penned, his own retelling of the Tam Lin legend. Since he used sonnet form for each of the stanzas of this longer work, it is appropriate to recreate some of the key passages here, since although the work as a whole is not a sonnet, the form is key to the structure.
For those who are not familiar with the legend of Tam Lin, it is worth pointing out that there are many variants in terms of the fine detail of the story, but all maintain key themes. The story focuses on the encounter between a maiden named Janet (or Margaret in some variants) and a mysterious figure named Tam Lin. Tam Lin originally seems to be a faerie lord – a powerful magical spirit – and Janet unknowing breaks one of the laws of his realm by plucking a rose from his domain. For this transgression he claims the right to take her as his lover – to which she willingly assents. She then learns Tam Lin’s history – that he is in fact no faerie himself, but a mortal man who was taken by the Faerie Queen to be her favourite. He confides to Janet that he fears he is to be given to Hell as part of the traditional tithe paid by Faerie to the Infernal realms.
Janet refuses to accept this fate and discovers that the tithe is to be paid at Halloween, and the faerie court will ride past a crossroads known as Miles’ Cross. She resolves to be there to rescue Tam Lin from his fate.
The following extracts from Lackreed’s version continue from that point.
The moon scowled down on Janet’s stealthy tread As to Miles’ Cross she crept on Hallow’s Eve A hawthorn circlet bound around her head And saying prayers such as the clerks believe Will save their souls from faerie spirits grim And there – and there’s Miles’ Cross now she’ll begin Her work to find her lover and save him To keep her vigil for her love, Tam Lin, A circle cast about her she now makes Of holy water taken from the Kirk To keep her safe when faerie magic shakes The world and drives unwary folk berserk. It’s cast, it’s done, now Janet she must wait And pray that she can save him from his fate
Far off the Kirk bells chime the midnight’s tide And Janet’s hair stirs fretful on her head For fear the vanguard of the Hunt does ride, The sound of faerie horns inspire dread In every mortal heart that hears their call Strong men would flee, or stricken fall and weep But Janet, girded by her task stands tall Her vow to save her love is one she’ll keep And there’s a rider – two – another, three A fourth, a fifth, so many she can’t tell She strains her eyes by moonlight for to see If Tam Lin rides among that host so fell He’s there. Tam Lin is there, on steed so white Bewitched and speeding through that haunted night
Up leaps the maid as Tam Lin gallops past And pulls him from that steed,that steed so white And in her arms, Tam Lin, she holds him fast As faerie riders falter in their flight The Faerie Queen, far off, knows what is done And howls in rage and fear, “Tam Lin’s away! This mortal maiden dares to dream she’s won But she’ll abandon him, I’ll win the day!” A curse she casts, a word that makes souls bleed That flies to Miles’ Cross in a blinking eye A curse so vile it slays each faerie steed That’s in it’s path as it goes howling by It strikes Tam Lin. It strikes him in the heart. And foulest magic plays its foulest part.
Transforms him into fire, raging flame Burns Janet’s arms, and face, and mantle green She fears him not, not him, nor wounds nor shame; Sees not the flame for love of him she’d seen By Carterhaugh. She loved him, loves him yet And though he’s dreadful fire she holds him fast, His love, his eyes, his face she’ll not forget She holds him till the blazing fire is passed And now the curse works on Tam Lin again And in her arms he’s now a serpent cold That bites with venomed fangs that maiden fair But yet she fears him not, for she’s made bold By love, pure love of him she will not yield, No pain will drive her from this battlefield.
She holds him yet, embraces him more dear, Though now the curse makes him a creature wild A beast whose form would cause a saint to fear. She fears him not: The father of her child. She fears him not, but holds him firmer now “I love Tam Lin,” she calls, “What e’er he be! I love Tam Lin, I’ll save him, this I vow! I’ll hold him fast until he’s won for me!” Far far away the Faerie Queen knows dire alarms As Janet’s oath of love undoes her curse Tam Lin’s himself now, safe in Janet’s arms A man, for all his faults, and nothing worse. Tears from his eyes shine silver in moon’s gleam And Faerie magic dies like morning’s dream.
The poem continues for several more stanzas, focusing on the wrath of the Faerie Queen, but it appears that Lackreed never released the work for a wider audience. It was discovered complete within a sealed vault long after his death.
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Post by Tanith Ravenscall on May 27, 2015 9:08:10 GMT
Chapter 7 for "Sonnets of a Sorcerer"
Twilight of a Sorceror
As the years passed Lackreed maintained less and less contact with the outside world. Even correspondents who had previously been in regular communication with him began to receive fewer and fewer owls, and the rate of publication of his sorcerous works also diminished. A final sonnet was sent, after a silence lasting over a year, to all his regular correspondents.
Each day must have its end as twilight falls And bright sun fades in reddened western skies. And Lackreed hears, at last, the plaintive calls Of loves departed, recollects the sighs Of younger days. It’s time for him to go And put aside the cares that weigh him down. Your kindness has meant more than you could know To this reclusive foolish prideful clown. Farewell to you, kind hearted noble friends Farewell to you, who cheered my lonely hour Farewell to you, for here this story ends In Ravenscall, my silent tomb and tower Think fondly of me friends, since for a while Your friendship even made poor Aelfric smile.
No one heard from him again. His tower was located and entered shortly afterward by anxious friends and he was not within, nor was any trace found of him.
The remaining chapters of this book deal with works written to or about Lackreed, and his legacy to the Wizarding World, and speculation about his fate.
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