Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 27 text:

TI-IE CA 5 TLE or VAQNQI LRAS I N P R Q V E N C E DURR FRIEDLEY 1 QJW4' WARRANT if you had been in Provence that spring morn- ing you would have deemed it a most lovely place, and one good to live in forever and ever. For the hathorne was blown, and the orchards were in blossom, and in all of the earth, even in sunny Spain, there is no place where the W' sprin air is softer or the fields more fair than in Provence. The land rejoiced and the people thereof, for now was come the season when the lords and the minstrels might wander withersoever they pleased, and when the poor man agai11 could go into the fields, and toil in the summer winds, and eiarn store for winter, and altogether that country seemed a very pleasant place to be awe in. The round, pointed towers of the fortress of the Marquis of Va ueiras showed twinkling grey in among the green, green- hills, and the little white road wound round 4'7-5 2 f' 052: 7w 'DVM' 5' '? v so cc ,,Vv br I . 39,33 ,. , O 1,- 6 - P A soo . me 0 Zggg' ,' X ego eo L Q -i 0er-90

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Page 28 text:

,,,.,,, IN PRGVENCE each hill and cut it into halves, as it went up one side and down the other. But a short journey away, not so much as half of a league, in a little hollow betwixt two hills there dwelt an ancient peasant and his wife on a small plot that his father, and his father's father, and his father before him, had held, all for the yearly rent of ten broad, silver groats, paid to the Marquis at Michelmastide. Now it befell that betimes this certain fine morning that my lord, the Marquis, had sent one of his pages to this part of the country-side to search for a beagle-hound that had been lost in the greenwood yester-morn when my lord chanced to go a-hawking thither. This young page had the airy ways that very young men are wont to have, but his cheeks were red as the heart of the gillyflower and his lips like unto cherries in June, and his black eyes danced like the jet beads on the holy friar's rosary, so you know that he was a right merry fellow withal, and lacked not spirit of daring. Men hight him Aubanel. He had stop ed to rest at the peasant's cot, and while he sat on the bench outside the door he diug his heels into the earth and hummed a little ditty, which sounded somewhat in this wise: ' 'When tender leafage doth appear, When vemal meads grow gay with flowers, And aye with singing loud and clear The nightingale fulfills the hours, l joy in him and joy in every flower And in myself, and in my ladye more. For when joys do inlclose me and invest My joy in her transcendeth all the rest. He had heard a gleeman chant it only that morning as the lady Yvette, daughter to the Marquis, passed by, and she had blushed, and dropped a rose as if by chance, and then gone on. The page Aubanel bare an ancient grudge against this same troubadour, Gui d'Uisel, because, long ago, Gui had roundly boxed his ears for singing a chanson so loudly that it awakened the troubadour from a refreshing nap. And still this grudge rankled sore within him. But while he was turning over pebbles with his heels and musing many thoughts in his mind of the aforesaid insult, of the long walk to the chateau, of the still recreant beagle, which, mayhap, was home before him, he perceived the old peasant approaching, filled with woe and making great dole. For now he would cry out 'alack and alas, and now he would smite his thigh with his palm, and call on the blessed saints, and weep. Thereat the page yawned somewhat and queried of the old