Antonii Machinevik – Order of the Chivalry

It becomes us, brothers and sisters, to begin the tale of the campaign of Antonii Machinevik, so let us begin.

Antonii, the joyful boaster, had traveled down many roads, but the path he chose, the narrow path of kinghtliness, began with his first dusty steps in the shadow of Mt Eislin. He proved that he could live well, fight well, and die well. He shared many cups with those he took arms against and praised them and their inspiration.

Antonii girded his mind with fortitude, sharpened his heart with manliness, and thus imbued with the spirit of arms, glaive shining, he led brave tygers onto the steppes. Out along the edge of the steppe is always where he burned to be, inspired by his clear view of sky.

Virtue is the gift of inspiration and so moved by his deeds and knightliness, We join him to the Order of the Chivalry.

The sun shines in the sky and Sir Antonii is on Eastern soil. Maidens sing on the rivers, their voices weave across the steppes to the Mists. Countries rejoice, cities are merry.

We, Tsar Ivan and Tsaritsa Matilde, confirm this tale on the 27th day of January, Anno societatis LLI in Our lands called Stonemarche while holding Court at the Birka Marketplace.


213 words

Text inspiration from “Tale of Igor’s Campaign” (Слово о пълку Игоревѣ.) c. 1200, from the Pskov manuscript, fifteenth cent. Translations referenced were by  J. A. V. Haney and Eric Dahl and Vladimir Nabokov. The structure of the text is loosely styled on the concept of the “bylina” – a traditional East Slavic oral epic narrative poem loosely based on historical fact, greatly embellished with fantasy or hyperbole to create their songs.

Calligraphy and Illumination by Vettorio Antonello; Words by Aneleda Falconbridge

gone to the tourney on a horse with no name

On the first part of the journey

I was looking at all the life

There were plants and birds and rocks and things

There was sand and hills and rings

The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz

And the sky with no clouds

The heat was hot and the ground was dry

But the air was full of sound

 

I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

In the desert you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain

La, la …

 

After two days in the desert sun

My skin began to turn red

After three days in the desert fun

I was looking at a river bed

And the story it told of a river that flowed

Made me sad to think it was dead

 

You see I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

In the desert you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain

La, la …

 

After nine days I let the horse run free

‘Cause the desert had turned to sea

There were plants and birds and rocks and things

There was sand and hills and rings

The ocean is a desert with its life underground

And a perfect disguise above

Under the cities lies a heart made of ground

But the humans will give no love

 

You see I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

In the desert you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain

La, la …
On long road to the tourney

I was looking at all the strife

There were serfs and pigs and rocks and thanes

There was sand and hills and Danes

The first thing that I met was a bee with a buzz

and the sky with no clouds

The heat was hot and the ground was dry

And there were peasants on the ground.

 

I’ve gone to the tourney on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

On the swan-road you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no knights for to give you more pain,

Fa la, fa la la la la, Fa la la la la la la….

 

After two days in the dappled sun

My helm was hot on my head

Three days on a horse is no fun –

I was looking for a tavern bed.

But I was lost instead by a river that glowed

And I thought I might be dead.

 

You see

I’ve gone to the tourney on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

On the swan-road you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no knights for to give you more pain,

Fa la, fa la la la la, Fa la la la la la la….

 

After nine days I let the horse run free

Cause the tourney would start without me

There were dwarves and fae and rocks and thanes

There was sand and hills and plains

The faerie land has its life underground

and a perfect disguise above

Under the hillsides lies a heart made of ground

And the humans will give it no love.

 

You see

I’ve gone to the tourney on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

On the swan-road you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no knights for to give you more pain,

Fa la, fa la la la la, Fa la la la la la la….

(Too. Much. Njal.)

I see Norse where no Norse should be. Thanks Njal.

The blood-rain / may pour on me
Fear no fight / going forward
I have seen / blade on life-thread
Norns know well / no beauty there
As a ship / on stormy swan-road.
Tie in tightly / wait for wave-lash
Lead-lid eye / you may carry
Bearing brow-waves / brow-waves bearing
Both born by / before break-light
Water-walls / moon-pulls worsen
Tie in tightly

(Inspired by Tom Cochrane’s verse)

“Let the blood you might see rain down on me
You don’t have to fight no more”
I have seen my death and it ain’t pretty
but it be a wild ride
Buckle in
“You might be tired and troubled and troubled but not today”
Now until dawn is the bumpiest road
Buckle in.

Maunche for Alys Treeby

 

Image of an illuminated scroll bearing the words in this article
Illumination by Agatha Wanderer (Rachel Case), Calligraphy by Christiana Crane (Chris Hill), words by Aneleda Falconbridge (Monique Bouchard)

Funi kveykisk af funa.
Swa cwæð Cyninga Kenric on mode
swa cwæð Cwene Avelina on mode
gesæt þeir sundor æt rune.
Gemon þeir selesecgas ond sincþege.

Well-famed is this woman,
brooch-crafter, glass-melter.
She turns dust jewel-bright
in the blaze-fire.
She crafts her hoard,
gives with open hand.
She studies the crafts,
consults the masters.
She shares fire
with the people.

Now spark joins fire,
now glass joins metal.
Now Alys Treeby joins
the Order of the Maunch
and is granted arms,
Argent, a tree blasted sable
issuant from a base vert
and beset by bees
sable and Or, winged sable.

This is done
at the Pennsic Court of the East,
cyningdom Aethelmarc,
day tīen of Weodmonað
in the year fīftiġ ānum
by our reckoning.

Wyrd bið ful aræd.
Swa cwæð
Cyninga Kenric and Cwene Avelina.

 


Text with translations

Funi kveykisk af funa. (flame kindles from flame)
Swa cwæð Cyninga Kenric on mode (So spake Kenric in his mind)
Swa cwæð Cwene Avelina on mode (So spake Avelina in her mind,)
gesæt þeir sundor æt rune (where they sat apart in counsel.)
Gemon þeir selesecgas ond sincþege. (They remember hall-warriors and the giving of treasure)

Well-famed is this woman, brooch-crafter, glass-melter. She turns dust jewel-bright in the blaze-fire. She crafts her hoard and gives with open hand. She studies the crafts and consults the masters. She has shares fire with the people.

Now spark joins fire, now glass joins metal. Now Alys Treeby joins the Order of the Maunch and is granted arms, Argent, a tree blasted sable issuant from a base vert and beset by bees sable and Or, winged sable.

This is done at the Pennsic Court of the East, cyningdom Aethelmarc, on day tīen of Weodmonað in the year fīftiġ ānum by our reckoning.

Wyrd bið ful aræd. (Events always go as they must!)

Swa cwæð Cyninga Kenric and Cwene Avelina. (so said King Kenric and Queen Avelina.)

# # #

The text is influenced by portions of the Havamal and the Anglo-Saxon portions are taken from the texts of the Havamal. A facing page translation is available online here: http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=Hav.

NOTES: Original: Swa cwæð snottor on mode, (So spake the wise man in his mind,)
gesæt him sundor æt rune. (where he sat apart in counsel.)
Weodmonað = August or “weed month”
Tīen = ten
fīftiġ ānum = fifty one

 

 

Laurel – Agatha Wanderer

Laurel scroll image for Agatha Wanderer,To all gathered We, König Kenric und Königin Avelina, now state our opinion on the matter of our subject Agatha Wanderer and her works.

As every art with which mankind is concerned must have an ordered rule according to which the students of this art must exercise themselves so that they can from day to day, and the longer the more effectively, grasp the correct foundation and understanding of their chosen art, so shall and must even the most praiseworthy supportive and gracious art of German tailoring, which was evolved by the most clever and creative women, such as pattern makers, weavers, spinners, sprangers, needleworkers, and others of wisdom both rich and poor, possess a fundamental code to which noblewomen and seamstresses can refer and learn what the ordering of the right and true art may be.

And as there also exist many and various sewers and scholars who perhaps regard wise words and views with disfavor, it has been thought necessary to set forth the correct articles and tablatures as they have been communicated to use by their ancient inventors so that one may judge, understand, and comprehend with or without fault, and what earns praise or blame. **

Therefore, as does the Meistersanger reproduce in song and verse, does Agatha Wanderer show what can be reproduced in cloth and thread, that it be recorded in the tablature, and that she may wear the wreath of laurel leaves as dictated by Our tradition.

As such, she is granted letters patent and will bear these arms, Or, a schnecke issuant from sinister chief purpure.

After the time of recommendation was completed by the Order, and with the full and strong agreement of Us, König und Königin, for the ninth of July in the fifty-first year of the Society was this schulzettel posted that all might see Meisterin Agatha be joined to the Order of the Laurel.

Semper ubi, sub ubi.

Kenric        Avelina

** here includes marginalia saying, “Because we are German, there must be rules.” 


Inspired by a translation of the Wasengeil’s Tabulatur, the codified rules of the Meistersanger of Neurenburg, Germany. Johann Christoph Wagenseil (1633 – 1705) the first researcher of the rules of the German Meistersanger tradition which flourished from the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries. Wagenseil based his Tabulatur on the documents from several cities who had formal contest-performances of this art in the Middle High German period. Late 15th century Nuremberg, Agatha’s home, was also home to one of these traditional song-schools.

Meistersangers were known for their reproduction of strict traditional forms, any deviation from which was noted as an error.  Additionally, these artists eschewed printed books and lasting written forms, so modernly the overwhelming majority of their works are unknown, save for a few author-composers. Poetry was viewed as a mechanical art, one learned through diligent study, wholly independent of divine inspiration. More technical than inspirational or emotional, these works were carefully crafted and those who crafted perfectly were well-regarded.

This is much like the work Agatha Wanderer performs with the reproduction of the Lengenberg Bra. Despite that there were likely very many of these garments, the existing ones are few. She is tasked with reproducing this item, without deviation from the prior form. She must follow strict rules in terms of style and material. She may not deviate from them for her art. At the same time, she must also face many judges who have differing opinions on the style of the item and how it was crafted, not unlike the Meistersangers who were formally and informally judged themselves.

Much of her art of the reproduction of much German clothing is like this, and while she is, at heart, a creative artist, in this area she has taken her creativity in a narrow, technical direction to excel at this task.

As a final note, the winning Meistersanger of the contest was crowned with a wreath of leaves, which was hung at the start of the challenge and given to the winner at its close, in addition to being considered a little more immortal than his fellows. It is fitting that Agatha is so crowned and thus added to the rolls of immortality in the Society.