-
W empik go
”God Wills It!” - ebook
Wydawnictwo:
Data wydania:
2 sierpnia 2022
Format ebooka:
EPUB
Format
EPUB
czytaj
na czytniku
czytaj
na tablecie
czytaj
na smartfonie
Jeden z najpopularniejszych formatów e-booków na świecie.
Niezwykle wygodny i przyjazny czytelnikom - w przeciwieństwie do formatu
PDF umożliwia skalowanie czcionki, dzięki czemu możliwe jest dopasowanie
jej wielkości do kroju i rozmiarów ekranu. Więcej informacji znajdziesz
w dziale Pomoc.
Multiformat
E-booki w Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji multiformatu.
Oznacza to, że po dokonaniu zakupu, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego tytułu.
Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na karcie produktu.
Format
MOBI
czytaj
na czytniku
czytaj
na tablecie
czytaj
na smartfonie
Jeden z najczęściej wybieranych formatów wśród czytelników
e-booków. Możesz go odczytać na czytniku Kindle oraz na smartfonach i
tabletach po zainstalowaniu specjalnej aplikacji. Więcej informacji
znajdziesz w dziale Pomoc.
Multiformat
E-booki w Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji multiformatu.
Oznacza to, że po dokonaniu zakupu, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego tytułu.
Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na karcie produktu.
Multiformat
E-booki sprzedawane w księgarni Virtualo.pl dostępne są w opcji
multiformatu - kupujesz treść, nie format. Po dodaniu e-booka do koszyka
i dokonaniu płatności, e-book pojawi się na Twoim koncie w Mojej
Bibliotece we wszystkich formatach dostępnych aktualnie dla danego
tytułu. Informacja o dostępności poszczególnych formatów znajduje się na
karcie produktu przy okładce. Uwaga: audiobooki nie są objęte opcją
multiformatu.
czytaj
na tablecie
Aby odczytywać e-booki na swoim tablecie musisz zainstalować specjalną
aplikację. W zależności od formatu e-booka oraz systemu operacyjnego,
który jest zainstalowany na Twoim urządzeniu może to być np. Bluefire
dla EPUBa lub aplikacja Kindle dla formatu MOBI.
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
czytaj
na czytniku
Czytanie na e-czytniku z ekranem e-ink jest bardzo wygodne i nie męczy
wzroku. Pliki przystosowane do odczytywania na czytnikach to przede
wszystkim EPUB (ten format możesz odczytać m.in. na czytnikach
PocketBook) i MOBI (ten fromat możesz odczytać m.in. na czytnikach Kindle).
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
czytaj
na smartfonie
Aby odczytywać e-booki na swoim smartfonie musisz zainstalować specjalną
aplikację. W zależności od formatu e-booka oraz systemu operacyjnego,
który jest zainstalowany na Twoim urządzeniu może to być np. iBooks dla
EPUBa lub aplikacja Kindle dla formatu MOBI.
Informacje na temat zabezpieczenia e-booka znajdziesz na karcie produktu
w "Szczegółach na temat e-booka". Więcej informacji znajdziesz w dziale
Pomoc.
Czytaj fragment
Pobierz fragment
Pobierz fragment w jednym z dostępnych formatów
LUB
24,99 zł za tytuł
Tytuł dostępny w abonamencie Empik Go już od 24,99 zł / 30 dni
Sprawdź
Słuchaj i czytaj w abonamencie Go Standard już za 24,99 zł / 30 dni. Subskrypcja Go Standard daje możliwość dodania do biblioteki 3 dowolne tytuły w danym okresie rozliczeniowym (30 dni). Wybierasz z ponad 200 tys. audiobooków, ebooków i podcastów.
”God Wills It!” - ebook
Richard Longsworth is the main character. The book begins to find him young, carefree and autonomous. He is the master of his own destiny and owes nothing to anyone. Soon he meets Maria Kurkuas, the heroine.
| Kategoria: | Literature |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8292-559-3 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 3,6 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
PREFACE
PROLOGUE. HOW HILDEBRAND GAVE A BATTLE CRY
I. HOW BARON WILLIAM SALLIED FORTH
II. HOW RICHARD WON THREE FRIENDS
III. HOW RICHARD WON A BROTHER
IV. HOW RICHARD WENT TO PALERMO
V. HOW RICHARD WON TWO FOES
VI. HOW ROLLO MET INSULT
VII. HOW DE VALMONT SENT HIS GAGE
VIII. HOW IFTIKHAR SPED A VAIN ARROW
IX. HOW TRENCHEFER DROVE HOME
X. HOW IFTIKHAR SAID FAREWELL TO SICILY
XI. HOW RICHARD FARED TO AUVERGNE
XII. HOW RICHARD CAME TO ST. JULIEN
XIII. HOW RICHARD SINNED AGAINST HEAVEN
XIV. HOW RICHARD’S SIN WAS REWARDED
XV. HOW RICHARD FOUND THE CRUCIFIX
XVI. HOW LADY IDE FORGAVE RICHARD
XVII. HOW RICHARD SAW PETER THE HERMIT
XVIII. HOW RICHARD MET GODFREY OF BOUILLON
XIX. HOW RICHARD TOOK THE CROSS
XX. HOW RICHARD RECEIVED GREAT MERCY
XXI. HOW RICHARD RETURNED TO LA HAYE
XXII. HOW RICHARD PARTED WITH HIS BROTHER
XXIII. HOW IFTIKHAR’S MESSENGER RETURNED
XXIV. HOW THEY SLEW THE FIRST INFIDEL
XXV. HOW DUKE GODFREY SAVED THE DAY
XXVI. HOW RICHARD WAS AGAIN CHASTENED
XXVII. HOW THE ARMY CAME TO ANTIOCH
XXVIII. HOW RICHARD REGAINED HIS BROTHER
XXIX. HOW IFTIKHAR BORE HOME HIS PRIZE
XXX. HOW THERE WAS FESTIVAL AT ALEPPO
XXXI. HOW MARY REDEEMED HER SOUL
XXXII. HOW MORGIANA PROFFERED TWO CUPS
XXXIII. HOW EYBEK TURNED GRAY
XXXIV. HOW MUSA PRACTISED MAGIC
XXXV. HOW RICHARD HEARD A SONG
XXXVI. HOW THE ISMAELIANS SAW TRENCHEFER
XXXVII. HOW ROLLO CARRIED WEIGHT
XXXVIII. HOW RICHARD AND MUSA AGAIN PARTED
XXXIX. HOW PETER BARTHELMY HAD A DREAM
XL. HOW THE HOLY LANCE WAS FOUND
XLI. HOW LIGHT SMOTE DARKNESS
XLII. HOW MORGIANA WOUND HER LAST SPELL
XLIII. HOW THE ARMY SAW JERUSALEM
XLIV. HOW MORGIANA BROUGHT WARNING
XLV. HOW RICHARD HAD SPEECH WITH MUSA
XLVI. HOW IFTIKHAR CEASED FROM TROUBLING
XLVII. HOW TRENCHEFER WAS BROKEN
XLVIII. HOW RICHARD SAW THE SUN RISEPREFACE
THE First Crusade was the sacrifice of France for the sins of the Dark Ages. Alone of all the Crusades it succeeded, despite its surrender of countless lives. No Richard of England, no St. Louis led; its heroes were the nobles and peasants of France and Norman Italy, who endured a thousand perils and hewed their victorious way to Jerusalem. In this Crusade united Feudalism and Papacy won their greatest triumph. Notwithstanding the self-seeking of a few, the mass of the Crusaders were true to their profession,–they sought no worldly gain, but to wash out their sins in infidel blood. In this Crusade also the alien civilizations of Christendom and Islam were brought into a dramatic collision which has few historic counterparts.
Except in Scott’s “Count Robert of Paris,” which deals wholly with the Constantinople episode, I believe the First Crusade has not been interpreted in fiction. Possibly, therefore, the present book may have a slight value, as seeking to tell the story of the greatest event of a great age.
I have sometimes used modern spellings instead of unfamiliar eleventh-century names. The Crusade chronicles often contradict one another, and once or twice I have taken trifling liberties. To Mr. S. S. Drury and Mr. Charles Hill, University friends who have rendered kind aid on several historical details, I owe many thanks.
W. S. D.
Harvard University.PROLOGUE. HOW HILDEBRAND GAVE A BATTLE CRY
High noon in Italy. Without, a hot sun, a blue bay, a slow sea-breeze; within, a vaulted chamber, bare stone walls, a few blazoned pennons upon the pillars, here and there pictured tapestries, where one might see many a merry tourney and passage-at-arms. Very gentle were the footfalls, though the room was not empty: the whispers were so low that the droning buzz of a bee, which had stolen in at the narrow window, sounded loud as a mill wheel. There were a score of persons in the chamber: tonsured priests in white stoles, and monks in black cassocks; knights in silvered hauberks; a white-robed Moor with the eyes of a falcon and the teeth of a cat; and a young lad, Richard, son of Sir William the castellan, a shy boy of twelve, who sat upon the stone window seat, blinking his great eyes and wondering what it all might mean. No eye rested on the lad: the company had thought only for one object,–a figure that turned wearily on the velvet pillows, half raised itself, sank once more. Then came a thin voice, gentle as a woman’s:–
“Abd Rahman, come: feel my wrist, and do not fear to speak the truth.”
The Moor at the foot of the bed rose from the rushes whereon he had been squatting; stole noiselessly to the sick man’s side. From the arch of the vault above dangled a silver ball. The Moor smote the ball, and with his eye counted the slow vibrations while his hand held the wrist. Even the vagrant bee stopped humming while the sphere swung to and fro for a long minute. Then without a word Abd Rahman crept to a low table where a lamp was heating a silver vial, and on which other vials and spoons were lying. He turned the warm red elixir into a spoon, and brought it to the dying man. There was a rush of color to the pallid cheeks, with a striving to rise from the pillow; but the Moor again held his wrist. Another long silence,–then the question from the bed:–
“Do not hesitate. Is it near the end?”
Abd Rahman salaamed until his turban touched the rushes.
“Sheik Gregorius, all life save Allah’s is mortal,” said he in mongrel Latin.
At the words, there ran a shiver and sobbing through all the company; the priests were kissing their crucifixes; the monks were on their knees,–and had begun to mutter _Agnus Dei, qui tolles peccata mundi, miserere nobis!_The sufferer’s voice checked them.
“Sweet children, what is this? Sorrow? Tears? Rather should you not rejoice that God has remembered my long travail, and opens wide the doorway to the dwellings of His rest?” But the answer was renewed sobbing. Only Abd Rahman crouched impassive. To him death was death, for Nubian slave or lordly Kalif.
“Draw nearer, dear brothers, my children in Christ,” came the voice from the bed. “Let me see your faces; my sight grows dim. The end is not far.”
So they stood close by, those prelates and knights of the stout Norman fortress city of Salerno, on that five-and-twentieth of May, in the year of grace one thousand and eighty-five. None spoke. Each muttered his own prayer, and looked upon the face of the dying. As they stood, the sun dropped a beam athwart the pillows, and lit up the sick man’s face. It was a pale, thin, wasted face, the eyelids half drooping, the eyes now lack-lustre, now touched by fretful and feverish fire; the scanty gray hair tonsured, the shaven lips drawn tensely, so wan that the blue veins showed, as they did through the delicate hands at rest on the coverings. Yet the onlookers saw a majesty more than royal in that wan face; for before them lay the “Servant of the Servants of God.” They looked upon Gregory VII, christened Hildebrand, heir of St. Peter, Vicar of Christ, before whom the imperial successor of Charlemagne and Cæsar had knelt as suppliant and vassal. The silence was again waxing long.
“Dear children,” said the dying Pope, “have you no word for me before I go?” Whereupon the lordliest prelate of them all, the Archbishop of Salerno, fell on his knees, and cried aloud:–
“Oh, _Sanctissime_! how can we endure when you are reft from us? Shall we not be unshepherded sheep amongst ravening wolves; forsaken to the devices of Satan! Oh, Father, if indeed you are the Vicar of Our Lord, beg that He will spare us this loss; and even now He will lengthen out your days, as God rewarded the good Hezekiah, and you will be restored to us and to Holy Church!” But there was a weary smile upon Gregory’s pale face.
“No, my brother, be not afraid. I go to the visible presence of Our Lord: before His very throne I will commend you all to His mercy.” Then the dim eyes wandered round the room. “Where is Odon? Where is Odon, Bishop of Ostia? Not here?–”
“_Beatissime_” said old Desidarius, Abbot of Monte Casino, “we have sent urgent messages to Capua, bidding him come with speed.”
A wistful shadow passed across the face of Gregory.
“I pray God I may give him my blessing before I die.”
He coughed violently; another vial of Abd Rahman’s elixir quieted him, but even the imperturbable face of the Moor told that the medicine could profit little.
“Let us partake of the body and blood of Our Lord,” said Gregory; and the priests brought in a golden chalice and gilded pyx, containing the holy mysteries. They chanted the _Gloria Patri_with trembling voices; the archbishop knelt at the bedside, proffering the pyx. But at that instant the lad, Richard, as he sat and wondered, saw the Pope’s waxen face flush dark; he saw the thin hands crush the coverings into folds, and put by the elements.
“I forget; I am first the Vicar of Christ; second, Hildebrand, the sinner. I have yet one duty before I can stand at God’s judgment seat.” The archbishop rose to his feet, and the holy vessel quaked in his hand; for he saw on the brow of Gregory the black clouds, foretelling the stroke of the lightning.
“What is your command, _Sanctissime_?” he faltered.
And the Pope answered, lifting himself unaided:–
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
PREFACE
PROLOGUE. HOW HILDEBRAND GAVE A BATTLE CRY
I. HOW BARON WILLIAM SALLIED FORTH
II. HOW RICHARD WON THREE FRIENDS
III. HOW RICHARD WON A BROTHER
IV. HOW RICHARD WENT TO PALERMO
V. HOW RICHARD WON TWO FOES
VI. HOW ROLLO MET INSULT
VII. HOW DE VALMONT SENT HIS GAGE
VIII. HOW IFTIKHAR SPED A VAIN ARROW
IX. HOW TRENCHEFER DROVE HOME
X. HOW IFTIKHAR SAID FAREWELL TO SICILY
XI. HOW RICHARD FARED TO AUVERGNE
XII. HOW RICHARD CAME TO ST. JULIEN
XIII. HOW RICHARD SINNED AGAINST HEAVEN
XIV. HOW RICHARD’S SIN WAS REWARDED
XV. HOW RICHARD FOUND THE CRUCIFIX
XVI. HOW LADY IDE FORGAVE RICHARD
XVII. HOW RICHARD SAW PETER THE HERMIT
XVIII. HOW RICHARD MET GODFREY OF BOUILLON
XIX. HOW RICHARD TOOK THE CROSS
XX. HOW RICHARD RECEIVED GREAT MERCY
XXI. HOW RICHARD RETURNED TO LA HAYE
XXII. HOW RICHARD PARTED WITH HIS BROTHER
XXIII. HOW IFTIKHAR’S MESSENGER RETURNED
XXIV. HOW THEY SLEW THE FIRST INFIDEL
XXV. HOW DUKE GODFREY SAVED THE DAY
XXVI. HOW RICHARD WAS AGAIN CHASTENED
XXVII. HOW THE ARMY CAME TO ANTIOCH
XXVIII. HOW RICHARD REGAINED HIS BROTHER
XXIX. HOW IFTIKHAR BORE HOME HIS PRIZE
XXX. HOW THERE WAS FESTIVAL AT ALEPPO
XXXI. HOW MARY REDEEMED HER SOUL
XXXII. HOW MORGIANA PROFFERED TWO CUPS
XXXIII. HOW EYBEK TURNED GRAY
XXXIV. HOW MUSA PRACTISED MAGIC
XXXV. HOW RICHARD HEARD A SONG
XXXVI. HOW THE ISMAELIANS SAW TRENCHEFER
XXXVII. HOW ROLLO CARRIED WEIGHT
XXXVIII. HOW RICHARD AND MUSA AGAIN PARTED
XXXIX. HOW PETER BARTHELMY HAD A DREAM
XL. HOW THE HOLY LANCE WAS FOUND
XLI. HOW LIGHT SMOTE DARKNESS
XLII. HOW MORGIANA WOUND HER LAST SPELL
XLIII. HOW THE ARMY SAW JERUSALEM
XLIV. HOW MORGIANA BROUGHT WARNING
XLV. HOW RICHARD HAD SPEECH WITH MUSA
XLVI. HOW IFTIKHAR CEASED FROM TROUBLING
XLVII. HOW TRENCHEFER WAS BROKEN
XLVIII. HOW RICHARD SAW THE SUN RISEPREFACE
THE First Crusade was the sacrifice of France for the sins of the Dark Ages. Alone of all the Crusades it succeeded, despite its surrender of countless lives. No Richard of England, no St. Louis led; its heroes were the nobles and peasants of France and Norman Italy, who endured a thousand perils and hewed their victorious way to Jerusalem. In this Crusade united Feudalism and Papacy won their greatest triumph. Notwithstanding the self-seeking of a few, the mass of the Crusaders were true to their profession,–they sought no worldly gain, but to wash out their sins in infidel blood. In this Crusade also the alien civilizations of Christendom and Islam were brought into a dramatic collision which has few historic counterparts.
Except in Scott’s “Count Robert of Paris,” which deals wholly with the Constantinople episode, I believe the First Crusade has not been interpreted in fiction. Possibly, therefore, the present book may have a slight value, as seeking to tell the story of the greatest event of a great age.
I have sometimes used modern spellings instead of unfamiliar eleventh-century names. The Crusade chronicles often contradict one another, and once or twice I have taken trifling liberties. To Mr. S. S. Drury and Mr. Charles Hill, University friends who have rendered kind aid on several historical details, I owe many thanks.
W. S. D.
Harvard University.PROLOGUE. HOW HILDEBRAND GAVE A BATTLE CRY
High noon in Italy. Without, a hot sun, a blue bay, a slow sea-breeze; within, a vaulted chamber, bare stone walls, a few blazoned pennons upon the pillars, here and there pictured tapestries, where one might see many a merry tourney and passage-at-arms. Very gentle were the footfalls, though the room was not empty: the whispers were so low that the droning buzz of a bee, which had stolen in at the narrow window, sounded loud as a mill wheel. There were a score of persons in the chamber: tonsured priests in white stoles, and monks in black cassocks; knights in silvered hauberks; a white-robed Moor with the eyes of a falcon and the teeth of a cat; and a young lad, Richard, son of Sir William the castellan, a shy boy of twelve, who sat upon the stone window seat, blinking his great eyes and wondering what it all might mean. No eye rested on the lad: the company had thought only for one object,–a figure that turned wearily on the velvet pillows, half raised itself, sank once more. Then came a thin voice, gentle as a woman’s:–
“Abd Rahman, come: feel my wrist, and do not fear to speak the truth.”
The Moor at the foot of the bed rose from the rushes whereon he had been squatting; stole noiselessly to the sick man’s side. From the arch of the vault above dangled a silver ball. The Moor smote the ball, and with his eye counted the slow vibrations while his hand held the wrist. Even the vagrant bee stopped humming while the sphere swung to and fro for a long minute. Then without a word Abd Rahman crept to a low table where a lamp was heating a silver vial, and on which other vials and spoons were lying. He turned the warm red elixir into a spoon, and brought it to the dying man. There was a rush of color to the pallid cheeks, with a striving to rise from the pillow; but the Moor again held his wrist. Another long silence,–then the question from the bed:–
“Do not hesitate. Is it near the end?”
Abd Rahman salaamed until his turban touched the rushes.
“Sheik Gregorius, all life save Allah’s is mortal,” said he in mongrel Latin.
At the words, there ran a shiver and sobbing through all the company; the priests were kissing their crucifixes; the monks were on their knees,–and had begun to mutter _Agnus Dei, qui tolles peccata mundi, miserere nobis!_The sufferer’s voice checked them.
“Sweet children, what is this? Sorrow? Tears? Rather should you not rejoice that God has remembered my long travail, and opens wide the doorway to the dwellings of His rest?” But the answer was renewed sobbing. Only Abd Rahman crouched impassive. To him death was death, for Nubian slave or lordly Kalif.
“Draw nearer, dear brothers, my children in Christ,” came the voice from the bed. “Let me see your faces; my sight grows dim. The end is not far.”
So they stood close by, those prelates and knights of the stout Norman fortress city of Salerno, on that five-and-twentieth of May, in the year of grace one thousand and eighty-five. None spoke. Each muttered his own prayer, and looked upon the face of the dying. As they stood, the sun dropped a beam athwart the pillows, and lit up the sick man’s face. It was a pale, thin, wasted face, the eyelids half drooping, the eyes now lack-lustre, now touched by fretful and feverish fire; the scanty gray hair tonsured, the shaven lips drawn tensely, so wan that the blue veins showed, as they did through the delicate hands at rest on the coverings. Yet the onlookers saw a majesty more than royal in that wan face; for before them lay the “Servant of the Servants of God.” They looked upon Gregory VII, christened Hildebrand, heir of St. Peter, Vicar of Christ, before whom the imperial successor of Charlemagne and Cæsar had knelt as suppliant and vassal. The silence was again waxing long.
“Dear children,” said the dying Pope, “have you no word for me before I go?” Whereupon the lordliest prelate of them all, the Archbishop of Salerno, fell on his knees, and cried aloud:–
“Oh, _Sanctissime_! how can we endure when you are reft from us? Shall we not be unshepherded sheep amongst ravening wolves; forsaken to the devices of Satan! Oh, Father, if indeed you are the Vicar of Our Lord, beg that He will spare us this loss; and even now He will lengthen out your days, as God rewarded the good Hezekiah, and you will be restored to us and to Holy Church!” But there was a weary smile upon Gregory’s pale face.
“No, my brother, be not afraid. I go to the visible presence of Our Lord: before His very throne I will commend you all to His mercy.” Then the dim eyes wandered round the room. “Where is Odon? Where is Odon, Bishop of Ostia? Not here?–”
“_Beatissime_” said old Desidarius, Abbot of Monte Casino, “we have sent urgent messages to Capua, bidding him come with speed.”
A wistful shadow passed across the face of Gregory.
“I pray God I may give him my blessing before I die.”
He coughed violently; another vial of Abd Rahman’s elixir quieted him, but even the imperturbable face of the Moor told that the medicine could profit little.
“Let us partake of the body and blood of Our Lord,” said Gregory; and the priests brought in a golden chalice and gilded pyx, containing the holy mysteries. They chanted the _Gloria Patri_with trembling voices; the archbishop knelt at the bedside, proffering the pyx. But at that instant the lad, Richard, as he sat and wondered, saw the Pope’s waxen face flush dark; he saw the thin hands crush the coverings into folds, and put by the elements.
“I forget; I am first the Vicar of Christ; second, Hildebrand, the sinner. I have yet one duty before I can stand at God’s judgment seat.” The archbishop rose to his feet, and the holy vessel quaked in his hand; for he saw on the brow of Gregory the black clouds, foretelling the stroke of the lightning.
“What is your command, _Sanctissime_?” he faltered.
And the Pope answered, lifting himself unaided:–
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
więcej..
