+ Historiae +

A framework, in every collection of medieval tales there's a framework and "Historiae" is the name of this sonorous book of ours.

Inspiration comes with summer and this year too it's been sudden and unforseen, the warm wind of ancient times has blown in this land of ours that in the season of sun resounds with drums, flutes and bagpipes of feasts taking place in every medieval burg of this italian corner where Celtic influences have survived, a land were traditions, spells, ancient customs are still very rooted. We, like wandering menestrels, have become the humble cantors of all of this.

"Historiae" encloses a phantom archaic village, a labyrinth of the soul whose center is a square, each narrow street converges in the centre and carries the emotional burden of many lives embodying histories that in that square become meaningless, annihilate themselves in the end of life , in the conclusion of the journey, in the time scansion, in the remote past that cancel the single human soul to remember uniquely events. Here we have picked up pieces of erased existences travelling up and down these ways, eavesdropping, collecting fragments of voices, listening to the feeble narration of a pilgrim or a foreigner who described shadows and figures who lived along these lanes or in far villages whose strange name we had never heard before. Pieces of other lives narrated by many voices were written on torn papers or on precious parchment.At the place of words flew out notes, sounds, airs, confused memories whose singular bearers we are. We're becoming pilgrims and narrators too, we're going to bring in your far lands, burgs and villages these "Historiae", they will become yours, they will mingle with your own life, and in your turn you'll hand them down along paved streets before getting that square.

"Hydra Hyali" or the research of the Holy Grail, we remember this name who has been referred to us by an unusual pilgrim, maybe a saint, who was coming back from orient. He gave use an account of the Knights Templars, the smell of dust, the sable filling the nostrils, the beating of hooves on the path, the sound of horns, the sweat and those hymns raising proudly from time to time... " Drink in, drink in knowledge, don't hesitate, don't surrender, you can touch the earth this will give you strenght you can submerge in the sea perceiving the sense of your senses, you can cross the fire to obtain wisdom, you can float in the air to reach the mystic flower". The mystic flower................

"Astraea" a young man wearing a humble but clean garnment narrated us this history. He had learned it by a fabric trader coming from the levant lands, the tale was really ancient, at least its genesis. Astraea was a Goddess who had lived on the earth in the Golden Age then she escaped when the Iron Age came with low actions and sufferings. It's commonly believed that Zeus, with a love rite, transformed her into a constellation and she, dominated by the moon but free, goes on living brilliant and far from the world, she herself a world. "Seeing, feeling, touching her this night, finding, delighting, enchanting her this night, rising, enlightening, transfiguring her this night, upsetting, revealing, subliming her this night, 'cause this night the plenilune dominates her, 'cause this night the flesh are abandoning her."

"Filava Melis" is a strange tale, originally it could be a sort of philosophical anecdote told us with the pretext of speaking of flowers, we should say extraordinary flowers, present in some windowsills of that sad and perfuming lane, an odd place where life and hope had lost their meaning while our spirit was filled up by an empty dull peace, a soft but heavy one. Who spoke was a maiden, or maybe a childish appearance hid a more mature age, she told us that a day a notable man learned in jurisprudence had been received by her lord, who lived just there in that palace, and told him these curious words: "Oh my lord, for Blind Goddess' sake, I have no more pleasure of greatness I feel the wish for dying, seeing in the dew the lotus flower along Acheron, oh my lord my heart is growing cool, yelding of worn-out wings." So the Parca always spinning and cutting human beings' lives gratified his wish and he wasn't seen anymore.

"Scarlet leaves" is a very sad legend that a wayfarer coming from Ireland sang with his flute accompaniment. A virgin was waiting for her lover for a long time, he had left for far lands and told her to observe the scarlet leaves of Autumn while falling, he would have returned only in that Autumnal season. She observed, danced with the leaves, lay on their soft blanket but he didn't return, other leaves fell and other seasons passed but no return........... The virgin's life broke but her corageous soul survived, dead in her body but not in her spirit she went on waiting for her love longer and longer lying on the cold ground, looking at the scarlet leaves with the eyes of her soul. She called and called him just hoping he could at least spread her ashes. She would have like them to hover and fly together with the leaves as they had wings. Nothing happened, her spirit faded away too in the freeze, in the snow, the feeble eyes of her soul now are closed. Someone says that he one day that man came back but she never returned.

"Histrionia" was coarsely sung to us by a ministrel that once was a very famous jester at a well-known court. We met him in a broad deserted way leading to a square. He sang exactly the following words :

"Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh 'cause tomorrow you'll cry.
Oh fine Sir who admire yourself in vain
in the lying mirror of vanities
your gentle pale and diaphanous face
tomorrow only tomorrow the smallpox disfigured will have.

Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh 'cause tomorrow you'll cry.
Oh gentle Lady owner of virtue
by anyone loved and revered as much as you please
each onus and honour of yours
dying in chilbirth you'll take with you in the next world.

Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh 'cause tomorrow you'll cry.
Oh noble Lord with a mainly air
today you're making the counting of your own properties
castles, lands, men that today are yours
tomorrow your enemies will put to fire and sword.

Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh 'cause tomorrow you'll cry.
Lovely girl facing life
you dance plaisant airs and receive the hand-kissing
furtive glances and awaited loves forget
'cause tomorrow your father will make you become a nun.

Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh 'cause tomorrow you'll cry.
Me who I am jester and nothing I own
neither lands nor virtue or beauty or chastity
today I am your humble servant
tomorrow I'll be servant of whom will ruin you.

Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
I am the jester I don't fear neither enemy or majesty,
Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
I am the jester I don't fear neither enemy or majesty."

"Antinea"

"The sons of the Men
led by the sons of Wisdom
went away, farer and farer,
and spread themselves on the earth
like a sweet water torrent.
A great number of them,
the ones who had a weak heart,
died during the journey
but the majority of them
were saved."
(from "The Book of Dzyan")

"Li Frere, Li Mestre du Temple"

"Qu'estoient rempli et ample
D'or et d'argent et de richesse
Et qui menoient tel noblesse
Ou' sont il? que sont devenu?"
(Cronique à la suite du roman de Favel)

"Mundus est Locundum"
(Anonymous XII-XIII cen. - CARMINA BURANA 179)