Medievalist in the House
I think it's pretty self-evident that medievalists are not generally needed urgently. I don't mean needed urgently as in "Oh, damn! Who's going to teach the Piers Plowman seminar next semester? Better hire a medievalist QUICK!" sort of urgently, as usually in such cases you don't actually need the medievalist the next day or anything near it. We're all pretty aware that you don't hear people say things like, "What's that, Lassie? You say Timmy's in the well? Quick, girl! Go get the medievalist!" or "Houston, we have a problem. Go find the medievalist!" or even, "Ladies and Gentlemen, do not panic. Stay in your seats, please. Is there a medievalist in the house?"
We do have a Great Medievalist Movie Hero, as a guide to what we could be like, if given the chance -- that'd be Sean Connery, playing Indiana Jones's dad. Oh, how I love to watch the medievalist helping to save the world! Yes! It could happen! Must keep all my notes!
No.
In general, if I'm useful to society it's in a sort of obscure way. I pretty much comfort myself by telling myself I don't often do any actual HARM by being a medievalist. Well, ok, I guess I have to make an exception for the times parents call me up, distraught because their children used to be pre-med but now they want to study Chaucer. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Guess I got carried away when we were reading Troilus and Criseyde.
But. Apparently there are occasional moments when one can, as a medievalist, serve one's community.
At the Annual Marathon Pre-Concert Choir Rehearsal From Hell, which was last Thursday, and did indeed go on until midnight, and only stopped then because the choir director couldn't actually see the music anymore, we had some Rough Spots.
One of them was so rough that entire pieces of the music were missing. This was a piece wherein the refrain was in Latin, and it wasn't that bad, but the verses were in Middle English, though we were singing them in English (and boy, did THIS go up my nose; I'd been whinging about it to the poor alto sitting next to me for weeks), and the music to the verses was HARD, and all the lines were DIFFERENT, and we couldn't sing them, no matter how we tried. Just would not go in our heads. There was one line that the women were supposed to sing, and without exception, we didn't. Total silence. Tried it again. Same problem. Then the choir director yelled at the basses, whose fault it apparently was, cause they were supposed to give us our note and they didn't.
I didn't think personally that my not singing the line was the fault of the basses -- I thought it was because I didn't know what the line was, and my own rule is not to sing music I don't know. But I didn't volunteer this information.
Anyway, it was clear to all of us that we were all set to humiliate ourselves at "Lessons and Carols," but over the weekend the choir director had a brilliant idea, which was that he remembered he had a medievalist in the choir and called me up to see if I would just READ the lines, dramatically, in Middle English, and the choir would sing the refrain, which we're pretty good at.
Yep. No problem.
So, at the concert, the choir sang "Nova, nova, ave fit ex Eva," and I read the Middle English, and it sounded like we'd planned it that way forever, and everybody was Really Impressed, and now I am the Heroine of the Choir, having Saved the Day, and I figure I've got about a month of free rides off this, and can make even more jokes than usual during rehearsals. (Also, I'm hoping that now the rest of the choir will have something to say about me other than that I look like Madame Defarge cause I'm knitting. OH, how hilarious that joke is. And how seldom, as a knitter, do I hear it. Oh, please, do say it again. No, really. It will make me think SO highly of you.)
Now I'm holding myself in readiness, cause you never know when you might be needed by your community, no matter how killingly obscure your talents are. Indiana Jones might be by at any minute. Must go find my notes.
We do have a Great Medievalist Movie Hero, as a guide to what we could be like, if given the chance -- that'd be Sean Connery, playing Indiana Jones's dad. Oh, how I love to watch the medievalist helping to save the world! Yes! It could happen! Must keep all my notes!
No.
In general, if I'm useful to society it's in a sort of obscure way. I pretty much comfort myself by telling myself I don't often do any actual HARM by being a medievalist. Well, ok, I guess I have to make an exception for the times parents call me up, distraught because their children used to be pre-med but now they want to study Chaucer. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Guess I got carried away when we were reading Troilus and Criseyde.
But. Apparently there are occasional moments when one can, as a medievalist, serve one's community.
At the Annual Marathon Pre-Concert Choir Rehearsal From Hell, which was last Thursday, and did indeed go on until midnight, and only stopped then because the choir director couldn't actually see the music anymore, we had some Rough Spots.
One of them was so rough that entire pieces of the music were missing. This was a piece wherein the refrain was in Latin, and it wasn't that bad, but the verses were in Middle English, though we were singing them in English (and boy, did THIS go up my nose; I'd been whinging about it to the poor alto sitting next to me for weeks), and the music to the verses was HARD, and all the lines were DIFFERENT, and we couldn't sing them, no matter how we tried. Just would not go in our heads. There was one line that the women were supposed to sing, and without exception, we didn't. Total silence. Tried it again. Same problem. Then the choir director yelled at the basses, whose fault it apparently was, cause they were supposed to give us our note and they didn't.
I didn't think personally that my not singing the line was the fault of the basses -- I thought it was because I didn't know what the line was, and my own rule is not to sing music I don't know. But I didn't volunteer this information.
Anyway, it was clear to all of us that we were all set to humiliate ourselves at "Lessons and Carols," but over the weekend the choir director had a brilliant idea, which was that he remembered he had a medievalist in the choir and called me up to see if I would just READ the lines, dramatically, in Middle English, and the choir would sing the refrain, which we're pretty good at.
Yep. No problem.
So, at the concert, the choir sang "Nova, nova, ave fit ex Eva," and I read the Middle English, and it sounded like we'd planned it that way forever, and everybody was Really Impressed, and now I am the Heroine of the Choir, having Saved the Day, and I figure I've got about a month of free rides off this, and can make even more jokes than usual during rehearsals. (Also, I'm hoping that now the rest of the choir will have something to say about me other than that I look like Madame Defarge cause I'm knitting. OH, how hilarious that joke is. And how seldom, as a knitter, do I hear it. Oh, please, do say it again. No, really. It will make me think SO highly of you.)
Now I'm holding myself in readiness, cause you never know when you might be needed by your community, no matter how killingly obscure your talents are. Indiana Jones might be by at any minute. Must go find my notes.
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