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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In "A Prince of Good Fellows," Robert Barr artfully weaves a narrative that is as engaging as it is reflective, offering a keen exploration of friendship, loyalty, and the complexities within human relationships. Set against the backdrop of late 19th century society, Barr employs a rich and eloquent literary style that combines elements of humor, poignancy, and sharp social observation. The novel provides a window into the era's cultural ethos while delving into the personal dilemmas faced by its characters, creating a compelling tapestry of life and camaraderie that resonates with contemporary readers. Robert Barr, a Scottish-born author whose literary career flourished in North America, brought to his writing a unique perspective shaped by his own experiences as an immigrant and an observer of societal intricacies. His background as a journalist and humorist informs his narrative style, enabling him to blend entertainment with critical insight. Barr's understanding of human nature and interpersonal dynamics is evident throughout the novel, illustrating the motivations and aspirations that propel his characters forward. "A Prince of Good Fellows" is a must-read for those who appreciate finely crafted literature that transcends time, offering timeless reflections on friendship and character. Readers seeking a delightful blend of wit and wisdom will find themselves entranced by Barr's engaging prose and the vivid lives of his characters. This novel is not merely a story; it is an invitation to contemplate the essence of companionship and the true meaning of goodness. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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A Prince of Good Fellows
Table of Contents
Introduction
Between revelry and responsibility, A Prince of Good Fellows turns on the tension between winning hearts and keeping faith, following a genial figure whose talent for fellowship, improvisation, and timely audacity draws friends and rivals into orbit even as shifting fortunes, public expectation, and private conscience press against him, so that the very qualities that make him beloved—his generosity, wit, and readiness for risk—continually demand new reckonings about loyalty, justice, and the cost of charm; set against an atmosphere of movement and encounter, where a jest can open a door as quickly as it can close one, the narrative charts how convivial ease becomes a proving ground for character.
Written by Robert Barr, a writer active at the turn of the twentieth century, A Prince of Good Fellows belongs to the era’s popular fiction that favored swift plots, pointed humor, and memorable personalities. First published in the early twentieth century, it reflects the period’s appetite for entertainment that marries poise with momentum. Readers encounter a work that aligns with Barr’s reputation for accessible storytelling, where the pleasure lies in deft scenes and well-timed turns rather than elaborate exposition. The result is a book that sits comfortably within its contemporary milieu while remaining readable for modern audiences who value clarity, energy, and wit.
Without depending on foreknowledge of any prior story, the book introduces a central presence whose good nature and deft social instincts set a series of encounters in motion. The premise is not a puzzle to be solved but an unfolding of situations in which charm, tact, and daring create possibilities as readily as they create peril. Instead of sweeping battles or meditative interiority, the emphasis falls on agile episodes and the shifting stakes within them. Readers can expect a lively sequence of challenges and reprieves, where the pleasure is in watching intelligence and temperament negotiate the world’s frictions.
Barr’s prose favors economy over ornament, moving briskly from setup to reversal and from tension to release, with dialogue and incident carrying much of the load. The voice strikes a balance between geniality and irony, allowing humor to coexist with practical calculation. Scenes pivot on small but telling choices, and the narrative cadence rewards attention to motive and consequence rather than to grand declarations. The tone remains inviting even when circumstances tighten, sustaining a lightness that never slips into triviality. It is storytelling designed for immediacy: clear stakes, crisp transitions, and a steady undercurrent of play that keeps the pages turning.
Beneath its buoyancy, the book engages themes that outlast any single moment in history: the ethics of leadership by charm, the tension between public performance and private intention, and the fragile bonds of trust that make communities possible. Fellowship here is not merely a social pleasure but a currency that can be spent, squandered, or invested. The narrative repeatedly asks what is owed to friends, to principle, and to oneself when success depends on being liked as much as being right. In doing so, it probes how good will operates under pressure and what it costs to maintain it.
These questions travel well into the present, where influence often flows through personality as much as through office or expertise. Readers today may find in A Prince of Good Fellows a mirror for contemporary debates about charisma, accountability, and the politics of likeability. The book suggests that charm can open doors but cannot absolve decisions, and that community thrives when conviviality is tethered to discernment. Its emphasis on quick thinking, social reading, and moral calibration resonates in a world saturated with public performance, where reputations form instantly and must be managed with care as well as courage.
Approached as an entertainment with a thoughtful core, this novel offers the satisfactions of deftly staged episodes, a steady hum of wit, and a protagonist defined by more than panache. It asks readers to enjoy the play while noticing the stakes, to admire audacity without ignoring responsibility. For those curious about early twentieth century popular fiction, it provides an inviting gateway to its period’s narrative habits and pleasures. For anyone seeking a brisk, engaging read that still leaves room for reflection, A Prince of Good Fellows stands ready to show how a generous spirit fares when the world politely, and persistently, demands proof.
Synopsis (Selection)
A Prince of Good Fellows by Robert Barr is a historical romance set in sixteenth-century Scotland, following a spirited young ruler who enjoys the company of ordinary people as much as the ceremony of court. The story begins within the constraints of a guarded royal household, where ambitious nobles steer policy and limit the prince’s movements. Barr introduces bustling streets, taverns, and market squares just beyond palace walls, hinting at the lively world the hero longs to explore. The narrative establishes a contrast between rigid authority and convivial fellowship, setting the stage for a sequence of adventures shaped by wit, disguise, and a restless sense of justice.
In the opening episodes, the prince slips from formal duties to experience the city at close hand, listening to grievances of merchants, craftsmen, and wayfarers. He adopts a plain name and garb that allow him to pass unrecognized among millers, sailors, and border riders. These scenes introduce recurring companions and sparring partners, some loyal by instinct, others tempted by advantage. At court, the regency’s watchful eyes tighten, and every excursion risks discovery. The contrast between courtly caution and the freedom of the streets gives momentum, as the prince learns how decisions taken in gilded chambers echo through workshops, alehouses, and lonely roads.
A turning point arrives when a powerful house attempts to bind the prince more closely to its interests, pressing alliances and curtailing access to trusted friends. A near disaster forces him to weigh youthful bravado against the responsibilities of inheritance. Guided by a handful of discreet allies, he charts a path that preserves both his independence and his connection to common life. Rather than retreat into ceremony, he refines his disguise, broadens his circle, and begins testing local authorities, noting where law is abused or honor ignored. The stakes become personal, and the cheerful freedoms of early chapters take on sharper purpose.
The novel’s middle movement unfolds as a chain of journeys across lowland towns, river crossings, and Highland passes. At fairs and kirks he trades proverbs with parish elders; in smoky inns he matches wits with ballad singers and reivers; on moonlit tracks he faces cutpurses, lairds, and sheriffs whose badges hide rough dealing. These encounters play out like linked tales, each revealing a facet of the realm: border feuds, predatory tolls, and disputes over grain or grazing. Wherever he goes, the incognito prince quietly nudges outcomes toward fairness, building a store of loyalties that will matter when private adventures intersect with public duty.
Periodic returns to court frame the excursions. There, counselors debate finance, church affairs, and the uneasy peace with neighboring powers, while the young ruler navigates patronage and precedent. A discreet romantic thread emerges around a highborn woman whose insight matches his spirit, though both must mask feeling under protocol. Festivals, embassies, and progress from castle to castle provide spectacle, but the narrative keeps one eye on the streets outside the gates. Barr uses these interludes to show how tales carried by pedlars and minstrels ricochet back to the throne, shaping reputation and complicating the delicate balance between popularity and authority.
Pressure builds toward a confrontation with the overmighty nobles who once managed the prince’s life. Moves and countermoves unfold through midnight councils, coded letters, and hastily raised riders. Allies tested on the road now stand in halls where the stakes are offices, lands, and lives. A meeting arranged to settle grievances becomes a pivot that alters the realm’s distribution of power. Without lingering on battlefield particulars, the book emphasizes strategy, nerve, and the moral calculus of restraint. The outcome clarifies the prince’s resolve: to rule in his own right while keeping the open door to fellowship that has guided him thus far.
After this shift, the narrative widens. The ruler undertakes circuits to the western lochs, island strongholds, and the Border Marches, asserting royal presence where custom once eclipsed law. He hears petitions on church steps, revises levies that burdened smallholders, and rewards those who kept faith when conditions turned hard. The tone remains brisk and anecdotal, threading humorous mishaps with sober reckonings. Musicians, poets, and craftsmen find patronage, and the court’s pageantry reflects a steadier hand. Yet the book avoids triumphalism; it notes lingering resentments and the thin line between clemency and indulgence that a sociable sovereign must walk.
External pressures tighten as foreign envoys test alliances and border raids threaten commerce. Closer to home, a confidant wavers, and a careless word nearly unmasks the sovereign’s second life among the good fellows of road and hearth. The narrative gathers its themes here: the value of listening, the costs of leniency, and the necessity of decisive action. A plan forms that seeks to reconcile the prince’s delight in anonymity with the visibility demanded by rule. The risk is clear: if identity and intention are exposed at the wrong moment, trust may collapse. Preparations for a final reckoning move quietly into place.
The closing chapters deliver a measured resolution that reaffirms the book’s central idea: just government grows from close knowledge of ordinary lives. The prince secures space to govern without the old constraints, while the friendships forged in humble rooms remain intact. Formal ceremonies mark stability, but Barr returns the viewpoint to doorways, hearths, and marketplaces, where stories of the Gudeman of Ballengeich circulate with affection. The novel ends on a note of earned confidence rather than spectacle, offering a portrait of leadership that marries firmness with fellowship, and suggesting that a ruler’s greatest strength may lie in the company he keeps.
Historical Context
Robert Barr’s A Prince of Good Fellows is set chiefly in early sixteenth-century Scotland during the personal rule of King James V (r. 1528–1542). The locale ranges from courtly centers such as Stirling and Edinburgh to the Border Marches and the western Highlands and Isles, mapping a realm divided by language, law, and custom. Market towns, royal burghs, and castles frame a society still feudal in structure, where kinship networks, church authority, and crown justice intersect. The tales draw on the tradition of the monarch roaming incognito—James V as the “Gudeman of Ballengeich,” the tenant of the windy pass beneath Stirling Castle—testing the probity of lairds, magistrates, and commoners amid chronic regional unrest.
The book’s horizon is shaped by the aftermath of Flodden Field (9 September 1513), where James IV fell against the English at Branxton Moor, leaving the infant James V as king. The minority saw regencies under his mother Margaret Tudor and later John Stewart, Duke of Albany, with bitter factional struggles among the Douglases and others. James V escaped Douglas control in 1528 and commenced personal rule. Historically, this period of instability fractured governance and emboldened lawlessness in the Borders and Isles. Barr’s episodes mirror a realm recovering from catastrophe, using the young king’s peripatetic presence to dramatize the restoration of authority in towns and remote districts alike.
Central to the book’s world is the campaign against the Border reivers—interclan raiders such as the Armstrongs, Elliots, and Grahams—whose depredations straddled Anglo-Scottish frontiers. In 1529–1530 James V led justice ayres through Teviotdale and Annandale, enforcing royal peace with speed and severity. A signal moment came with the summary hanging of Johnnie Armstrong of Gilnockie at Caerlanrig in July 1530, despite his parley under safe conduct, a lesson that crown mercy had limits when order was at stake. Barr’s narratives, steeped in disguises, taverns, and tollbooths, evoke these crackdowns: the incognito king encounters venal officials and bold freebooters, testing local loyalties against the reassertion of central justice.
Equally formative were the Highland and Hebridean policies that pursued the pacification of Gaelic lordships long after the 1493 forfeiture of the Lordship of the Isles. In 1540 James V sailed from Leith through Orkney and the Western Isles, holding courts, demanding hostages, and compelling submissions from chiefs of MacLeod, MacNeil, MacLean, and MacDonald lineages; several were seized and conveyed to Edinburgh. Royal justice was performed at places like Iona and Dunstaffnage, symbolically binding periphery to center. The book reflects this frontier governance by dramatizing meetings between crown envoys and clan power, exploring obligations of hospitality, oath-taking, and the tension between customary fines and the king’s law.
Foreign policy and dynastic alliances decisively contour the period. Upholding the Auld Alliance, James V married Madeleine of Valois in Paris (January 1537); her death in July 1537 was followed by his marriage to Mary of Guise in June 1538, strengthening Franco-Scottish ties amid Henry VIII’s break with Rome. Hostility with England culminated in the rout at Solway Moss (24 November 1542), where Scottish nobles were captured and morale collapsed. James V died at Falkland Palace on 14 December 1542, six days after the birth of Mary at Linlithgow. Barr’s stories often foreshadow this geopolitical pressure, using embassies, levies, and rumors of war to underline the precariousness of royal favor and local fortunes.
The early Scottish Reformation’s stirrings form a charged backdrop. Parliament in 1525 banned Lutheran books; St Andrews University became a conduit of reforming ideas. The execution of the nobleman-scholar Patrick Hamilton for heresy at St Andrews on 29 February 1528 marked a watershed, as did later burnings—encouraged by Archbishop (later Cardinal) David Beaton—of accused evangelicals in the 1530s. Though full Reformation would arrive in 1559–1560, James V’s reign saw clerical wealth questioned and ecclesiastical courts scrutinized. Barr’s episodes register these tensions in scenes of abbey hospitality and ecclesiastical jurisdiction, contrasting pastoral charity with venality, and portraying lay skepticism toward church privilege without anachronizing later doctrinal conflicts.
Institutional consolidation under James V anchors the social texture the book exploits. The College of Justice (the Court of Session) was founded in 1532 by royal charter and a papal bull of Clement VII, professionalizing civil law under a bench of senators and a president, and complementing itinerant justice ayres. Royal burghs—Edinburgh, Stirling, Perth—flourished through trade via Leith with the Low Countries and Baltic, while guild regulation, tolls, and market law shaped urban life. Barr situates rogues and courtiers amid tolbooths, customs posts, and burgh councils, highlighting how centralized legal instruments, rather than mere feudal might, increasingly ordered disputes over land, debt, and reputation in both Lowland streets and upland fairs.
By staging a monarch who listens in disguise and intervenes directly, the book critiques complacent power, exposing petty tyranny among sheriffs, lairds, and churchmen, and the precarious access to justice of artisans, widows, and itinerants. Its episodes question arbitrary rule, rent extraction, and venal officeholding while acknowledging the crown’s own recourse to spectacle and severity. The social divides between Gaelic and Lowland communities, borderers and burghers, and lay and clerical courts become arenas for evaluating legitimacy. In pairing popular wit with royal correction, Barr offers a political fable of accountability: good governance requires proximity to the governed, impartial law, and resistance to factional capture of public institutions.
