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Wilde contrefaçon

2012-01-26T10:07:00.038+01:00

'I hate vulgarity in literature. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for'

Ceci n'est pas une référence à l'œuvre écrite d'Oscar Wilde.
Au contraire, selon mes propres convictions, il s'agit d'une dénonciation de tous ceux qui, sans scrupules, se bornent à perpétuer un mythe dédaigneux en attribuant un certain livre à l'écrivain anglo-irlandais purement pour des fins mercenaires.

En lisant, d'abord par curiosité de ma part, ce livre attribué à lui, ceux qui connaissent son œuvre sont- j'en suis persuadé- très rapidement portés à la conclusion que non seulement Oscar Wilde n'a jamais pu l'écrire, mais qu'il aurait insisté catégoriquement, même en suppliant à genoux si nécessaire, de n'en être jamais associé.
Non seulement à cause du thème dépourvu d'amour vrai, ou des scènes répugnantes et laides, sans aucune sensualité ou subtilité, ou l'histoire elle-même, plutôt absurde, grotesque et pathétique, mais bien évidemment à cause de la manière dont il a été écrit. Bien trop mal pour jamais être imputé aux œuvres d'Oscar Wilde.

Nous savons à quel point Wilde fut un esthète raffiné et sensible. Il défendait art for art's sake, puis beauty for beauty's sake. Il vivait en fonction de ses idéaux et ses principes, qu'il défendait toute sa vie, et même dernièrement au prix de sa vie, certainement en ce qui concerne son œuvre écrite.

Dans ce livre dont on fait l'anagramme Nelety, il n'y a qu'un faux semblant superficiel d'esthétisme, probablement dans une tentative maladroite d'imiter le style de Wilde, naturellement, et pour cause, sans jamais réussir.

D'ailleurs il y a des phrases que Oscar Wilde aurait évité comme la peste. Prenons par exemple: P. 202. "L'habit ne fait pas le moine (...) ou en P.51. "Quand on le veut, on le peut", (...) ou "(...) j'en ai bien d'autres chats à fouetter (...)." Il en aurait eu horreur.
Jamais Wilde n'aurait utilisé ou permis d'être associé avec l'utilisation de telles phrases aussi banales, sans au moins se moquer d'elles en ajoutant des tournures paradoxales comme pour la première : il le cache plutôt, ou la seconde : mais quand on le peut on ne le veut plus. Mais ni l'une ni l'autre de ces dernières suggestions ne lui aurait été acceptable non plus.

Puis sur la page 131, il y a une 'note du traducteur' à propos du mot bougre 'en français dans la copie manuscrite'. Selon lui 'ce mot est employé ici avec la signification qu'on lui donnait au XVIIIe siècle' (s'agissant en fait du XIXe siècle, le 'traducteur mystérieux', s'est trompé carrément de siècle) 'et dont les anglais ont tiré le terme argot bu..er (...). Il va sans dire qu'il n'y a aucun rapport, et n'en a jamais eu, entre le mot bougre et le mot anglais (qui n'est pas non plus un mot argot) dont le soi-disant traducteur a fait allusion.
Sur p.192 on formule une phrase '(...) un homme ne doit jamais rencontre son alter ego (...).' Alter ego ne se réfère-t-il pas à un individu qui mène une vie double, plutôt qu'à une soi-disant similarité entre deux personnes?

Sur la page précédante celle du titre du livre en français dont je me réfère (Le Cercle Poche) on peut lire: 'Malgré toutes nos recherches, il nous a été impossible de retrouver l'auteur de la traduction originale. Dans le cas où le traducteur reconnaîtrait son œuvre et serait à même d'en établir la preuve, il est prié de se faire connaître sans délai auprès de la société GECEP (...)'.
(Dans la supposition très improbable que Wilde voulut être engagé personnellement dans un tel projet sans intérêt, il aurait été assez capable de faire la traduction lui-même, ce qui ajoute encore à la certitude que ce livre n'a rien a voir avec Oscar Wilde).

Edison, né en 1847, inventa la lumière électrique en 1880. Si on maintient que ce livre ait été écrit avant 1893- la date de sa première publication, 'la lumière électrique' ainsi qu'une 'forte batterie électrique' dont ce livre fait aussi allusion, sont totalement hors du contexte historique. En page 245 on fait même allusion à 'l'appel strident d'une sonnette électrique'. A l'époque d'Oscar Wilde, ou on utilisait les heurtoirs, ou les cordons ou poignées de clochettes. Même les sonnettes à ressort n'étaient pas trop courantes avant 1914. Inutile d'ajouter que de telles négligences rendent l'attribution du livre à Oscar Wilde encore plus ridicule.

Donc on prétend que Nelety, ou disons son autre titre comme The other side of the coin, fut publié d'abord à Londres en 1893 (Sept ans alors avant la mort de Wilde).
Bibliothécaire de livres érotiques, Charles Hirsch, a soutenu qu'il fut écrit par Wilde et/ou son proche entourage. Wilde n'aurait jamais écrit quoi que ce soit en collaboration aussi désinvolte avec qui que ce soit. Comme écrivain il avait justement trop de self-estime et aussi trop de respect pour son œuvre pour se diminuer ainsi, produisant avec des autres un tel résultat aussi pauvre et vulgaire, et évidemment il n'en aurait été jamais intéressé donc incliné d'y participer.
Oscar Wilde le souligne lui même :

Bad artistes always admire each others work. They call it being large-minded and free from prejudice. But a truly great artist cannot conceive of life being shown, or beauty fashioned, under any conditions other than those he has selected.

On dit que le manuscrit s'est trouvé chez Leonard Smithers and Harry Sidney Nichols, éditeurs victoriens qui avaient travaillé en collaboration avec d'autres éditeurs à Londres et à Paris se spécialisant dans la pornographie. Comme Smithers est connu pour avoir piraté le travail de Wilde, il n'aurait guère été étonnant s'il utilisait le nom de Wilde pour vendre cet effort parmi d'autres sous le nom (imprint) de Erotika Biblion Society.

Y-a-t-il quelque chose de pire que la basse médiocrité exploitée de manière aussi honteuse? Une histoire ou prétexte même le plus cru, écrit par quiconque pourrait être aussi fatiguant sinon pire, mais un tel livre serait au moins plus honnête dans sa pauvreté. La médiocrité crue de Nelety est rendue totalement inacceptable par la prétention qu'elle est l'œuvre, ou même partiellement l'œuvre, d'Oscar Wilde, naturellement pour pouvoir continuer à le vendre ad infinitum.

On vend la médiocrité de très mauvais goût dans le nom de Wilde en crachant donc continuellement sur sa tombe. On le diffame en faisant en somme un deuxième procès interminable, comme si le premier n'a pas suffit, et comme si tout ce pour lequel il vivait et tout ce qu'il avait tant défendu pendant son existence, ne représentent strictement rien.
Malgré tout sa souffrance vers la fin de sa vie, on continue quand même à le marquer au chaud de façon ignoble en l'associant avec un tel livre piètre et pathétique qui lui aurait fait horreur. Ce qui est de bas fond immoral c'est justement cette association sciemment perpétuée pour la postérité. Par rapport avec une telle contrefaçon, le livre lui-même n'a pas d'importance.

Pour être juste cependant, il y a des rares passages dans ce livre qui arrivent à un niveau que l'on pourrait juger quasi 'acceptable', mais il n'y aucun passage que l'on puisse associé avec l'écriture d'Oscar Wilde. Quelle que soit la tendance du lecteur intelligent, il ne serait point ému, stimulé ou convaincu par ce livre.

Cette allusion est simplement fait, non pour défendre l'œuvre d'Oscar Wilde qui se défend fort bien toute seule, elle est faite pour condamner tous ceux qui, par ignorance ou intérêt, continuent faussement à attribuer ou à associer à lui un livre sans intérêt ou valeur, plutôt pour des considérations mercenaires. Ainsi ils essayent de perpétuer indéfiniment la vente du livre en dépit d'un des plus grands écrivains et intellectuels anglo-irlandais du 19e siècle, de tout ce qu'il eut défendu et pour lequel il eut vécu.

Il disait lui-même à sa manière provocante et inimitable : 'Il n'y a pas de livre moral ou immoral. Les livres sont bien ou mal écrits. Voilà tout.
Comme ce livre tombe pile (ou face) au base-fond du dernier panier, il n'a strictement rien à voir avec Oscar Wilde.

This text generally supports this opinion, although to my mind the book in question condemns itself. It cancels itself out. To accord it any importance would be to acknowledge its legitimacy. By feigning to be a work of Oscar Wilde, either fully or partly, it totally forfeits its legitimacy.

Salome

Text © Mirino. Source- Teleny (Le Cercle Poche). Portrait of Oscar Wilde by Toulouse Lautrec. Photograph of Oscar Wilde (unknown photographer). With grateful thanks. January, 2012

Le changement

2012-01-23T09:22:00.041+01:00

Avant la fin de Janvier

Tout alors sera révélé

Le temps est ainsi revenu

De remettre clairement tout à nu

C'est enfin arrivée cette chance

Pour rétrograder la douce France

En reculant vers cette époque

Des années 60, et Woodstock

Ce monde toujours beau et gentil,

L'Utopia sans ennemi:

(Faisons plaisir aux taliban,

S'en retirant d'Afghanistan).

Faisons le plein d'enseignants

Et la retraite à soixante ans,

Puis l'on s'en moque du 'triple A'

Ne sachant pas trop où on va

Cessons de parler de cette crise

Que l'on ne veut plus lâcher prise,

Inventée tout à fait exprès

Pour s'en servir et subjuguer

Que je sois prêt c'est évident,

Je serai élu Président.

Si oui ou non ça marchera

M'importe moins, mais on verra

J'incarne le nouveau Mitterand.

J'ai même appris ses gestes à fond,

Et puis si notre socialisme

Semble bien loin du réalisme-

Nous allons quand même l'appliquer

Revendiquant l'Egalité.

Les syndicats seront contents,

Le changement, c'est maintenant !

Ode à celui qui 'serait le Président de la fin... des privilèges'..

Ode and image © Mirino (PW). January, 2012

The Iliad

2012-01-20T10:37:00.018+01:00

Nothing is known of the life of Homer although tradition has it that he was from the island of Chios. Most scholars estimate that the Iliad was written during the second half of the 8th century BC.
Considering its depth and sophistication, this seems incredible. The Classical Antiquity era lasted from the 8th century BC until the 6th century AD (1,300 years). What is classified as The Hellenistic period (323-146 BC) was perhaps the richest period beginning with the death of Alexandra and finally ending with the Roman conquest. It was during this era that Greek culture and science, such as medicine and astronomy, had its influence in the Middle East. The Persians were among the first to translate the Greek treatises of medical science, for example.

The Iliad is composed of 24 books. It, as well as the Odyssey, are considered the magnificent culmination following several generations of the work of skilled oral poets and singers during an illiterate age.

The gruesome descriptions of hand to hand fighting describing the terrible, eg. brain splattering damage a long shadowed ash, bronze tipped spear could do, clearly indicates Homer's basic knowledge of human anatomy. The Greek poet also seemed to know how effective shields are made, and how best to drive a horse team in order to win a chariot race, for example. But what may strike one most with the Iliad, despite the fury and violence of the Trojan War which is, of course, its essential theme, is a form of poetic, moral code and justice that finally prevails.

In the 12th and 13th centuries, over 2000 years later, during the 'Holy Wars', when the Crusaders fought the Muslim 'Saracens', each side was convinced that it had the firm support of God. Heathens against Infidels. But the Greek religion/mythology was more, insular, patriarchal, philosophical, poetical and thus nuanced. The Greek gods of which Zeus is the most powerful, consist of a large family. Members even represent the elements, rivers, woods and human sentiments that weigh one way or the other according to their individual preferences. They also determine circumstances.
Like humans, they sometimes argue amongst themselves, but never too seriously. After all, they are immortal. They set the stage uniquely for Greek triumphs and tragedies. For them their various and incidental influences regarding the destiny of the ancient Greek mortal heros seem comparable to a casual yet fatal game of chess. A murderous game arbitrated finally by Zeus.

There are gods like Poseidon, god of the sea, the god of earthquakes, and brother of Zeus, son of Kronos. He is against the Trojans. The goddess Hera, wife and sister of Zeus also supports the Achaians against Troy. The same applies to goddess Athene, daughter of Zeus. Whilst Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto, favours the Trojans, as does the goddess Aphrodite daughter of Zeus and Dione, etc.
Zeus is the god of weather, the power of thunder and lightening. He is the punisher of injustice and expulser of gods such as Ate and Hephaistos from Olympos (a form of Heaven of the ancient Greeks, whereas Hades personifies the underworld or a form of Hell). And as with all the Greek gods, even Zeus can be temperamental.

For those unfamiliar with the epic poem, very basically it's theme is part of the Trojan War. The war is in its tenth year. Achilleus, handsome, powerful demi-god leader and warrior, mortal son of the goddess Thetis, argues with Agamemnon who unreasonably refuses to concede to certain requirements despite a most generous offer.

Zeus favouring Achilleus' argument decrees that Agamemnon should be punished. The punishment first comes swiftly in the form of a plague brought about by Apollo reducing the power of the Achaian army. Nevertheless Agamemnon, strong king and leader, decides to continue the war against Troy with his armies and allies, still determined to sack the city, as the Trojans refuse to return Helen, the wife of Agamemnon's brother Menelaos, king of Sparta. Helen was seduced and abducted by the Trojan, Paris.

Because of his anger against Agamemnon however, Achilleus refuses to join him in battle. As Achilleus is the most feared of the Achaians, his refusal initiates a chain of consequences. Even powerful Agamemnon, Odysseus and Diomedes eventually have to withdraw wounded, while their armies suffer terrible losses due to the mighty fighting power of Hektor, of the glinting helmet. Gradually the Trojans, led by godlike Hektor', push the Achaians back towards their black, beaked and balanced fast ships with the objective to burn the fleet.

Achilleus is still adamant about not fighting, but he agrees that his dear friend Patroklos (also favoured by Zeus) should wear his personal and magnificent bronze armour and take his bronze tipped ash spears, to help push back the Trojans. This Patroklos does with great success, but he goes too far. Apollo deprives him of some of his armour and subsequently he is killed by Hektor who then takes Achilleus' glorious armour from Patroklos, and puts in on.

When Achilleus learns of the death of his friend, he is heart broken. The Achaians eventually succeed in retrieving Patroklos' body despite the Trojans trying to possess it. Achilleus asks his goddess mother Thetis to persuade the god Hephaistos, a cripple capable of forging miracles, to make him a new set of armour, which he agrees to, and accomplishes superbly.

Achilleus and Agamemnon finally reconcile with each other. Agamemnon, admitting to his previous stubborn blindness, offers once more the gifts he offered before to persuade Achilleus to forgive him. He also returns the woman (Briseïs) he previously took from Achilleus.

Achilleus is now determined to avenge the death of Patroklos and kill Hektor. He slaughters his way through the lines of the Trojans who retreat in terror of him. Godlike Achilleus is then tricked by Apollo intent on leading him away from the walls of Troy. When Achilleus realises this he quickly returns, and Hektor is waiting for him outside the walls of the city. Before Achilleus however, Hektor's nerve finally breaks and he runs away. He is chased three times round the city walls.

At this stage Zeus is uncertain about saving Hektor, but Athene, taking the form of Hektor's brother, tricks Hektor into thinking that Deïphobos (his brother) has come to help him fight Achilleus. When his brother is no longer beside him he realises that he's been tricked by the gods and will lose his life. The fight begins. He runs at Achilleus who sees where he can thrust his spear, and Hektor is killed. Before he dies however he begs Achilleus to allow his body to be returned to Troy for a proper burial ceremony. Achilleus, full of hate, promises him that his body will be eaten by dogs and birds. Hektor then makes the prophesy regarding Achilleus' own death (by Paris before the walls of Troy) before he finally dies. Such prophesies of the dying heros are also among the repeated themes of the Iliad.

Achilleus then drags Hektor by his feet behind his chariot. Hector's parents see all this, and when Hektor's wife Andromache, who was preparing for his return, learns of it, she collapses in grief.

Despite Achilleus' terrible sadness, he organises games in honour of Patroklos. After the games, still bitter and heart broken, Achilleus drags the body of Hektor each day, three times round the tomb of Patroklos. This lasts for eleven days. The gods become increasingly angry with this, for Hektor was also loved by Zeus.

Thetis is sent to warn her son and request that he release the body that the gods have beautifully preserved in spite of Achilleus' cruel treatment. At the same time Iris (another goddess) visits Priam, Hektor's father in Troy, to tell him to prepare a ransom to buy back his son's body, which he does.

Thus Priam goes to the fast ships of the Achaians with a generous ransom. He is protected by the gods enabling him to arrive before Achilleus. Although the powerful Achaian has slaughtered many of his sons, he kisses his murderous hands in supplication to release Hektor's body which Achilleus finally agrees to do.

Nine days are spent (also allowed by Achilleus before the war is resumed) in preparation of the funeral ceremony. (The same amount of time devoted to the burial ceremony of Patroklos).

Thus ends The Iliad. One might be left with a philosophical sentiment of poetic (or divine) justice that often seems to correspond with that of real life, when one's sense of judgement and discernment are undermined by immoderate ambition, vanity and short-sightedness. The same blind vanity and stupidity that incites rebellion and war even today, because almost 3,000 years later, human nature hasn't really changed.

Here's a short, typical, excerpt from book 11 of the Iliad. It depicts a scene of battle before Agamemnon is wounded. (Homer refers to the Greeks as Achaians, but also as Argives and Danaans, without any particular differentiation. Please note that this is a reference to the new prose translation by Martin Hammond. The names of the Greek heros in his version don't correspond with the names as already generally established in 'Romanised English', eg. Hector, Achilles, etc.,).

'So he spoke, and knocked Peisandros out of the chariot to the ground with a spear-blow to his chest: he crashed to the earth on his back and lay still. Hippolochos jumped down, and this one he killed on the ground: he sliced off arms and head with his sword, and sent the trunk rolling log-like through the mass of men. He let them lie, and leapt on to where the enemy ranks swarmed thickest, taking the other well-greaved Achaians with him. Then there was massacre and hacking bronze as soldiers cut down soldiers beaten into flight, and chariots fell on chariots- a cloud of dust rose under them from the plain, kicked high by the thundering hooves of horses. And lord Agamemnon drove on in pursuit, shouting to the Argives and killing all the time. As when an annihilating fire falls on a thick forest scrub, and the wind carries it billowing all over, and the bushes are brought down headlong in the flames' overwhelming onslaught, so the fleeing Trojans went down under Agamemnon, son of Atreus, and many strong-necked horses rattled empty chariots along the avenues of battle, missing the noble charioteers they knew: but they lay dead on the ground, a sight now to gladden the vultures, not their wives (...)'

Text. Intro © Mirino. Source- Homer. The Iliad. A new prose translation by Martin Hammond. With thanks. Top image-Achilles tending Patroclus (attributed to Sosias (potter, signed). Painting also attributed to Sosias 'or the Kleophrades painter or Euthymides'. Vase decoration. Tondo of an Attic red-figure kylix, ca 500 BC. From Vulci. Wikimedia Commons, with many thanks. January, 2011

Insomnia

2012-01-17T10:18:00.020+01:00

A line of red herrings filing by,
One by one, the sound of thunderous wind
Provoking her murmurs somewhat unkind,
Such is Nature as together we lie,
Trusting to be in Morpheus' arms soon;
Cool, smooth, white nates caressed by the full moon
Staring at nothing in the blue, grey light
Sensuous aims are now inopportune
But such reveries always bring delight;
Thus fully up gathered, lusty awake:
Great Scot! No doubt there is no sleep for me,
So might I standing, early breakfast make,
But first me thinks I should go for a pee,
For this night Death's brother cannot me take.

With apologies to Wordsworth,

Sleep . The World

Parody and photo-montage © Mirino. January 2012

Le choix

2012-01-14T12:27:00.009+01:00

Pendant quelques années on m'a commissionné pour faire des affiches pour le Cirque de Monte Carlo. A l'époque il fallait faire deux alternatives finies, et c'était le Prince Rainier lui-même qui choisissait finalement celle des deux qu'il voulait utiliser, ou qu'il pensait être la plus appropriée selon le programme et les critères du cirque de l'année.

Bien entendu le Cirque de Monte Carlo était l'enfant chéri du Prince, et naturellement il connaissait bien son affaire. Il avait aussi un goût fin et expérimenté à cet égard.

Mais à cause de sa santé déclinante, le Prince Rainier avait déjà décidé de déléguer la responsabilité du cirque à sa fille Stéphanie. Pour les toutes dernières affiches pour le 29ème Festival International du Cirque que l'on m'a commissionné de faire donc, Il avait l'intention de lui donner aussi la responsabilité du choix à ce moment là.
L'agence longtemps spécialisée dans ce domaine avait déjà déterminé laquelle des deux œuvres était selon eux la meilleure. Leur préférence correspondait aussi avec la mienne. D'ailleurs le choix était assez évident, bien qu'il ait toujours fallu que les deux alternatives finales soient diverses, mais également appropriées selon le goût et la préférence de celui- ou celle- qui allait faire le choix final.

Malgré avoir accordé le droit du choix à sa fille, le Prince ne pouvait pas s'empêcher de faire remarquer que lui aussi, il aimait bien celle que nous avons tous préféré (l'éléphante).
Mais la nouvelle directrice n'était pas d'accord. De plus elle voulait certains changements sur la deuxième alternative qui, selon moi, n'ont rien fait pour l'améliorer non plus. Au contraire.

Il parait que les raisons pour lesquelles elle a fait son choix, étaient liées au fait qu'elle n'aimait pas que les animaux soient habillés. Cela m'a paru une raison curieuse pour quelqu'un censé être formé pour bien connaître et apprécier le cirque, car évidemment la fantaisie et le spectacle y font partie essentielles. De plus mon éléphante était bien évidemment une parodie (car les éléphants ne peuvent pas faire le mono-cycle ni jongler non plus). On pourrait autant affirmer que l'on n'aime pas que les animaux sauvages soient dressé pour faire leur numéro selon les exigences humaines, ou que les clowns ne devraient pas s'habiller de manière aussi ridicule portant les nez rouges et ayant un maquillage criard, etc. Bref, qu'il devrait y avoir davantage de retenue générale.

Pour ce que ça vaut, je fais allusion à cette petite anecdote maintenant car c'est encore l'époque du Cirque de Monte Carlo, et parfois je pense que c'est dommage que peut-être l'on n'ait pas compris à ce moment là. N'aurait-il pas été plus élégant et correct alors de s'incliner devant le choix du Prince Rainier, de lui accorder le droit de faire son tout dernier choix, pour son tout dernier Cirque de Monté Carlo?

Après cinq ans il est souvent recommandé de changer de style pour un tel événement. Mais même si on avait décidé autrement et voulait que je fasse un sixième- ce qui veut dire un 12ème- effort, à partir de là j'avais en tous cas déjà décidé de ne plus continuer.

Text and illustrations © Mirino (et le Cirque de Monte Carlo) January, 2012

Scottish myths 11

2012-01-10T11:07:00.023+01:00

The Fairy Flag

Although no one knows for sure whether it was the Scots or the Irish who invented whisky, it dates back long enough to perhaps have had an inspiring effect regarding myths and legends of the Highlands and the Emerald Isles.
It's written that Henry II, after a brief, surprise (thus uninvited) visit to Ireland in 1174, alluded to aquae vitae (Uisge beatha in Gaelic). Many minds must have been blissfully numbed since then, thus helping to account for the wealth of tales of leprechauns, fairies, loch monsters, seal-people and dragons. But who knows? Sometimes there's a very thin line between myths and reality..

The MacLeod clan had lived in the area of Dunvegan since the 13th century. The keep of the Dunvegan Castle was built in the 14th century, the tower, the 15th century, and the castle's main hall was finished in the 17th century.
It's said that the Fairy Flag was first given to a certain MacLeod by his wife who also happened to be a fairy.
After twenty years of marriage she had to return to Fairy Land, and the flag was her parting gift. The couple bid their last farewells not far from Dunvegan, at a place still known as Fairy Bridge.

The power of the flag was such that whenever the MacLeods were in danger during a battle, and they unfurled the Fairy Flag, its magic would ensure their success in conquering the enemy.
Its power however, was limited. It could only be used three times in this way. It has already been used twice. The first time was at the Battle of Glendale (1490). The second time was at Trumpan (1580). On both occasions the MacLeods were victorious.
The flag was also supposed to make marriages fruitful, and it was said that its enchantment could bring large shoals of herring into the loch to be easily caught.

The Dunvegan Lullaby is a song directly associated with the Fairy Flag.
The wife of a MacLeod chieftain known as Surly John, gave birth to a son. Soon afterwards it's said that a fairy came in search for the baby. When she found him, she carefully took him from his cradle, placed him on her lap, and then sang the Dunvegan Lullaby to him of which this is supposed to be a verse:

Ho-ro weel-avok, bone and flesh of me,
Ho-ro veel-a-vok, blood and pith of me;
Skin like falling snow, green thy mail coat,
Live thy steeds be, dauntless thy following.

Afterwards she wrapped the baby in the Fairy Flag and gently replaced him in his cradle.
The baby's nurse had followed the whole scene in amazement. So impressed was she that she remembered the melody and all the words of the lullaby. Whenever the baby was distraught his nurse would calm him by singing the Dunvegan Lullaby which always had its magic effect.

Ever since then tradition required that only qualified women who knew the Dunvegan Lullaby would be employed to care for the MacLeod bairns.

Scottish myths 10

Retelling and top image (Isle of Skye) © Mirino. Sources include Scotland, myths and legends, Beryl Beare). Image de Dunvegan Castle © Subichan, (with many thanks for this use also to Wikipédia Commons). January, 2012

Altruisme

2012-01-07T13:11:00.015+01:00

'La droite vende des promesses et ne les tient pas, la gauche vend de l'espoir et le brise.'

Dans son The Soul of Man Under Socialism Oscar Wilde soutenait- de sa manière succincte et inimitable- que l'altruisme ne soigne pas la maladie, (la pauvreté) il la perpétue. En effet il devient même partie de la maladie. Selon lui l'objectif d'un système social et politique devrait être de faire en sorte que la pauvreté ne peut plus exister.

Le Secours Catholique est en principe apolitique, bien que certains toujours influencés par des vestiges des idéologies françaises datant de la fin du dix-huitième siècle pourraient le considérer plus 'anti-social' que Les Restaurants du Cœur, par exemple. Même si la première institution est beaucoup plus ancienne et moins soutenue par les media, donc par le public, que la deuxième.

Mais pour bénéficier du premier, normalement il faut être dans le besoin, tandis que pour profiter du deuxième, ce critère semble devenir de moins en moins important. D'ailleurs en regardant la publicité toujours généreuse des media télévisés annuellement pour Les Restaurants du Cœur, il est rare d'y voir quelqu'un qui manifestement n'a rien d'autre que les vêtements et les chaussures qu'il porte sur lui. La plupart des gens qui y vont, ont même l'air d'être déjà assez bien nourris. Parfois ceci pourrait susciter des sentiments troublants lorsqu'on compare cet élan enthousiaste de soutien pour ces dépourvus, avec celui comparativement moins suivi pour les Somalis dont quasi 500,000 enfants risquent actuellement de mourir de faim en Somalie du sud.

Mais ceci n'est point une attaque contre Les Restos du Cœur. Au contraire. Coluche voulait faire quelque chose de bien, et il a réussi, à condition, bien entendu, que l'on n'abuse pas de cette idée généreuse. Mais le génie de Coluche était aussi sa capacité de faire rire en faisant valoir la vérité. Il détestait l'hypocrisie et il avait le don pour pouvoir la dévoiler de façon hilare.

Il a eu ses propres sympathies politiques, mais il aimait bien Thierry le Luron qui lui-aussi a eu les siennes. Ce dernier, autant que Coluche, avait un don remarquable de faire valoir l'hypocrisie tartuffienne du mitterandisme, par exemple. Ses sketchs de Mitterand sont des classiques sur lequel la télévision française semble préférer tourner la page, sinon oublié- selon la vogue de pensée 'politiquement correcte'. Car aujourd'hui c'est probable que pour les media ce qui était le mytherandisme est toujours préférable que ce qui était la mitteréalité.

Il n'est point nécessaire donc d'être en train de mourir de faim pour pouvoir manger gratuitement chez Les Restos du Cœur. Ce qui semble souhaitable cependant, c'est d'avoir les 'justes sympathies politiques'. D'être donc membre du club particulier.
Si, par exemple on 'n'aime pas les riches,' (malgré le fait que l'on possède au moins trois maisons dont deux très sous évaluées, pour cause) on pourrait y aller manger même en vedette, et gagner davantage de soutien pour les prochaines élections en plus.

Par contre, il y a des vrais pauvres en France qui refusent d'y aller. Non pas pour des raison politiques. Ils s'en moquent de la politique. Ils n'y vont pas pour des raisons personnelles. Eux ils préfèrent donner davantage de priorité à leur amour propre au lieu de s'attendrir sur eux-mêmes et sur leur sort. Ils préfèrent jouir de ce qui reste de leur liberté.
Pour eux, mendier, faire face à l'indifférence des passants, représentent un défi, donc un travail réel. Arriver à racler quelques sous pour pouvoir manger et boire après une telle journée difficile est quand même un accomplissement considérable qui va de pair avec cette fierté. Ce sont ces gens là qui préfèrent risquer de mourir de froid en dormant dehors la nuit, enveloppés de journaux dans des boîtes en carton, sous les ponts ou quasi cachés ailleurs, en plein hiver, au lieu de se confier aux soins sociaux, et donc de transiger sur cette liberté et indépendance qui leur sont si chères.

C'est pourtant la même liberté défendue par Oscar Wilde lui-même. Wilde aussi a préféré mourir plutôt que se rabaisser, de transiger sur sa liberté d'expression, sur son art, et enfin sur lui-même. Et c'est justement ce qu'il a fait, et ce qui sans doute fait partie essentielle de sa grandeur immortelle.

N.B. Malgré le fait que j'ai arrangé l'image de Coluche et modifié le logo des Restos du Cœur, leur emploi pourrait toujours être considéré comme une infraction de ©.
Je justifie cet emploi sur le fait qu'ils sont utilisés en contexte direct avec Coluche et son initiative. Aussi en faisant valoir le risque d'exploitation (y compris celle politique) je défends son initiative généralement.
Si cependant l'emploi de ces images est toujours estimé comme une infraction, naturellement ils seront retirés. S'il s'avère que ceci n'est pas nécessaire, j'offre mes remerciements aux concernés pour m'avoir donc permis de les utiliser comme tels.

Text © Mirino. Images modified (Coluche and logo RdC) with grateful thanks. January, 2012

Europensées

2012-01-04T11:24:00.012+01:00

Il est bien entendu que la richesse de l'Europe est sa diversité, mais ironiquement cette diversité fait partie du problème actuel. C'est évident que le grand problème de l'Europe, de la zone euro, est la disparité entre les cultures, les valeurs, et la manière de vivre des pays européens.

Il y a bien des années j'ai vécu pour une période en Hollande. Assez longtemps pour constater que si on y fait la grève, il faut avoir une très bonne raison. D'ailleurs il n'y en avait jamais eu pendant les années où j'y vivais.
Les Pays-Bas prônait alors une monnaie toujours forte et stable- le gulden. A l'époque, pour la forme, il y avait toujours quelques vestiges d'animosité entre les hollandais et les allemands, mais malgré cela, comme la plupart des pays nordiques, la mentalité de ces peuples quand même se ressemble dans certains égards pragmatiques. Bref, quoi qu'il arrive on l'assume, pas nécessairement avec un esprit fataliste, mais plutôt avec une stoïque détermination de passer le cap du mieux possible.

Vers le sud cette mentalité change, certainement en France. Toujours marquée par la Révolution Française et l'injustice sociale sempiternelle, on semble vouloir aussi perpétuer le manque de confiance caricaturale et donc l'abysse mythique entre 'travailleurs' et 'patronnat'. La justice sociale a donc toujours sa raison d'être, malgré tous les droits acquis et toutes les manifestations incitées par les syndicats, eux aussi orientés par leur volonté de maintenir le plus de pouvoir possible.

L'Allemagne, malgré la crise, s'en sort quand même mieux. Bien entendu la Banque Centrale Européenne y est établie, et bien entendu elle est aussi gérée selon les intérêts classiques de l'Allemagne.
Là aussi on assume. Et on ne fait pas la grève pour un oui ou pour un non.

En Italie c'est plus nuancé, mais les italiens travaillent mieux que les français. Sans doute ceci est aussi à cause de leur histoire, et la différence culturelle. Vue cette différence, et malgré l'ampleur de leur problème économique, il est raisonnable de croire que les italiens soient plus capables d'absorber leur dette plus rapidement que les français.

En Espagne et au Portugal, manifestement trop de social a miné leurs économies pendant la crise, et ces pays doivent faire face aux conséquences très difficiles.

En Grèce, aidée- parait-il- à être acceptée de manière frauduleuse dans la zone euro par Goldman Sachs, le problème est énorme, car il y avait un laisser aller social et fiscal quasi total. Déjà certains des grecs très riches sont en train d'acheter en Grande Bretagne et ailleurs (hors de la zone euro) pour essayer d'éviter les inévitables rattrapages tardifs fiscaux.

Mais retournons en France.
Les entreprises sont surchargées par le social. Si on réduit ces charges on doit augmenter la TVA. C'est logique de croire que les résultats financiers seront donc les mêmes. Ajoutons à cela le coût énorme des grèves françaises et un euro fort, sinon sur-évalué, prôné en principe par l'Allemagne. Conséquence: les entreprises françaises n'arrivent plus à être compétitives. Elles sont obligées de réduire leur personnel ou de s'installer ailleurs hors de la zone euro où les charges sont plus légères et le coût du travail est moindre. Résultat en France: davantage de chômage, de charges sociales, et évidemment moins de revenus fiscaux.

Pourtant la France produit des choses de grande qualité. Leurs voitures, par exemple, sont très bien construites et très fiables. On dit aux français, déjà sous pression considérable financière, achetez les produits made in France, mais si on peut acheter une bonne voiture japonaise, américaine ou même italienne pour moins, logiquement on ne va pas se priver. D'ailleurs parfois on n'a pas le choix.

Gérer un pays comme la France sous de telles circonstances est un casse tête monumental. Que les socialistes prétendent être en mesure de le faire semble un mensonge grossier, car manifestement ils sont incapables de changer leur idéologie sociale sans se trahir, sans saboter leur propre raison d'être. Inutile à ajouter que leur idéologie va totalement à l'encontre des besoins urgents actuels de la France, de l'Europe, donc même du monde.

Le Président n'a pas encore présenté sa candidature pour les prochaines élections présidentielles. Mais une pensée vient à l'esprit que si après tant d'efforts et d'engagements souvent personnels, épuisé et désabusé par le traitement négatif et lassant orchestré par les media, et l'attitude ingrate de trop de français, il décide finalement de ne pas se présenter, la France aurait un problème de taille. Elle aurait en somme ce qu'elle mérite, car il est tristement évident qu'il n'y a personne d'autre vraiment motivée, préparée, qualifiée et capable d'assumer cette responsabilité extrêmement lourde de gérer le pays à une époque aussi critique et difficile.

Text and image © Mirino (PW). January, 2012

Alter argumentum

2012-01-02T10:58:00.019+01:00

An Alternative Argument of his weblog

I sing of buttocks, breasts, bliss and beauty:

Of every moment of sublime duty.

I write of warm grass perfumed by the sun,

Where often blessed deeds are gladly done.

I sing of Life, of Love, and have access

By these, to treasured thoughts of each caress.

I sing of storms, of snow and of sweet nights

Of perfumed pillows, sheets, warmest delights.

I sing of Time and of Time's shifting sand,

How timeless dreams live on within dreamland.

I write of sunsets, seas and in praise sing

To all that is beauteous, and everything.

I write not of Hell, for what Hell is worth,

But of Heaven, or Paradise on Earth.

With apologies to Robert Herrick
The Argument of his Book

As Sonata in Praes o Molli (decipit frons prima)

Mollis abutti,

Has an acuti

No lasso finis;

Molli dii vinis

O mi de armistris,

Imi na Dis tres;

Cantu disco ver

Meas alo ver.

Jonathan Swift

Parody and image © Mirino (PW). Swift Sonata- The Chatto Book of Love Poetry.

With thanks. January, 2012

2011, a sad sketch

2011-12-31T12:26:00.034+01:00

What a year! What a world!
In March there was the incredible Japanese tsunami of Fukushima coped with so admirably, and with such dignity by the Japanese people.

Most people in France were mesmerised by the vertiginous chute of
the man who was previously supposed to be the surest hope as socialist candidate for the French presidential elections in the spring.
Or could we interpret his shameful conduct of last May, as a firm indication, that if he qualifies for certain positions, the post of left-wing candidate for the French presidential elections can't possibly be one of them?

In spite of 'legal probabilities', and forensic proof, he was acquitted, whereas there was never any proof that Troy Davis, imprisoned for twenty years before he was put to death last September, had ever committed the crime he was sentence for.
(In view of this, Cyrus Vance Jr. must have got the noble principle of American justice wrong. If this is the case, maybe it could read: 'US justice prides itself on the principle of punishing the accused when there's a considerable measure of doubt regarding their guilt, and their means are limited; and freeing the accused when there's a considerable measure of proof regarding their guilt, their means are not limited, and there's lobby pressure').

Arabian aspirations to greater freedom have been thwarted by systematic bloodbaths, and even atrocious torture and murder of children in Syria. The bloody repression still continues, even now. This despite the presence of the Arab League observers that seem to consist of the three monkeys, or could they be constantly observing in the opposite direction? The activists are even saying that the presence of the 'observers' is spurring even more violence.
In Egypt we have witnessed the brutal beating of women, and have recently heard of unwarranted, Gestapo like house searches, as if the Egyptian military authorities (SCAF) now constitute the worst possible fascist regime.
Those most prone in giving unasked for moral lessons to real democracies, often finally reveal themselves to be the world's worst tyrants.

The strategic and geopolitical position of Turkey is too important for this nation to continue to practice what seems to be ambiguous acrobats in avoiding to clarify its political, social, cultural and historical position. But Erdogan is no Atatürk.

And after having completely failed to foresee the economic tidal wave, our eminent, European, economical experts followed this up by not anticipating the enormity of the Greek problem, and thus Europe's consequent debt crisis that has yet to be properly contended with.
The three credit rating kings however, seem to have succeeded in taking the pressure and focal attention off Obama, the dodgy dollar, as well as the US deficit.
Through economic necessity, Italy has at last managed to turn the page on il Cavaliere. The burlesque, sempiternal chapter strangely seems to have already become a faded Milanese memory of another era.

In France it appears that certain media have been overly supportive of the Socialists' choice of candidate for the French presidential elections. This would have been perfectly acceptable if at the same time they hadn't been fully aware of his not having enough clout, conviction and integrity for the post. It seems that Sarkozy hardly needs to campaign for the spring elections. He already has too much to contend with, and in any case, even then he's accused of campaigning.
As the world is mad, and the French are often tempted to give unjustified priority to change, to the detriment of reason, it remains to be seen who will finally be elected.

So we enter into 2012 a shade apprehensively. Maybe it's just as well. Nice surprises are more appreciated when totally unexpected, and being already apprehensive, one might be a bit more prepared for any unpleasant ones that crop up.

The former polarity of western democracy and eastern totalitarianism seems to have merged into a vague, noxious concoction of lobby supported democracy, pseudo democracy and corruption. This might also explain why Arabian uncertainty seems to reign regarding the choice of 'freedom' between that as advocated in the USA, as opposed to a more measured, disciplined form of 'Islamic democracy'; assuming such a system is really conceivable, and not just a subtle, surreptitious, preliminary compromise, programmed to eventually develop into Islamic totalitarianism.

Much should be revealed during a New Year that promises to be determining in many respects.

But surely the world can no longer tolerate tyranny. No democratic nation that claims to defend freedom and can feign blindness to what it's made almost immediately and repeatedly aware of.

Whatever the future brings, naturally we shall do our utmost to make 2012 as positive as possible, in all respects, come what may.

Happy New Year to us all!

Text © Mirino. Image by kind permission of David McKee, with many thanks.
December, 2011

Truth

2011-12-29T16:00:00.045+01:00

John Skelton, (ca.1460-1529) was the tutor of young Prince Henry. Skelton was later to became poet-laureate to him after he was crowned king Henry VIII.
The poet couldn't abide religious pomp and falseness. Whilst living in Westminster, he openly attacked the ecclesiastical establishment, especially targeting Cardinal Wolsey with what could be regarded as doggerel satire, of which Colyn Cloute is an example. It's said that in retaliation Wolsey arranged that Skelton be incarcerated, but the Cardinal was indulgent (or prudent) enough to have him released later. There appears to be no historic proof of the Cardinal being responsible for the poet's term of imprisonment, however.

Skelton (the mad wag) was ordained as sub-deacon and priest, before be became rector of Diss. One of The Merie Tales of Skelton recounts how during one of his sermons he suddenly asked why certain members of his congregation reproached him of keeping a fair wench in his rectory.
'To be sure, he did keep a fair wench; she was fairer than his parishioners' wives, and had given him a son.' He then held up his naked baby before the congregation and declared, "How say you, neighbours all? Is not this child as fair as is the best of all yours? It hath nose, eyes, hands and feet, as well as any of yours. It is not like a pig, nor a calf, nor like no foul nor no monstrous beast. If I had brought forth this child without arms and legs, or that it were deformed being a monstrous thing, I would never have blamed you to have complained to the Bishop of me, but to complain without a cause! I say as I said before, in my antetheme, vos estis, you be, and have been, and will and shall be knaves to complain of me without a cause reasonable."

At least five hundred years later, since the end of 2008, we've been saying that the New Year can't possibly be worse than the last, and it seems that we've been proved wrong for three consecutive years. So it might be best to refrain from making any prognostics for 2012.

The hope generated by the Arabian Spring, triggered off by the Egyptians in January, the rebellion of the Libyans, the fall of Muammar Gaddafi, and the possibility of wide spread 'Arabian democracy', has gradually given way to an uneasy feeling of uncertainty. Yet never before have all the nations of the world had such access to modern communication. In this respect the other side of the world could almost be regarded as the other side of the street.

But it also seems to be another paradox of our times. Or is it the same bleak reminder that we advance only according to our technological achievements? As already maintained, human nature remains immutable. In some cases, it even appears to regress, to such an extent that one is persuaded that the world must be mad.

History reveals that this conclusion is nothing new either. But there is comfort in the conviction that although human nature often shows its capacity for shameful hypocrisy, hate, cruelty, weakness, cowardliness, and pitiful limitations, etc., it just as often shows its capacity for admirable integrity, love, kindness, strength, courage, limitless aspirations and achievements.

Man then seems to be the sanctuary of God, as well as the devil. He is destined to seek the truth whilst he constantly creates obstacles that prevent him from finding it. Or is this also an embedded aspect of humanity? Man's unconscious appreciation of the 'forbidden fruit', or how far he is ultimately permitted to advance in his tireless quest. Does man's future and greatness finally depend on his humility? One might like to think so, for surely nothing of any real value is ever created without love, and a good measure of humility.

But now let's go further back, to 14th century England, to rediscover Chaucer's Truth. The timeless wisdom of the finest writer of his era. Followed by his Complaint to His Purse, to emphasise once more that financial woes are nothing new to mope about either. And finally some verses from Colin Clout by John Skelton, who mocked the ecclesiastical establishment's use of religion for personal gain.
Certainly such exploitation is still practised today, and this regarding all three monotheist religions, if not including other religions as well.

Truth (truth will free you, of that there's no doubt)

Flee fro the prees° and dwelle with soothfastnesses;     °crowd
Suffise unto° thy thing, though it be smal;                        °be content with
For hoord hath° hate, and climbing tikelnesse°    °hoarding causes/insecurity
Prees hath envye, and wele° blent° overal.                   °properity/blinds
Savoure° no more than thee bihoove shal;                 °relish
Rule wel thyself that other folk canst rede°                °advise
And Trouthe shal delivere, it is no drede.°              °truth will free you/doubt

Tempest thee nought al crooked to redresse°     °don't try to correct everything
In trust of hire° that turneth as a bal;                   °don't trust fortune
Muche wele stant in litel bisinesse;°                     °peace of mine needs little
Be war therefore to spurne ayains an al°             °don't cause yourself pain
Strive nat as dooth the crokke° with the wal.      °like the pot against the wall
Daunte° thyself that dauntest others deede;        °master
And Trouthe shal delivere, it is no drede.

That° thee is sent, receive in buxomnesse;°              °what/obedience, grace
The wrastling for the world axeth° a fal;                   °asks for
Here is noon hoom, here nis° but wildernesse:        °is not
Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beest, out of thy stal!
Know thy countree, looke up, thank God of al.
Hold the heigh way and lat thy gost° thee lede:        °spirit
And Trouthe shal delivere, it is no drede.

Envoy (Perhaps Sir Philip de Vache, hence the pun)

Therfore, thou Vache leve thyn olde wrecchednesse
Unto the world; leve° now to be thral.                          °cease
Crye him merci° that of his heigh goodnesse               °thank him
Made thee of nought, and in especial
Draw unto him, and pray in general,
For thee and eek for othere, hevenelich meede:°        °reward (pun- meadow)
And Trouthe shal delivere, it is no drede.

Complaint to His Purse (envoy- the recently crowned Henry IV)

To you, my purs, and to noon other wight,°                °person
Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere.
I am so sory, now that ye be light,°                      °pun- light in weight, and fickle
For certes, but if° ye make me hevy cheere,              °unless
Me were as lief° be laid upon my beere;°                   °I'd just as soon/bier
For which unto youre mercy thus I crye:
Beeth hevy again, or elles moot° I die.                       °must

Now vouchesth sauf° this day er° it be night              °grant/before
That I of you the blisful soun may heere,
Or see youre colour, lik the sonne bright,
That of yelownesse hadde nevere peere.°                   °equal
Ye be my life, ye be myn hertes steere,°                 °helm, guide
Queene of confort and of good compaignye:
Beeth hevy again, or elles moot I die.

Ye purs, that been to me my lives light
And saviour, as in this world down here,
Out of this towne° helpe me thurgh your might,      °most likely Westminster
Sith that ye wol nat be my tresorere°                          °treasurer
For I am shave as neigh as any frere.°                        °shaved as a frier (broke)
But yit I praye unto youre curteisye:
Beeth hevy again, or elles moot I die.

Envoy to Henry IV

O conquerour of Brutus Albioun°,            °Britain (allegedly founded by Brutus)
Which that by line° and free eleccioun                       °lineage
Been verray° king, this song to you I sende:          °true
And ye, that mowen° alle oure harmes amende,      °may
Have mind upon my supplicacioun.

The Prelates, or The Spirituality vs. the Temporality
Colin Clout (John Skelton)

And if ye stand in doubt
Who brought this rhyme about,
My name is Colin Clout.
I purpose to shake out
All my conning° bag,                         °cunning
Like a clerkly hag°                                     °old scholar
For though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten,
Rusty and moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith.
For, as far as I can see,
It is wrong with each degree.
For the temporality°                                     °layman
Accuseth the spirituality;
The spirituality again
Doth grudge and complain
Upon the temporal men;
Thus, each of other blother°                   °babble
The one against the other.
Alas, they make me shudder!
For in hugger-mugger°                 °haste
The Church is put in fault;
The prelates been so haut,°                   °haughty
They say, and look so high
As though they wouldè fly
Above the starry sky.
Laymen say indeed
How they take no heed
Their silly sheep to feed,
But pluck away and pull
The fleeces of their wool;
Scarcely they leave a lock
Of wool among their flock.
And as for their cunning,
A-humming and mumming,
They make of it a jape.
They gasp and they gape
All to have promotion-
That is their whole devotion!

Text © Mirino. Top engraving, John Skelton ca. 1500 (tinted by M). Sources include- The Norton Anthology English Literature, Volume 1, with thanks. December, 2011

The Christmas Truce

2011-12-27T16:25:00.021+01:00

The Western Front. December, 1914.
It seems that the weather has been awful for ever. The trenches are waterlogged. The temperatures are below zero. The soldiers' movements, wading sometimes up to their knees, prevent the slime from freezing solid. They are totally ill equipped for such conditions.

One gets so used to the rats that they're hardly noticed. Then there's always the stench of decomposing bodies not far off in no man's land, especially when the temperature rises above freezing level again.

Today however, sometimes a friendly voice is heard from the enemy trenches no more than 50 yards away. In some places only 30 yards separates the lines. The British army is manning a stretch south of the Ypres salient.

The Germans and the British have received State gifts. Christmas puddings and 'Princess Mary Boxes' for Tommy. A tin case with her silhouette engraved on it. It contains butterscotch, chocolates, tobacco and some cigarettes. There's also a postcard of Princess Mary with a message from her father, King George V, 'May God protect you and bring you safe home.'

From Kaiser Wilhelm II, Fritz received meerschaum pipes. The officers have been given boxes of cigars. Many supportive associations have sent gifts to both sides.

The French and the Belgians have also received gifts for Christmas, but apparently on a less official basis. Of course both countries are already suffering from the occupation, which naturally weighs heavily on their Christmas spirits.

Miniature Christmas trees (tannenbaum) were delivered to the German trenches. Lit with candles they are displayed along the parapets.
The Germans start to sing carols. Stille Nacht (Silent Night). They ask the Brits to join in. One thoughtlessly replies, 'we'd rather die than sing German'. A German wittily responds- 'It would kill us if you did!'
Even the weather was clear by the 24th. The Christmas truce had begun.

The truce was first used to decently bury fallen comrades. When this unpleasant task was done, both sides began to exchange gifts and souvenirs. Soon they are strolling about mingling together, sharing rations, jokes and small talk in no man's land. There's even a performance from a German juggler. It seems like a crazy, Christmas circus. In some areas both sides are playing football.

Strangely, although the Commanding officers of both armies were strongly opposed to fraternising with the enemy, and firm orders were given against it, there was no great insistence about this, and the truce lasted for all of Christmas. In some areas it even seemed to last until New Year's day. And despite the fact that the orders were ignored, no disciplinary action was taken.

Sir Edward Hulse, Captain of the Scots Guards recounts how he received four unarmed German soldiers at 8.30 am on Christmas day. Hulse wrote an account of this- 'Their spokesman started off by saying that he thought it only right to come over and wish us a happy Christmas, and trusted us implicitly to keep the truce. He came from Suffolk where he had left his best girl friend and a 3.5 hp motor-bike!'
(At that time it would never have occurred to the German soldiers to say- 'before we resume mowing you down with withering machine gun fire, blinding and poisoning you with our mustard gas, and blowing you into small pieces with our heavy artillery, we thought it only right to...)'

On the German side, Kurt Zehmisch of the 134th Saxons wrote- 'The English brought a soccer ball from the trenches, and pretty soon a lively game ensued. How marvellously wonderful, yet how strange it was. The English officers felt the same way about it. Thus Christmas, the celebration of Love, managed to bring mortal enemies together as friends for a time.'

On some sections of the front, the war was resumed sooner. A medical officer, Captain J.C. Dunn wrote- 'At 8.30 I fired three shots in the air and put up a flag with "Merry Christmas" on it, and I climbed on the parapet. He (the Germans) put up a sheet with "Thank you" on it, and the German Captain appeared on the parapet. We both bowed and saluted and got down into our respective trenches, and he fired two shots in the air, and the War was on again.'

This precious truce came at a time when both sides were probably equally confident that the war couldn't possibly drag on until 1918, and it hadn't yet created the desolate ruin, nor apparently the bitter hatred that was bound to come. In 1914 the horror and mass slaughter perpetuated by the blind ignorance of Commanding Officers issuing stupid orders from plush rooms far from the front, must then have seemed almost inconceivable. The same High Command superiors who were to establish the Treaty of Versailles, 'the twenty year amnesty' that was to prove to be exactly that.

This reciprocal chivalry and gentlemanly behaviour strongly underlines the absurd tragedy of the Great War. On the 11th November, 2008, one of the last Poilus (French infantry, so called because of their understandably muddy, unshaven and unkempt appearance) declared- "This war never warranted the death of a single soldier". More than nine million fell, approximately 6000 a day.
But the results, thanks to the famous treaty, largely contributed to foster the creation of even greater monsters, capable of causing even greater horror.

Yet The Christmas Truce still reminds us of what's possible when there's good will, even among ordinary men trained to slaughter each other, and this despite the most horrific circumstances.
Both sides would have suffered the loss of friends and comrades, sometimes in the most gruesome way, yet they, unlike their well fed, well compensated and well protected superior Commanders, were then far more inclined to lower their rifles, and even sing together to celebrate their first Christmas in the trenches.
But it's also a reminder of the folly of war, certainly in this particular case, when there was little difference between the front line soldiers, whatever side they happen to be on.

Thanks to the continual, pompous management of High Command, the impossible treaty based on blind politics of vendetta was established. The twenty year fuse destined to explode in an even more atrocious, devastating and determining way, was thus lit, before the world seemed to wake up at last, having finally learnt its lesson in the hardest possible way. Assuming that human nature is ever really capable of this..

Text © Mirino. Sources include- The Christmas Truce, with many thanks. Top image (probably a frame from a film reconstructing the event). 2nd image front page of the Daily Mirror (Friday, January 6th, 1915) news item of the truce. December, 2011

Christmas times

2011-12-21T10:08:00.039+01:00

Christmas is coming
And the goose is on a diet,
Santa's been down-graded
So it's bound to be quiet.

If you've got a penny,
You could put it in his hat.
(It's the thought that matters
As he can't do much with that).

Noël arrive
Et l'oie est sur régime
Le Père Noël est dégradé
Donc nous sommes tous victimes.

Si vous avez un penny
Mettez le dans son chapeau,
Il ne peut rien en faire,
Mais le geste est assez beau.

As we approach another Christmas, having tightened our belts by one or two notches, (in keeping with whatever allocated 'brandmark' has been- or will be- bestowed upon us by the three credit rating kings who may have travelled far in order to lovingly watch over our interests) we are nevertheless determined, therefore bound to enjoy our celebrations.

Yet another Christmas, when good-will should reign, and perhaps all the more so to compensate for it not always being the case during the rest of the year.
The precious moments of family reunion, to share the joy of the fare and of getting together once again.

Then there are the times of change when Christmas isn't as it was, and not only because the children are growing up to take off elsewhere.
Those of us fortunate enough, never forget the Christmases of when we were young. How precious those warm memories are, and how clear they still remain in the mind's eye.

However one wishes to celebrate Christmas, it's always very special, and important to continue, so that when the young ones are 'fully fledged,' they will also be able to look back, remember and smile.

Mistletoe memories, souvenirs like snow white pearls, cosily treasured in the velvet corner of our hearts.
Merry Christmas to us all, and let's make it- 'at any rate'- a far better New Year than even the 'three Kings' could ever have credited and anticipated!

There are times for singing,
Making friends
And homely nest
From odds and ends

Times to help
The young ones grow
Then times when they
Take off and go.

Yet nothing flies
As well as time,
Such is the reason
For this rhyme

For if of hard times
One is spared,
The very best
Are those most shared.
__

Il y a un temps pour chanter,
Pour faire des ami(e)s,
Et de petits riens-
Faire de petits nids

Un Temps pour aider
Les jeunes à pousser,
Puis un temps où ils
Vont s'envoler.

Mais rien ne vole
Comme le temps,
D'où cette rime
Et sa raison

Car si de temps durs
L'on est épargné,
Les meilleurs temps
Sont ceux partagés.
__

Ci sono tempi per cantare,
Incontrare amici,
E di poche cose
Fare nidi soffici

Tempi per i piccoli
Da aiutare,

E tempi in cui essi
Possono volare

Ma meglio del tempo
Nulla può volare via,
Tale è la ragione
Di questa poesia

E se dei tempi duri
Si sono risparmiati,
I tempi migliori son
Quelli insieme passati.
__

Text, parody, doggerel (with thanks to Rob for checking out the Italian) and images © Mirino. December, 2011

Scottish myths 10

2011-12-16T13:51:00.012+01:00

Edinburgh Castle

I came across some interesting information about Edinburgh Castle whilst looking, unsuccessully, for Scottish legends linked to Christmas.

The Castle was occupied by an English garrison during the wars of Independence. But in 1313, the Scots, commanded by Thomas Randolph, surprised the English by climbing the rock, and they were thus able to recapture the Castle.

'The Black Dinner' took place in Edinburgh Castle in 1440. Lured there by Sir William Crichton who considered the Douglas family too powerful, William, the 16 year old sixth Earl of Douglas, and his brother David, were murdered in the Castle-yard before the young King. This after being served the final course of a great feast. It was a black bull's head, considered an ill omen.

Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to James the VI in Edinburgh Castle (1566). The Castle was exposed to strifes of the Covenant, of Cromwell's invasion and of the Jacobite rebellions.

The 'Stone of Scone', also known as the 'Stone of Destiny' (as well as Jacob's pillow Stone, and the Tanish Stone) was, and perhaps still is, considered sacred.
A historian of the the 14th century, Walter Hemingford, affirmed that it was the Scottish coronation stone of the monastery of Scone not far from Perth. 'In the monastery of Scone, in the Church of God, near to the high altar, is kept a large stone, hollowed out as a round chair, on which their kings were placed for their ordination, according to custom'.
There are other legends regarding the origin of the Stone, even linking it to Biblical times (taken by Jacob when he was in Haran, hence 'Jacob's Stone').
Another story is that the first King of Scotland, Fergus, son of Ferchard, is recorded to have brought the Stone from Ireland to Argyll.

The Stone itself is of old red sandstone. It measures 66 cm x 42.5 cm, weighs about 152 kg and has traces of chisel work where the stone has been shaped. Iron rings are attached to each side of the stone obviously to facilitate its lifting and transporting.
King Edward 1, apparently informed of the sacred reputation of the Stone, ordered that it be taken to Westminster abbey in 1296, and from then onwards it was used for the coronation of the English monarchy in what was known as 'King Edward's Chair'.
The famous Stone however, was returned in 1996 by Queen Elizabeth II, and is now installed in Edinburgh Castle.

Under the Castle, there is supposed to be a tunnel a mile long that leads to Holyrood-house. It's said that the skirl of bagpipes can be heard coming from the tunnel, the eery sounds of a piper who was once sent down to play as he followed the long gallery, but he was never seen again.

There is also a drummer often said to be headless. It was he who warned the court of imminent attacks against the Castle. And there is even supposed to be the ghost of a dog that wanders along the battlements, for Edinburgh Castle even has an old cemetery for pets.

But as it's almost Christmas, perhaps we should concentrate on merrier thoughts and activities. For example, let's refer to this fine menu of what was served for a reasonable price three years ago as the Christmas dinner in Edinburgh Castle.
Potted hough of Scottish beef with spiced plum marmalade, horseradish coleslaw and bannock bread served with Loredona Pinot Grigio.
Followed by roasted sea bass with chorizo, red onion and cherry vine tomatoes served with Brouill, Domaine de Moulin Faire.
Followed by roast goose, crispy streaky bacon and caramelised brussel sprouts with roast potatoes and chestnut stuffing served with d'Arenberg Hermit Crab Marsanne Viognier (Crisp, fruity, summer, southern Australian white wine).
Followed by Castle Christmas pudding parfait with cranberry relish served with Graham Beck Rhona Muscadel.
Followed by tea or coffee and chocolate truffles.

Followed by the thought that it would be best to treat words such as crisis, and credit ratings, etc.,' also as myths and legends, and enjoy the Christmas period comme il faut.

__
Scottish myths 11

Scottish myths 9

Text © Mirino. Sources include about Aberdeen, with thanks. Photo by Kim Traynor, 2009 (retouched by M). With thanks, also to Wikimedia Commons. December, 2011

Poor standards

2011-12-11T18:15:00.028+01:00

It seems absurd that so much power is assumed by- and accorded to- credit rating agencies these days, and all more so because the two main ones are non-European.
How easy it could be to exploit European markets and influence political scenes by casually suggesting the possibility of downgrading the credit rate of a targeted country and its banking system. Or perhaps by suggesting the opposite, whimsically praising the financial situation of a nation to stimulate the stock market before subtly placing an important investment, or in order to bolster up a political favourite in the popularity poles.

One wonders why Europe hasn't established its own credit rating agencies that are now eminently established in Manhattan, dictating financial law and order to Wall Street. Had there been, maybe the crisis would never have been triggered off in the first place. But perhaps such an idea would never have interested European economists.

Is Europe so lacking in character and financial savvy to fear whatever is whispered or joked about by monoglot cynics within the walls of Standard & Poors, Moody's or Fiches? Not only it seems that these agencies assume the right to make casual, costly errors, to the huge detriment of millions, but they hardly even have to bother to apologise for it afterwards.

Long before the USA was born, Europe established the Hanseatic League, from the 13th to the 17th century. Stretching from the Baltic (Novgorod) to the British Isles (London), this alliance of trade and economy had its own legal system, treasury, army, trade protection system and even a social service system of sorts. The League had no common currency problems, and certainly no need for any unasked for, lofty judgements from credit rating agencies. But then there were still no European colonists in the USA capable of thinking up such an idea, and the North American Red Indians had more far important things to do in any case, than to want to meddle in the affairs of others in far off continents, affairs born of a system that worked perfectly well for over four hundred years, right across northern Europe, well before trains and aeroplanes were ever invented.

If one had a Machiavellian mind, one might suspect that the made in America agencies are secretly trying to undermine the euro. Maybe American high finance had the impression that the ECB was in the throes of taking advantage of the 'made in America crisis' and the weakness of the dollar, in order to substitute it surreptitiously with the impressively strong, new euro proudly propped up with firm wonderbrass interest rates, as an international money. At one time, at least to some extent, (with the Iranian regime, only too eager to support such an idea) it looked as though it might even come off. But thankfully the fools of the world are still a minority, even though they are still nevertheless capable of doing a great deal of harm.

One of human nature's many faults, is to pretend to specialise in fields that since the beginning of civilisation have always been impossible to specialise in, simply because they are all too often unpredictable. The economic field is an example (as the enigmatic symbolism and optical impossibilities incorporated by Holbein also suggest- see below regarding the top portrait).

Obviously what has always been essential however, is what one has to offer. The quality of a product naturally determines its value, in gold, silver, drachma, aurei, thalers, (note that thaler, ironically, was the origin of dollar) florins, gulden, ecus, etc., and yes, even euros. There is not one country in Europe that doesn't have something special of its own of real quality to offer. So where's the problem?

Not too long ago I posted Web loggers' and site evaluators' lunacy. Would it be totally and naively out of the question to make a parallel between the so called expertise, the 'credit rating' of site assessors who judge the merits of the efforts of those generous enough to freely allocate their time in trying to amuse others, and the 'Godly' powers of those self-proclaimed economical experts who, in US computer jargon, pass judgement either with holy benediction or infernal damnation on a European nation's capacity to survive economically? Why not?
The latter have already made several, unpardonable boobs, and obviously their mistakes are vastly more irresponsible and serious, compared to incoherent results made by so-called web-site assessors.

Isn't this already more than enough to take credit rating agencies' assessments as pretentious, damaging and meaningless meddling? Yet for some strange reason, those who represent us, as well as the media, (which these days could virtually amount to the same thing) seem to tremble with fear at the idea of losing their triple A. As if Europe consists of nations of various cattle herds, some of which risk the shame and horror of being re-branded by a bunch of cowboys to thus lay bare what has been decreed by the lords of livestock rating agencies, to suffer the disgrace of being beefed down to second, third or even fourth rate consumer quality.

But the consideration is only money. And again, it's the quality of what one produces that determines its worth, not necessarily the level of interest rates yo-yo'ed about by bored ECB bankers, and certainly not the over casual, credit rating assessments.

Ironically the focus is on the European debt which some like to think has created a monumental euro confidence crisis, as if the European money is something sacred and fragile that has to be 'saved'. Have the CRA boys been debarked to brave the front-line to 'save the euro', or might they be a shade orientated by distracting world attention from the dire economic situation of the USA which might be even worse?
S&P downgraded the credit rating of the USA by only one notch in August this year. Even so, they managed to make a considerably important blunder in their assessment. In November S&P announced their decision to downgrade the triple A of France. Again, they admitted to having made yet another important and inexcusable mistake.

S&P have given the highest credit rating assessments to risky loan companies such as the Credit Suisse Group, causing losses of millions to investors. As credit rating agencies are paid for their rating service, would it be unreasonable to believe that the credit rating assessment level they grant is determined by the generosity of those who wish to appear as solvent as possible?

Moody's have even been accused of contributing to the international financial crisis by downgrading Freddie Mac. And according to Time, Both Moody's and S&P had given the triple A rating to Collateralized Debt Obligations when it was brim full of lousy mortgage deals. Apparently Fitch was also accused in this case. This also contributed largely to the 2008 financial apocalypse.
The list of criticisms doesn't stop there. Europe also has accused S&P of abusing its position.
And to quote David Wyss, once head economist at S&P up until July of this year, "The credit agencies don't know any more about government budgets than the guy in the street who is reading the newspaper."
Despite massive assessment errors that for the USA amounted to the odd 2 or 3 trillion, those responsible are still employed by the agencies, which, should anyone be inclined to accord with any necessary reason of being at all, inspires even less confidence.

This isn't to say that Europe doesn't have real problems. History, recent history especially, has taught us the severe lesson about whatever takes place negatively elsewhere, is going to negatively effect everyone sooner or later.
However, in the case of Afghanistan, instead of working closely with the first directly concerned, the Afghanis themselves, The West's way of fighting the Taliban has been with the 'co-operation' of the very nation that fostered them in the first place. The negative consequences suffered by the West now seem to include the absurdity of having to make generous annual payments to Pakistan to secure the right to wage war indirectly against Pakistan..

In our small world we should by now also understand that what is bad for one nation or continent, is bad for all nations and continents. It's therefore counter-productive and futile to try to take advantage of what first seems to be an isolated problem. Isolated problems no longer exist. No one anticipated the economic tidal wave, the domino effect triggered off in the USA. No one anticipated the negative effect the Grecian handling of their financial affairs would cause Europe, therefore the whole world. Could it be said that Greece was granted a triple A to be accepted in the euro zone? Where were the august, credit rating assessors then in this case? And why should a nation that has been allowed admission on the strength of fraudulent figures, be allowed to remain a euro-zone member, without first having to undergo a strictly observed probation period, at the very least?

Maybe Hermes or Tyche has something to do with the Greek problem, but finally the responsibility would then be Zeus'. The Greeks had no God of financial credit rating assessment. All powerful Zeus who holds the aegis, would never have tolerating one. He wouldn't have lost time in making his own divine assessment which would have resulted in his thunderbolting such a tartuffian, self-proclaimed divinity straight from Mount Olympus all the way to Hades, who would have banished him to a murky corner in Tartarus for ever.

The above portrait is of the merchant George Gisze. Der Kaufmann Geog Gisze of the Hansiatic League (1532) by Hans Holbein the Younger (1498-1543). Painted in oils on oak, 86.2 cm x 97.5 cm, this painting carried out in England is interesting because it's full of symbolic paradoxes and optical impossibilities. Holbein was fond of incorporating such subtle optical illusions and/or allusions. In this case they appear to have even more symbolic reason of being. The motto de Georg Gisze was Nulla sine merore voluptas (no pleasure without regret) which is symbolically connected with the unbalanced scales. It also suggests that the secure financial world of the Gisze is not as sound as it first appears. But is it possible that the financial world is ever as sound as it appears?

Text © Mirino. Sources include Wikipedia. Intro portrait by Holbein, with thanks to Wikimedia Commons. December, 2011

To Fly

2011-12-08T19:38:00.016+01:00

I still remember with great pleasure the film To Fly, that I had the opportunity of seeing at the Smithsonian Air and Space museum in Washington, quite a few years ago now. The film itself, the first of the museum's, was made in 1976. Thirty five years ago, and I'm sure it hasn't pris une ride since it was made. Apparently it's still the most popular of all the films now shown there.
It's moving in every sense. But America is renowned for being able to present and extoll man's technical achievements and prowess in the best possible way, whereas Europe still seems to have complexes about praising the accomplishments of humanity. Something to do with history, no doubt.
After seeing the film one leaves with a warm feeling of elation, as if one has just landed, after a fabulous and unforgettable flight.

I was reminded of this film quite recently, on awaking, because I dreamt once more that I could fly. Or rather I could levitate myself at random. There was pleasant music (that miraculously I was actually able to hear) and this helped to trigger off an ability to rise in the air lying flat out but face upwards, and glide by leisurely shunting myself along with light, flipper motions of the hands, wherever I wished to go. In this dream I was also perfectly aware that I was defying gravity, and that in order to maintain this, I must continue to apply mind over matter with calm, serene control.

I had a similar dream several years ago. I may have referred to it already. It was so convincing that when I first awoke I was quite sure that I could fly, and was eager to try without delay. In that dream I glided face down, with arms outstretched, in 'superman' style. But I was limited to following the undulating soft grass and moss of vast meadows, thus near to ground level. Yet I knew that with applied concentration I could gain height quite easily. In the dream I was so enjoying gliding along quite fast, just brushing ground level, that I purposely postponed the idea of gaining height, deciding that I would save what I was sure would be an additional, delightful challenge for later on- so confident was I of the flying progress that I was bound to
be able to make.

Such dreams are supposed to come under the category of 'Lucid Dreams', meaning that one is dreaming and aware of dreaming at the same time. One feels free, exhilarated and sublimely content. These dreams can also signify that one is in command of a situation and thus able to rise above it, which seems logical enough.

Providing that there are no obstacles, and one has no sense of fear or vertigo, it would be reasonable to interpret such flying dreams in the most positive way, of generally being free, at peace with oneself, aspiringly elated, and having the impression of being in complete control of one's destiny. It all comes down to a perfect, blissful illusion, that lasts until the rude awakening. The crash-landing of harsh reality.

The Miller's Tale

2011-12-05T11:01:00.026+01:00

The Miller's Tale is one of the best known and popular of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.
Known as a fabiau involving bourgeois and rural characters in plots that are often lewd, (osé) the fabiau was largely a French speciality, but Geoffrey Chaucer excelled in such tales, of which there are about four examples in the Canterbury series. In fact The Miller's Tale is considered one of the best fabiau in any language.

To condense the prologue and the main part of the story-
The Miller (Robyn) is considered a churl and a drunkard by most of his travelling companions, and the Reeve tries to dissuade him from telling his tale. The Miller admits to his state-

'That I am dronke: I know it by my soun.°         °sound of my voice
And therefore if that I mis° speke or saye,        °misspeak
Wite it° the ale of Southwerk, I you praye;       °blame it on
For I wol telle a legende and a lif
Bothe of a carpenter and of his wif, (...)'

His tale is of a simple, jealous carpenter of a certain age who marries a beautiful, 18 year old, frisky young bride.
The carpenter rents out rooms in his house, and a young clerk, Nicholas, is one of his lodgers. His room is tidy and full of books, for Nicholas is, or at least seems to be, a learned young man whose interests include astrology.

Nicholas falls in love with Alisoun, John, the carpenter's wife, and soon manages to seduce her. They promise each other to have lovers' meetings whenever opportunities permit.

At the same time, Absolom, an assistant to the local parish priest, has also fallen in love with Alisoun, and hopes to win her love by serenading to her sweetly with his guitar below her window.

Nicholas however, eager to spend a whole night with the carpenter's young wife, devises a plan.
He stocks his room with sufficient food and drink, locks his door and stays out of sight until the carpenter begins to worry about his absence. Believing him to be ill or even dead, the carpenter arranges that Nicholas' door be lifted off its hinges so that he can enter his room to see what's wrong. He is thus able to discover Nicholas sitting on his bed staring at the moon, completely motionless.

The carpenter shakes him and shouts loudly to try to bring the young man to his senses. Nicholas, feigning to 'wake up', then recounts his 'vision' and the secret information gleaned from his studies of astrology.
He tells the carpenter that a great deluge will flood the whole world beginning at dawn the following Monday. Similar to Noah, it is the Lord's will that the carpenter must procure three large brewing tubs or kneeding troughs. He must put sufficient food and drink into each vessel to last a day, and must drag the tubs onto the roof securing them with ropes. But on no account must he tell anyone else other than his wife (who is already aware of the plot). Such is the 'Lord's command.'

The gullible carpenter goes to all this trouble, and on Sunday night the three of them climb up the ladders the carpenter also made in preparation, and lie in their tubs. The carpenter, completely exhausted from his work and worry, is already snoring fast asleep when Nicholas and Alisoun quietly descend from the roof to pass their night together.

Before dawn however, Absolom comes to try his luck once more. Below Alisoun's window he beseeches her, his lemman (sweetheart) to kiss him. She replies that she loves another, but will kiss him only if he promises to go away afterwards. This he accepts.
As the open window is fairly low and because it's still very dark, Alisoun neatly presents her backside from it. Absolom taking this to be her face, kisses her ardently. Puzzled by the impression that she seems to have a modest beard, he slowly realises that he has been made a fool of, and immediately seeks vengeance.

He visits the local smithy to make a request. The smithy, surprised by such an early visit, nevertheless is perfectly willing to lend him what he requires- a plough shear, newly forged and still very hot- even though he has no idea why Absolom would want to borrow it.

So armed, Absolum returns to the carpenter's house and again sweetly asks for another kiss.
Nicholas, having risen for to pisse, decides that they should improve on the joke, and he sticks his backside out of the window. At this most critical stage we now return to the final part of Chaucer's verse :

"Speek, sweete brid, I noot nought wher thou art."
This Nicholas anoon leet flee° a fart                            °let fly
As greet as it hadde been a thonder-dent°                °thunderbolt
That with the strook he was almost yblent,°               °blinded
And he was redy with his iren hoot°                           °hot
And Nicholas amidde the ers he smoot:°                     °smote
Of° gooth the skin an hand-brede° aboute;                °off/handsbreadth
The hote cultour brende so his toute°                         °buttocks
That for the smert° he wende for° to die;                     °pain/thought he would
As he were wood° for wo he gan to crye,                     °mad
"Help! Water! Water! Help, for Goddes herte!
This carpenter out of his slomber sterte,
And herde oon cryen "Water!" as he were wood,
And thoughte, "Alas, now cometh Noweles° flood!"   °confusing Noah & Noel
He sette him up° withoute words mo,                   °got up
And with his ax he smoot the corde atwo,
And gooth al: he foond neither to selle
Ne breed ne ale til he cam to the celle*
Upon the floor, and ther aswoune° he lay.                  °in a swoon
Up sterte° hire Alison and Nicholay                °started
And criden "Out" and "Harrow" in the streete.
The neighebores, bothe smale and grete,
In ronnen for to gauren° on this man                      °gape
That aswoune lay bothe pale and wan,
For with the fal he brosten° had his arm;            °broken
But stonde he moste° unto his owene harm,            °must
For whan he spak he was anoon bore down°           °refuted
With° hende Nicholas and Alisoun:                             °by
They tolden every man that he was wood-
He was agast so of Noweles flood,
Thurgh fantasye, that of his vanitee°               °folly
He hadde ybought him kneeding tubs three,
And hadde hem hanged in the roof above,
And that he prayed them, for Goddes love,
To sitten in the roof, par compaignye.°            °for company's sake
The folk gan laughen at his fantasye.
Into the roof they kiken° and they cape°                  °peer/gape
And turned all his harm unto a jape°                    °joke
For what so that this carpenter answerde,
It was for nought: no man his reson° herde;           °argument
With othes grete he was sworn adown,
That he was holden° wood in al the town,               °considered
For every clerk anoonright heeld with other:
They saide, "The man was wood, my leve brother,"
And every wight gan laughen at this strif.°                °fuss/affair
Thus swived° was the carpenteres wif                        °had (baissée)
For al his keeping° and his jalousye,
And Absolom hath kist hir nether° yë,                         °backside
And Nicholas is scalded in the toute:
This tale is doon, and God save al the route!°             °company

*He found time to sell neither bread nor ale until he landed. (He lost no time).

The Wife of Bath
The Pardoner

Introduction and synopsis © Mirino. Source- The Norton Anthology English Literature Volume 1, with thanks. Top illustration from the Ellesmere Manuscript. Below- page from the Miller's Tale (Oxford, Corpus Christi College). December, 2011

Jack and Jill

2011-12-03T09:38:00.011+01:00

Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill burst out with laughter.

Up Jack got, his face red hot
And banged Jill with the bucket.
T'was such a clout, he blurted out
What sounded like, 'oh phucket'.

Moral-

Had Jack and Jill gone down the hill
They would have found more water,
With no cure job for old Dame Dob
Who'd still have Jill, her daughter.

The origin of the true Jack and Jill nursery rhyme is unknown although there are a few theories. One of them is connected to King Charles and his attempt (blocked by Parliament) to reform liquid measures in the 17th century, hence the reference to 'his crown'. For this theory 'Jill' would then be 'gill', or a quart pint, etc.

Like Humpty Dumpty, the earliest publication was as part of the Mother Goose nursery rhyme series (John Newbery, 1760).

Parody © Mirino. Illustration by William Wallace Denslow c. 1902 (with thanks and apologies for altering Jill's expression). With thanks also to Wikimedia Commons. December, 2011

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

2011-12-01T09:26:00.012+01:00

'The most happy marriage I can picture or imagine to myself

would be the union of a deaf man to a blind woman'.

Born in Ottery St.Mary, a little town in Devonshire, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) had already benefited from his education at Christ's Hospital, London, before he went to Jesus College, Cambridge (1791). But he didn't find his studies stimulating there, and became idle as well as indebted.

This pushed him to even join the Light Dragoons under the pseudonym of Silas Tomkyn Comberbache. As a cavalryman he hardly excelled. Fortunately his brothers were able to save him from further embarrassment, enabling him to return to Cambridge. But in 1794, he quit the university without any degree.

In that same year he met Robert Southey, an admirer of the French republican experience. They decided on trying to establish what Coleridge termed as 'Pantisocracy,' which was a sort of Utopian democracy based on equal rule by all.
They were persuaded to go to America to try to launch it, but hardly surprisingly the idea never got off the ground. The result of this enterprise included Coleridge's marriage to a Sara Fricker with whom he was quite happy, at least to begin with.

When he met Wordsworth in 1795, he considered him to be "the best poet of the age". The period of close collaboration with Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy who both lived at Alfoxten quite near to where Coleridge then lived (Nether Stowey) was very happy and creative.
Fortunately Coleridge then benefited from an annuity of £150 from the sons of the founder of the famous pottery firm, 'Wedgwood'. This saved him from having to assume the post of a Unitarian minister.

Wordsworth and Coleridge jointly published Lyrical Ballads in 1798 before going to Germany for the winter which triggered off Coleridge's studies of Kant.
Two years later he was to follow Wordsworth to Cumberland, and lodged at Greta Hall, Keswick. Coleridge's marriage had by then broken down and in 1799 he had fallen in love with another Sara (Sara Hutchinson). Wordsworth was to marry her sister Mary, three years later.

Coleridge suffered from rheumatism and other less known ailments for most of his life. The standard prescription to ease pain in those days was Laudanum (opium with alcohol). At the turn of the century until 1801, Coleridge began to realise that the repeated doses were doing him more harm than good. In despair he wrote Dejection: An Ode, published in 1802.
Even a period in Malta did nothing to restore his health. He returned to England in a very sorry state, and more addicted than ever.

A serious quarrel with Wordsworth (1810) and the degraded relationship with his wife, made Coleridge's lamentable situation even worse.
Considering all this, his efforts to continue writing were admirable feats, even though they were intermittent. He even had the courage to write, have printed and distribute a periodical 'The Friend,' for a little more than a year.
The Drury Lane Theatre showed his tragedy Remorse and it was successful enough to last twenty performances.

The remainder of his life he spent in the care of Dr. and Mrs. Gillman in Highgate, London. They helped him control to some extent his opium dependence. He continued to lecture and write for newspapers. He published Biographia Literaria, Zapolya (a drama), and a book of his essays he revised from 'The Friend'. He also published two selections of poems, and philosophical and religious treatises.
Coleridge was more at peace with himself then, and had made amends with his wife Sara, as well as with Wordsworth.

After Coleridge's death, Wordsworth referred to him as 'the most wonderful man that I have ever known'. For Charles Lamb- 'His great and dear spirit haunts me... Never saw I his likeness, nor probably the world can see again'.

Others were less praising, and it's said that in order to respect deadlines, he often resorted to plagiarism. However, his most famous ballad- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and particularly his haunting poem Kubla Khan, reveal his prodigious uniqueness.

Kubla Khan

A fragment of a vision in a dream

Lord Byron is said to have requested the publication of Kubla Khan as a fragment of a dream, 'more as a psychological curiosity, than on the ground of any supposed poetic merits.'

Coleridge had a dream whilst under the effects of opium. This was after having read some lines from Purchas's Pilgrimage :
'Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall.'

Coleridge then fell asleep and had this most vivid and fabulous dream from which he said he could not compose less than from two to three hundred lines- 'without any sensation or consciousness of effort.'
"On awakening he (Coleridge) appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. (...)"

Whilst he was writing someone called on business from Porlock and detained Coleridge for an hour. When he finally returned to his desk, although some of the vision was still vaguely present, a blurred souvenir in his mind's eye, or like the reflected image on a disturbed water's surface, fragmented then irredeemably lost to thick, shrouding mist.

But no doubt this was meant to be, and the poem as such is all the more magic, evocative, moving; and as complete as it was destined to be.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Text © Mirino. Source- The Norton Anthology of English Literature 2. Coleridge's Kubla Khan. Top Image- a coloured 18th century etching of Coleridge, artist unknown. Below- draft of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan (1797-1818) Wikimedia Commons, with thanks. December, 2011

Réunion

2011-11-28T18:12:00.012+01:00

Belles mains nerveuses,
Frétillantes, affairées,
Empressées à accueillir
Au mieux

Mirage des souvenirs
Qui hantaient à jamais
Enfin éteint,
En une seule, belle journée.

Poussée des graines
Semées trop légèrement,
Une vieille jungle envahissante,
Inextricable, étouffante

Des tiges noueuses,
Bornées et piquantes,
Sans intérêt, sans importance.
Impossible à traverser indemne

Une table si bien garnie,
Bons vins choisis avec soin,
Des rires, des sourires
De bonheur

Le chemin du cœur,
Celui du ciel ouvert,
Bien plus court
Et plus beau.

Rien de plus beau
Que de se réunir
Après tant d'années
De se regarder à nouveau

Comme dans le miroir du temps,

De se regarder,
De se rappeler

Et d'en sourire.

___

Poem and images by Mirino. November, 2011

Robert Herrick

2011-11-25T09:58:00.005+01:00

Robert Herrick (1591-1674) seemed to have dreamed his way through life treating any imposed decisions he had to make, more as tedious disturbances.
His father was a prosperous goldsmith, which may not have stimulated Robert to excel in his studies or to have great ambitions regarding a career. He would have preferred to pass all his time leisurely, concentrating only on the studies that interested him, and in London, where he would often discuss literature with Ben Jonson, whom he greatly admired, whilst together they would drink sack (his favourite drink).

Yet despite all this, the inevitable, social duties caught up with him, and he was somehow persuaded to take Church orders. As a result, unenthusiastically he moved to the parish of Dean Prior in Devonshire.
Even though he didn't feel at home there, at least at first, he adapted well enough to be able to write a lot of poetry, but he never bothered to try to have any of his work published then.

He playfully invented mistresses for some of his poems, and his writings reveal his love of life and a fond respect for nature- which seems to have been as important a divinity for him as the One he was supposed to be serving. His major poem 'Corinna's Going A-Maying' also reflects this.

Such a 'semi-pagan' attitude of a Church minister would have been regarded as scandalous in the growing Puritan ranks, but apparently and rightly, Herrick felt no shame.

When the civil war ended transferring power to the Puritans, Robert Herrick was dismissed and he returned to London where he finally published the results of all his west country writing in 1648. The volume had two titles- Hesperides and Noble Numbers. The latter were dedicated more to sacred themes in relation to the former. In fact it was his life's work. Over fourteen hundred poems in one plump volume.

The serious, puritanical times were hardly conducive to any success of Herrick's published work. His light touch and humour were more or less dismissed, along with him at that time, as trivial. It was not before the restoration of King Charles in 1660, that the minister poet found some favour and was allowed to return to Dean Prior where he lived peacefully for the rest of his life, reaching the respectable age of eighty three before he died.

Here are four examples that emphasise his remarkable contemporaneity, endearing mischievousness, and lightness. A lightness however, which is often more profound that it might first appear to be.

The Vine

I dreamed this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine,
Which, crawling one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Methought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced.
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung,
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall,
So that she could not freely stir
(All parts there made one prisoner).
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took
That with the fancy I awoke,
And found (ah me) this flesh of mine
More like a stock than like a vine.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
__

Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast

Have ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily center-placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.
__

Upon Jack and Jill. Epigram*

When Jill complains to Jack for want of meat,
Jack kisses Jill, and bids her freely eat.
Jill says, Of what? Says Jack, On that sweet kiss,
Which full of nectar and ambrosia is,
The food of poets. So I thought, says Jill;
That makes them look so lank, so ghost-like still.
Let poets feed on air or what they will;

Let me feed full till that I fart, says Jill.

*Jonson- On Giles and Joan

Intro text and image (last rose of the year) © Mirino. Source- The Norton Anthology English Literature Volume 1, Poems of Robert Herrick. With thanks. November, 2011

The Greek lesson

2011-11-22T09:48:00.024+01:00

A clin d'oeil to The Venetian lesson or- how a State or a Republic can take advantage of a particular situation and the ensuing circumstances, also brought about by stupidity and hypocrisy, in order to come through winning, at expense of others.

But Greece isn't coming through winning. No one is, apart from the rich. Are the bleak results, and the prospects that they are not likely to get better, then worth the expense of others?

One also wonders why German central bankers adamantly stress that the consequences of Greece ever withdrawing from the euro-zone would be disastrous. How can they possibly be more disastrous than the results of Greece remaining in the euro-zone? Maybe the argument advocating dire consequences if ever Greece withdraws from Euroland, has something to do with central bankers' privileged relationships with Greek multimillionaires... Or would this be jumping to petty conclusions?

Yet when one considers that in 2001 the Hellenes fiddled the books to be admitted in the first place, shouldn't they be politely invited to leave before things get even worse? After all, it's reasonable to believe that they aren't likely to get better. The Greeks themselves will see to that.
In the meantime perhaps someone would be kind enough to explain exactly what the disastrous consequences would be, if Greece quit the euro zone?

Below is a report on the subject that, without due reflection, I first took to be written by Margaret Thatcher, hence the portrait. As one of her admirable qualities was her astuteness in economics, it would certainly have still seemed to be the case, despite the passage of time (86 years) had she been the author. But even if she didn't write it, she's probably still perfectly lucid enough to be painfully aware that the Grecian epic rip-off is not having a positive effect on her nervous system either.

Whatever, let this allusion to Margaret Thatcher be a small hommage in memory not only of her steadfast probity, but also in memory of such times of clarity, when sanity, common sense and even intelligence once prevailed.

Obviously it's written for the Brits, who are also negatively effected by the Greek affair, for good reasons. Taking this into account, one logically concludes that all Europeans of the euro-zone (if not the Greeks themselves) would be even more negatively effected by such Grecism. So, for all the many Europeans on the continent who can read English, this report signed M. Thatcher might come as an additional eye-opener.

Even on a stiflingly hot summer's day, the Athens underground is a pleasure. It is air-conditioned, with plasma screens to entertain passengers relaxing in cool, cavernous departure halls - and the trains even run on time.

There is another bonus for users of this state-of-the-art rapid transport system: it is, in effect, free for the five million people of the Greek capital.

With no barriers to prevent free entry or exit to this impressive tube network, the good citizens of Athens are instead asked to 'validate' their tickets at honesty machines before boarding. Few bother.

This is not surprising: fiddling on a Herculean scale — from the owner of the smallest shop to the most powerful figures in business and politics — has become as much a part of Greek life as ouzo and olives.

Indeed, as well as not paying for their metro tickets, the people of Greece barely paid a penny of the underground’s £1.5 billion cost (1.74 billion euro) — a ‘sweetener’ from Brussels (and, therefore, the UK taxpayer) to help the country put on an impressive 2004 Olympics free of the city’s notorious traffic jams.

The transport perks are not confined to the customers. Incredibly, the average salary on Greece’s railways is £60,000, (69,600 euros) which includes cleaners and track workers - treble the earnings of the average private sector employee here (in GB, nota).

The over ground rail network is as big a racket as the EU-funded underground. While its annual income is only £80 million (93 million euros) from ticket sales, the wage bill is more than £500m (580m euros) a year — prompting one Greek politician to famously remark that it would be cheaper to put all the commuters into private taxis.

‘We have a railroad company which is bankrupt beyond comprehension,’ says Stefans Manos, a former Greek finance minister. ‘And yet, there isn’t a single private company in Greece with that kind of average pay.’

Significantly, since entering Europe as part of an ill-fated dream by politicians of creating a European super-state, the wage bill of the Greek public sector has doubled in a decade. At the same time, perks and fiddles reminiscent of Britain in the union-controlled 1970s have flourished.

Ridiculously, Greek pastry chefs, radio announcers, hairdressers and masseurs in steam baths are among more than 600 professions allowed to retire at 50 (with a state pension of 95 per cent of their last working year’s earnings) — on account of the ‘arduous and perilous’ nature of their work.

This week, it was reported that every family in Britain could face a £14,000 (16,240 euros) bill to pay for Greece ’s self-inflicted financial crisis. Such fears were denied yesterday after Brussels voted a massive new £100bn (116bn euros) rescue package which, it insisted, would not need a contribution from Britain .

Even if this is true — and many British MPs have their doubts — we will still have to stump up £1 billion (116bn euros) to the bailout through the International Monetary Fund.

In return for this loan, European leaders want the Greeks’ free-spending ways to end immediately if the country is to be prevented from ‘infecting’ the world’s financial system. Naturally, the Greek people are not happy about this.

In Constitution Square this week, opposite the parliament, I witnessed thousands gathering to campaign against government cuts designed to save the country from bankruptcy.

After running battles with riot police, who used tear gas to disperse protesters, thousands are still camped out in the square ahead of a vote by Greek politicians next week on whether to accept Europe-imposed austerity measures.

Yet these protesters should direct their anger closer to home — to those Greeks who have for many years done their damnedest to deny their country the dues they owe it.

Take a short trip on the metro to the city’s cooler northern suburbs, and you will find an enclave of staggering opulence.

Here, in the suburb of Kifissia, amid clean, tree-lined streets full of designer boutiques and car showrooms selling luxury marks such as Porsche and Ferrari, live some of the richest men and women in the world.

With its streets paved with marble, and dotted with charming parks and cafes, this suburb is home to shipping tycoons such as Spiros Latsis, a billionaire and friend of Prince Charles, as well as countless other wealthy industrialists and politicians.

One of the reasons they are so rich is that rather than paying millions in tax to the Greek state, as they rightfully should, many of these residents are living entirely tax-free.

Along street after street of opulent mansions and villas, surrounded by high walls and with their own pools, most of the millionaires living here are, officially, virtually paupers.

How so? Simple: they are allowed to state their own earnings for tax purposes, figures which are rarely challenged. And rich Greeks take full advantage.

Astonishingly, only 5,000 people in a country of 12 million admit to earning more than £90,000 a year, (104,400 euros) a salary that would not be enough to buy a garden shed in Kifissia.

Yet studies have shown that more than 60,000 Greek homes each have investments worth more than £1m, let alone unknown quantities in overseas banks, prompting one economist to describe Greece as a ‘poor country full of rich people’.

Manipulating a corrupt tax system, many of the residents simply say that they earn below the basic tax threshold of around £10,000 (11,600 euros) a year, even though they own boats, second homes on Greek islands and properties overseas.

And, should the taxman rumble this common ruse, it can be dealt with using a fakelaki — an envelope stuffed with cash. There is even a semi-official rate for bribes: passing a false tax return requires a payment of up to 10,000 euros (the average Greek family is reckoned to pay out £2,000 (2,320 euros) a year in fakelaki.)

Even more incredibly, Greek shipping magnates — the king of kings among the wealthy of Kifissia — are automatically exempt from tax, supposedly on account of the great benefits they bring the country.

Yet the shipyards are empty; once employing 15,000, they now have less than 500 to service the once-mighty Greek shipping lines which, like the rest of the country, are in terminal decline.

With Greek President George Papandreou calling for a crackdown on these tax dodgers — who are believed to cost the economy as much as £40bn (46.4bn euros) a year — he is now resorting to bizarre means to identify the cheats. After issuing warnings last year, government officials say he is set to deploy helicopter snoopers, along with scrutiny of Google Earth satellite pictures, to show who has a swimming pool in the northern suburbs — an indicator, officials say, of the owner’s wealth.

Officially, just over 300 Kifissia residents admitted to having a pool. The true figure is believed to be 20,000. There is even a boom in sales of tarpaulins to cover pools and make them invisible to the aerial tax inspectors.

‘The most popular and effective measure used by owners is to camouflage their pool with a khaki military mesh to make it look like natural undergrowth,’ says Vasilis Logothetis, director of a major swimming pool construction company. ‘That way, neither helicopters nor Google Earth can spot them.’

But faced with the threat of a crackdown, money is now pouring out of the country into overseas tax havens such as Liechtenstein, the Bahamas and Cyprus .

‘Other popular alternatives include setting up offshore companies in Cyprus or the British Virgin Islands , or the purchase of real estate abroad,’ says one doctor, who declares an income of less than £90,000 (104,400 euros) yet earns five times that amount.

There has also been a boom in London property purchases by Athens-based Greeks in an attempt to hide their true worth from their domestic tax authorities.

‘These anti-tax evasion measures by the government force us to resort to even more detailed tax evasion ploys,’ admits Petros Iliopoulos, a civil engineer.

Hotlines have been set up offering rewards for people who inform on tax dodgers. Last month, to show the government is serious, it named and shamed 68 high-earning doctors found guilty of tax evasion.

‘We will spare no effort to collect what is due to the state,’ said Evangelos Venizelos, the new Greek finance minister of the socialist ruling party. ‘We promise to draft and apply a new and honest tax system, one that has been needed for decades, so that taxes are duly paid by those who should pay.’

Yet, already, it is too late. Greece is effectively bust — relying on EU cash from richer northern European countries, but this has been the case ever since the country finally joined the euro in 2001.

Two years earlier, the country was barred from entering because it did not meet the financial criteria.

No matter: the Greeks simply cooked the books. Two years later, having falsely claimed to have met standards relating to manufacturing and industrial production and low inflation, the Greeks were allowed in.

Funds poured into the country from across Europe and the Greeks started spending like there was no tomorrow.

Money flowed into all areas of public life. As a result, for example, the Greek school system is now an over-staffed shambles, employing four times more teachers per pupil than Finland , the country with the highest-rated education system in Europe . ‘But we still have to pay for tutors for our two children,’ says Helena, an Athens mother. ‘The teachers are hopeless — they seem to spend their time off sick.’

Although Brussels has now agreed to provide the next stage of its debt payment program to safeguard the country’s immediate economic future, the Greek media still carries ominous warnings that the military may be forced to step in should the country’s foray into Europe end in ignominy, bankruptcy and rising violence.

For now, the crisis has simply been delayed. With European taxpayers facing the prospect of saving Greece from bankruptcy for the second year in a row, some say even the £100bn on offer will pay off only the interest on the country’s debts — meaning it will be broke again within two years.

Meanwhile, there are doom-laden warnings that the collapse of the Greek economy could be the catalyst for another global recession.

Perhaps if the Greeks themselves had shown more willingness to tighten their belts and pay taxes due to the state, voters across Europe might not now be feeling such anger towards them.

But having strolled the streets of Kifissia, and watched the Greek hordes stream past the honesty boxes on the underground, it does not take a degree in European economics to know when somebody is taking advantage — at our expense.

M. Thatcher.

This report was sent to me by email (thanks Sa). It's probably been in circulation for some time. Perhaps this is what M. Thatcher would have wanted, hence my also taking the liberty of publishing it. If however, it is protected by copyright, then naturally I should be informed asap. If this is not the case, then my thanks must go to M. Thatcher for allowing the publication of her text on Viewfinder. Intro and top water-colour (from a photograph) of Margaret Thatcher © Mirino (PW). November, 2011

Venezia, acqua passata..

2011-11-19T09:10:00.021+01:00

Almost a meter of sea-water in Piazza San Marco. It has been predicted that Venice will 'sink' in a century, now some anticipate that it may take only fifty years.. Yet such an idea is inconceivable, unacceptable.

The Venetians have seen it all too often before. They accept it philosophically as a natural consequence of living in Venice. But true Venetians can't be fatalists. The descendants of an Empire, la Repubblica Serenissimo, and one of the earliest democracies of Europe, are hardly likely to stand idly by and watch their beautiful city slowly sink as if it were just a beautiful old dream, like the myth of Atlantis inexorably destined to finish foundering fathoms deep.

And if it were beyond the means of the Venetian authorities to improve and maintain the dike and pump systems to insure a stable water-level all year round, shouldn't some of the responsibility of saving Venice be shouldered by Europe as part of Europe's precious patrimony?

How many millions of people in the world have had the privilege and pleasure of visiting Venice? How many of them would care about this exceptional city of enchantment enough to want to contribute something to keep it above water?

In Cathy Newman's National Geographic article on the subject, when asked about the problem, the Mayor Massimo Cacciari, professor of philosophy, replied philosophically, 'Let them wear boots.'
The article then adds these statistics- The number of Venetian residents in 2007- 60,000. The number of visitors that same year- 21 million..

For Cacciari, high tide is not a problem. In his view it's more a problem for 'foreigners'. But the last flood, according to him, (from the time of the NG publication) was caused by torrential rain. And there is still the Mose project. Enormous flood barriers mechanically elevated by air pressure to block rising water levels from entering the lagoons of Venice. They would only be activated when necessary, otherwise presumably they would be discreetly hidden. These are under construction and were originally set for completion by next year.

Perhaps greater maritime control is also essential, for the movement and pressure of the water constantly churned up by large vessels contributes considerably to the erosion of the submerged wooden piles supporting the foundations of much of Venice.

The cost of maintaining the famous city is far too much for the Venetians to bear. The young can't afford to live there. Only those who are rich enough or who have inherited property can do so. About thirty years ago the Venetian population numbered 120,000. Now it's less than half that. The population decline is inevitable.

Cacciari seems to place Venice well above tourism. No doubt he is right. In fact in the article I refer to he half jokingly toys with the idea of setting an 'entrance examination and a little fee'..
Such an idea could certainly be part of the solution. An entrance fee in itself would be an examination, and a pass. It could also be the medication and the cure. The Venetian authorities could ascertain the figure required for whatever restoration, safeguard or preservation project, and as the tourists arrive, they could see the rising level of the amount gradually accumulated, thanks to the entrance fees. The figures could be digitally displayed on a sort of elegant, computer scope. Thus the figure level rise should always, in principle, cover the cost caused by the water level rise. It would also make the visitors feel as if they were leaving a small part of themselves as a modest contribution towards preserving for posterity certainly one of the most beautiful, enchanting and unique cities in the world.

Venetian reflections

Text and lower image © Mirino. Top image by an unknown photographer received by email. (Assuming I have permission to use this photo, I would be glad to credit the photographer if ever he or she can contact me. Thank you in the meantime for the use). Sources- the email, National Geographic, and the site on the Mose project. With many thanks. November, 2011

Anne of Cleves

2011-11-16T06:23:00.027+01:00

Whenever I have the opportunity of visiting Le Louvre, Amongst other favourites I always go to see again Holbein's superb portrait of Anne of Cleves. In my view, and in spite of the surprisingly negative opinions of others one sometimes reads regarding this work, it's one of his best. By definition this should then make it one of the best portraits ever painted. A jewel of a painting, and all the more incredible because it was rendered in water-colour.

As Holbein was an outstanding artist, colourist and draughtsman, it must have been a good likeness, but he chose this symmetrical frontal pose, as it was most likely the only effective way of portraying Anne in the most pleasing manner. For when one closely looks at the portrait, it's apparent that a three quarter view or an Italian renaissance profile view would be less to her- and thus perhaps also to the portrait's- credit.

Anne of Cleves was in fact Thomas Cromwell's choice bride for Henry VIII, as England needed Protestant, or even Lutheran allies at that time, to ward off the threat posed by the new alliance between the Catholic French and Spanish who were determined to repress 'Protestant heresies'.

Hans Holbein, also of German origin, must have been made very much aware of the importance of this proposed marriage in order to have invested his talent to such a degree in this particular portrait.

More than two years had passed since the sad loss of Jane Seymour, not long after giving birth by caesarean to the much longed for but fragile son, Prince Edward of Wales. For this, as well as Henry's sincere devotion to her, Jane Seymour was the only queen of his reign to be buried in St George's chapel, Windsor. It was also Henry's granted wish, to be buried alongside her.

Henry VIII was probably enchanted by Holbein's portrait, but in addition there were several reports sent to Henry's right hand man, Thomas Cromwell, regarding the beauty of Anne of Cleves. "Every man praiseth the beauty of the same lady (Anne) as well for the face as for the whole body, above all ladies excellent," wrote Christopher Mont. Anne's brother, the Duke William, stated that Anne's looks would get her a good husband. Cromwell himself, who had persuaded Henry of the importance of this alliance, conveyed the verdict that Anne surpassed the beauty of the Duchess of Milan (a particular favourite of Henry's) 'as the golden sun did the silvery moon'.

Such praise contrasted starkly with John Hutton's observation to Cromwell in 1537- "The Duke of Cleves hath a daughter, but I hear no great praise either of her personage nor beauty".

Whatever negative reports Henry may have had access to, he seemed to have been fully taken by Holbein's portrait. So eager was he to see her when she finally arrived at Rochester by New Year's Eve, that although their first meeting had been set for the 3rd January, 1540, he arrived at Rochester Abbey in disguise with five members of his Privy Chamber on New Year's day. He had come 'to nourish love', but he didn't stay very long to nourish anything, leaving as soon as decency permitted. He didn't even bother to give her the gifts of furs which he had brought for her, deciding that she didn't merit them.

Not only was Anne plain, dull and poorly educated, but her German maids of honour gave an even worse impression by their peculiar attire, all dressed identically in a ghastly fashion which made them look graceless, dour and more as if they belonged to some curious sect, than if they were maids of honour to a future queen of England.

Despite Henry's legendary appetite, Anne aroused nothing in him and made no effort to try. The king tried to get out of marrying her on the basis of her pre-contract of marriage to the Duke of Lorraine's son, but the Privy Council waved all such legal problems that could prevent the marriage from going ahead.
For Henry "it was a great yoke to enter into." Just before the wedding he informed Cromwell, "If it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do that I must do this day for none earthly thing."

Following the marriage Henry shared the same bed with her for only a few nights, but it was hopeless. "For by her breasts and belly she should be no maid, which when I felt them struck me so to the heart that I had neither will nor courage for the rest."
Anne was timid, frigid and terrified of the giant lying beside her. The marriage therefore was never consummated, and Henry referred to her as 'the Flanders Mare', which naturally was scathing irony, for such mares of his stables were far more lively and receptive.

The king was already looking elsewhere, and one of Anne's maids caught his eye. It was Catherine Howard.

Henry wanted a divorce in any case, and Cromwell who had arranged the marriage, had to arrange the divorce. Thomas Cromwell was already being 'convincingly' accused of heresy by others eager to oust him to procure some of his powers, for he was the King's supreme administrator in most affairs.

After having received through Cromwell the documents he needed to annul the marriage, his loyal servant was sent to the block. Henry had been so shocked by the accusations against Cromwell that he did nothing to save him. Perhaps his ordeal with Anne made him feel less indulgent towards him, although later he was to admit that Cromwell 'was the best servant he ever had'. Ironically before he was executed, Cromwell admitted his faith to Catholicism.

Anne fully accepted the divorce without any problem. Henry was so relieved that he made sure that his 'adopted sister' had everything she needed to continue to enjoy a comfortable life. She was assigned to the Manor of Bletchingley in Richmond with a generous income of £500.
She transformed Richmond into a modest Rhenish principality. She could have gone back to Cleves, but no doubt preferred the comfort and the prestigious position of 'precedence over all the ladies of England, after the queen (Catherine Howard whom Henry married the day Cromwell was executed) and the King's daughters.'

Anne seemed to blossom somewhat more than she ever did during her short reign as queen, and she lived on quite contentedly for another seventeen years. She is buried in an obscure grave somewhere in Westminster Abbey.

Cromwell's accomplished administration was to influence Henry into leaving strict instructions regarding future management of the realm. Accordingly it should be handled by several regents instead of too few. Although such instructions weren't fully respected after Henry's death in 1547, (due to the Lord Protector, the Duke of Somerset) they could be still be regarded as additional, scattered seeds leading to Parliament. He had, after all, even if it were for selfish, illusive but 'national interests', divorced from Papal absolutism. This too paved the way to Parliament, more religious tolerance, and thus an earlier birth of British democracy, whilst on the continent, monarchial absolutism continued to reign until the end of the eighteenth century.

One of Cromwell's impossible tasks was the handling of royal finances, which, with Henry and his court was akin to trying to swim against a torrent.

To give some idea, here is an account of a full dinner menu of 1533.

First course. Salads of damsons, artichokes, cabbage lettuces, purslane and cucumber served with cold dishes of stewed sparrows, carp, capon in lemon, larded pheasants, duck, gulls, brews, forced rabbit, pasty of venison from fallow deer and pear pasty.

Second course. Hot stork, gannet, heron, pullets, quail, partridge, fresh sturgeon, pasty of venison from red deer, chickens baked in caudle and fritters.

Third course. Jelly, blancmange, apples with pistachios, pears with carraway, filberts, scraped cheese with sugar, clotted cream with sugar, quince pie, marchpane. To be finished with wafers and hippocras- a Tudor spiced wine similar to port.

And this, compared with special Embassy banquets at Whitehall, wouldn't be considered as particularly lavish.

Anne Boleyn

(No reproduction does justice to Holbien's portrait of Anne of Cleves. One only has to see the luminosity of the original to appreciate this).

Text © Mirino. Main source among others- Henry VIII and his Court (Neville Williams) with grateful thanks. Portrait of Anne of Cleves, c. 1539, by Hans Holbein the younger (1498-1543) Water-colour on parchment mounted on canvas, 65 x 48 cm. Le Louvre, Paris. (Wikimedia Commons, with thanks). November, 2011

Justice sociale

2011-11-13T10:33:00.023+01:00

'La justice sociale' est une belle phrase mais c'est une cause que la nature, y compris forcément la nature humaine, ne reconnaît pas trop, sauf de manière plutôt poétique et puis philosophique. Il s'agirait alors de la justice poétique, l'ironie du sort dont le temps n'arrive jamais à subjuguée.
La justice sociale est donc aussi mythique qu'au moins le dernier tiers de la fameuse devise française. Partie d'un idéal jamais réalisé car irréalisable, depuis sa naissance de la Révolution Française- Liberté, Fraternité et Egalité.

Affirmer ceci ne veut pas dire permettre une sorte de fatalité irresponsable de laisser faire, voire de négligence. C'est une affirmation d'une réalité naturelle, et quoi que l'on ait comme aspirations, nous sommes nous aussi contraints, malgré nos prétentions, de vivre en fonction de la nature et de ce qu'elle nous accorde. Ce n'est pas non plus comme si Dieu, ou la Nature soit cruel. Ils sont aussi cruels que gentils, autant que le bon et le mauvais temps.

Même si Dieu ou la Nature n'accorde pas à chacun(e) qu'elle fait naître les mêmes qualités, capacités et talents innés, la même beauté, santé et force, elle nous accorde à tous quand même la plus essentielle- la vie elle-même, et c'est à chacun(e) de nous de jouir de ce cadeau unique et précieux comme on entend, et aussi bien que les circonstances qui elles aussi déterminent le destin, nous le permettent.

Mais lorsqu'on est persuadé que ce que l'on estime être un malheur personnel est plutôt la responsabilité, sinon la faute- et en tous cas la charge- des autres, on se diminue par rapport à ceux que l'on blâme, en leur accordant ainsi en somme un niveau d'importance bien plus supérieure à la nôtre.

La protection sociale a ses limites, sauf si on préfère déléguer toute responsabilité qui nous concerne à l'Etat pour faire naître une autocratie. Un Etat utopique que l'on veut naïvement accréditer d'une capacité divine pour pouvoir protéger avec tant de soin et de dévouement nos intérêts. L'Etat parental qui prétend pouvoir tout gérer et tout guérir, où miraculeusement il n'y a plus de maux sociaux, et où tout le monde est égal et exemplaire en tant que nationaux. Ceci grâce à la répression de toute opposition, de tout intellectualisme et de tout individualisme. Mais ce serait un Etat qui courtise la mort par dégénérescence, usure et faillite économique et humaine. Le sort inexorable de communisme et de totalitarisme.

Prenons donc la noble cause, le tiers idéal qui est l'Egalité. Si on était aussi myope de croire bon de tirer ver le bas le niveau de l'éducation nationale, par exemple, pour que tous les enfants atteignent le même niveau assez facilement accessible d'une éducation médiocre, comment obtiendrait-on les prodiges capables de développer des nouvelles entreprises ainsi créant des nouveaux emplois pour l'avenir? Comment arriverait-on à inciter l'inspiration, l'aspiration et donc la volonté de ceux et celles qui auraient par conséquence la capacité de se surpasser pour alors atteindre les étoiles ainsi faisant avancer l'humanité?

C'est aussi 'naturel' de prôner un Etat qui aide ceux et celles qui ont besoin d'aide, mais la meilleure manière de les aider est de les encourager à lever la tête vers les étoiles, au lieu de demeurer dans un assujettissement lamentable et une misère qui leur est indigne. Un état triste que l'on s'inflige à soi-même pour perpétuer indéfiniment l'indulgence de l'Etat ainsi que la condescendance dédaigneuse des passants.
Mais l'objectif idéal d'un Etat ne devrait-il pas être de faire en sorte que ce genre de misère devienne impossible, donc intolérable?

Ces quelques lignes simples ne sont point écrites pour moraliser, mais pour rationaliser.
Aujourd'hui, toujours dans l'œil du cyclone de la crise, c'est forcément évident que l'altruisme ou la justice sociale ne peut pas être la première préoccupation de l'équipage envers ceux qui pleurnichent dans un coin du bateau. Ceux qui regardant leur nombril sans se rendre aucunement compte que le bateau qui fait avancer la nation, s'il n'est pas assez bien gouverné, risque de couler tout entier lui-même.