Showing posts with label story-telling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story-telling. Show all posts

Saturday, March 26, 2022

It's a Prime


Three men were sitting around a table in prison. All of them had killed. The theme of their talk was, what had they killed for.

Tom admitted "I was too besotted with a girl, I couldn't take it when she left me, so, after harrassing her a year, when she tried to defend herself, I killed her."

Dick said, "My own story is somewhat different. It's even slightly original:

"I am a fairly lawabiding man, otherwise. Just not very well educated. One day, I was sitting on a bench, and on the bench opposite, I saw a man looking a bit like a hoodlum in his trench coat.

"He was writing, writing, and then writing again, in his notebook. I was starting to get a bit curious, and thought, perhaps he was planning some crime or something.

"Suddenly he sprang up, and he shouted, full of glee 'It's a crime, it's a crime!' - there I had the proof.

"He was going to kill or extort someone, I thought I'd like to play the hero, so, I said 'I take you under a citizen's arrest' and when he refused, we started to wrestle, and I killed him.

"When the policemen came in, I explained the situation. Quietly one constable took up the notebook.

"'Are you sure,' he said, 'that he didn't shout «It's a prime, it's a prime!» instead?' - and he looked very intently at me.

"'But that doesn't mean anything, does it?' I retorted.

"But the policeman told me: 'oh yes, it does, it means, «It's a prime number.»'

"He showed me the notebook, last written page, and the crossed out numbers 673 and 677 on top, crossed out with one stroke. Below that, there were lots of funny calculations all starting with 455603 on top. Here, I'll show you one."

455603
17603
_______________
438


"Apparently, the guy had taken a multiple of 607, under 455603, and it ended in 603, and then he only needed to take care of the remainder below the first three integers, and as 438 is smaller than 607, it's not a multiple of 607."

Harry asked "wait, how is 17603 a multiple of 607?"

Dick obliged with another calculation:

6070
607
_______________
5463
1214
_______________
17603


"You see, by deducting 1 times from 10 times, he got nine times the prime factor. And as 5463 ends in 63, the thing he needed was a 4 added below the six, so, he took 1214, the double, and removed it one step to the left. 17603 is therefore 29*607."

Harry asked "and what was the point of all this?"

"There wasn't one," said Dick, "unless you think of it in terms of solving a pointless problem. The policeman showed me how the two numbers 673 and 677 miltiplied to 455621, and it seems 455603 was the highest prime number below that, it was definitely not either 673 or 677 away from the product of these, so they couldn't be counted either. It seems, the guy had been crossing out all prime factors, starting with 2, 3, 5, 7, 11 and 13, and after crossing out these last two had come to his conclusion after testing 661.

"I killed a man because I didn't understand his hobby."

And Harry said, "My friends, I see why you are here, I see why some others don't like you, but, frankly, you are a real treat." When they stared at him in unbelief, he added "well, at least compared to my victim!"

Tom asked "whom did you kill?"

Harry answered "I killed a shrink, he was taking away liberties from me for reasons about as stupidly thought through as Dick's here, and he was harrassing me that way about as relentlessly as you did to your ex-girl-friend. You are both better people than my victim."

Whether we believe Harry or not, I think the story has come to a conclusion. The moral for mathematicians would be, if you ever shout out you have proven a number a "prime" - please shout "it's a prime number!" so no one thinks you shout "it's a crime!"

Whether the story has a moral for shrinks, I don't know, but it has one for people who send shrinks onto someone. Please don't push people to kill.

Friday, March 29, 2019

Floor 10,024


Year 10 950 ARC (After Rocket Crash) · Floor 10,024

This time Conan dreamt of elevators.

From floor 10,024 he took the stairs up to 10,025. He could have taken the "Little Elevator" as well. There he took an elevator to floor 10,005, in just two stops. This elevator was called "Mid-Little Elevator".

From 10,005 he had several times taken a "Mid-Great Elevator" which stopped at every hundredth floor.

This time, he was taking a "Great Elevator".

It stopped every 1000 floors, and at 1 meter per second, this meant it took 50 minutes between each stop.

Obviously, this was not what one normally thinks of as Elevators, Conan somehow both didn't connect to trains and was very well familiar with train procedure. And yes, taking a "Great Elevator" was a bit like taking a train.

You had a fairly big carriage up and down. It came and left at fixed hours and could take 30 persons at a time. You had to pay tickets to take it. And, while expensive, they were kind of worth it.

You had seats. You had a toilet one floor below that with the passenger seats, and also a cafeteria room one floor above it, with automatic distributors of hot and cold drinks and of snacks. You could even buy a TV meal and you could heat it in a microwave oven, which was switched off five minutes before approaching a stop floor. You put your luggage on luggage shelves. Or, very bulky luggage, on the same floor as the toilet.

Down to 9,005, he dozed.

Waking before 9,005, he was told by a loudspeaker "we are now approaching the next floor, which is nine-thousand and five, if you are leaving here, please finish your meals, don't start a micro-wave heating, if you already have a meal going, you can take it away with you in a brown bag."

He picked up a book (in an elevator on the façade, he could have watched the skyscape, and how the landscape below unfolded, but those were more expensive and some found that an occasion of vertigo or even nausea). This was an elevator inside the building and a break in the electric current could make it go dark, but as it was, he enjoyed the lamps on the book. Some of the other passangers were reading too. Some were talking, but not too loud, he could still read.

He was five chapters through (though when he woke he had no idea what book it was) when the voice announced "we are now approaching the next floor, which is eight-thousand and five, if you are leaving here, please finish your meals, don't start a micro-wave heating, if you already have a meal going, you can take it away with you in a brown bag."

He was not leaving, not yet. One couple of lovers was, though. He watched them smile at each other as they took down their luggage from the luggage shelves. They kept hugging while the elevators was standing still for two minutes, and they went slowly out ... they were probably getting a new apartment somewhere between floors 8000 and 9000.

The elevator started again, this time a bit shaky. But it soon caught up.

All of his life, he had been hearing the noise of winds blowing around the skyscraper, somewhat mitigated by sound dampers. However, this time, he could hear it was blowing to a storm.

The elevator stopped again. "We are in an emergency, please do not panic"

He heard something crack, slowly.

"We are in an emergency, pl..."

Electricity went out, both the lamps and the voice finished abruptly.

He heard the noise of the wind again, more cracking, and felt a slight difference in angle in the dark.

Several others started moving uneasily.

He heard another crack, and the angle was slanting even worse, and now the other passengers were standing up and shouting and quarreling and each wanted to come to the door - but it was locked, as they were somewhere between floor 8,005 and floor 7,005.

As he heard another crack and felt someone stumble across his legs, he woke up.

It was just his cat. "It's you Tabs! You don't know what a relief this is!" The cat was not answering in words, just stared back at Conan.

Conan thought of what Harold Howard had told him about Nimrod trying to build "a tower so tall, that it reached to heaven".

He put on the lamp, and he opened the Bible, Genesis 11.

He read verses 1 to 9.

And the earth was of one tongue, and of the same speech. And when they removed from the east, they found a plain in the land of Sennaar, and dwelt in it. And each one said to his neighbour: Come, let us make brick, and bake them with fire. And they had brick instead of stones, and slime instead of mortar. And they said: Come, let us make a city and a tower, the top whereof may reach to heaven: and let us make our name famous before we be scattered abroad into all lands. And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of Adam were building. And he said: Behold, it is one people, and all have one tongue: and they have begun to do this, neither will they leave off from their designs, till they accomplish them in deed. Come ye, therefore, let us go down, and there confound their tongue, that they may not understand one another's speech. And so the Lord scattered them from that place into all lands, and they ceased to build the city. And therefore the name thereof was called Babel, because there the language of the whole earth was confounded: and from thence the Lord scattered them abroad upon the face of all countries.

Unlike the dream, he could remember what he was reading.

Wonder how much they had lost during the Flood ... in technology. How could they have solved the elevator problem?

Was it even a sky-scraper, with an elevator he was trying?

and a tower, the top whereof may reach to heaven

He suddenly thought of a three step rocket at take off. Only the top reaches outer space.

And he thought - what if Nimrod had no clue at all, nearly, what it would really take, and God delayed this to several thousand years later at Cape Canaveral?

Monday, September 11, 2017

Year 10 950 ARC (After Rocket Crash)


Year 10 950 ARC (After Rocket Crash) · Floor 10,024


Conan found himself awakening during the history lesson.

"Some of you might wonder why, on certain occasions last week, the year ten thousand nine hundred fifty After Rocket Crash was not used. Instead you saw one hundred and one thousand nine hundred sixtynine A. D. - Anyone knows what A.D. means?"

Conan had a vague memory, turned his head where his associations went. Right : Harold Howard was lifting up his hand.

"Yes, Harold?"

"A. D. means Anno Domini. It means Year of the Lord."

"And what does that refer to?"

"Year after Our Lord Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem on Tellus I."

"Correct answer, Harold, but you need not overdo the empathy with those archaic superstitions."

"I don't think they are archaic superstitions, Sir. I think they are tr..."

"SILENCE! ENOUGH! As a punishment you'll go out into the corridor. The hologram TV is switched off, you'll have a boring time. Now, out."

And out went Harold.

The teacher - he was named Bertrand for some reason - went on.

"One hundred thousand years ago, we humans developed rockets on Tellus - you know, the third planet from Sol, also referred to as Tellus I, mentioned in connection with Bethlehem. Or also as Earth, though that is very archaic. The planet where our species evolved. And we developed rockets in the nick of time.

"One thousand years later, Earth blew up and we saved ourselves on rockets - and those who didn't died.

"Our rocket fleet roamed space for some centuries before finding a suitable planet. In fact, if we hadn't learned to make artificial ecosystems, we would have died on the rockets very quickly.

"Then we colonised space. Those on the original planet - the one we found, Tellus II, near Southern Cross - presumably don't know of our success, if they are still there. Ourselves, we know of it, since our own history goes on where we left Tellus II for Tellus III, three thousand years later - we know another crew went off in another direction before that, but we don't know what happened to them. That voyage took our ancestors three thousand years.

"After that ..."

The bell rang.

Conan went out to Harold. They went off to a corner of the schoolyard, while Bertrand was busy quelling a quarrel.

"You are a Christian, right?"

"Yes."

"Don't you guys believe he Universe is going to end, or something?"

"Yes, we do."

"Now we are alrady one hundred one thousand years after your religion was founded," Conan said, generously rounding off to the lower on the remaining nine hundred sixty nine years, "hasn't time disproven your prophecy?"

"Oh, not yet. You see, if it is true that the Universe was thirteen billion years old when He came, the time since then is still too insignificant to disprove it. He still came 'in the last times' and not midway or early in the history of the Universe."

"Wait ... you mean one or two or at least thirteen billion years from now, we won't be around and the Universe won't be around?"

"We'll be around, but the Universe as we know it won't. We'll be around and we will all be either saved or damned and living in eternal bliss or eternal misery. We will all have died and resurrected and we will not die again."

"All? I thought this Judgement stuff you believe in was about your acts, but what about the babies that are made twenty billion years from now? They won't have acted, will they be judged at birth?"

"We won't be making babies any more."

"So you'll have super contraceptives?"

"We won't be having sex any more."

"But you said something about eternal bliss ...?"

"Not that kind of bliss ..."

The bell rang for the next lesson. Conan knew he would be punished for having talked to a Christian who had declared himself so.

And while the bell rang, Conan found he had his eyes closed, was in bed and was waking up. As he did so, he recalled the real conversation with the real Howard.

And the real Howard was a Young Earth Creationist. He believed that Heaven and Earth had been created only seven thousand years ago - some say six, but he goes by a Bible text called Septuagint - and obviously this meant that Doomsday was coming much faster, probably no time to get to "Tellus II" even as per his dream in ... say AD three thousand three hundred and fifty ... and certainly no time to get to "Tellus III" in AD nine thousand three hundred and fifty. If Harold was right, that is.

That was what had bothered him the evening : what would they say of such prophecies one hundred thousand years from now after huge space discoveries had been made. And Harold had answered, with a very cocky, actually a bit nasty self assurance:

"Oh, we aren't there yet!"

Conan tried to get to breakfast after just dressing but was told to get a shower first. While under the waters, he reflected on something else Harold had said.

The stuff about saving mankind to other planets around other stars had, at least at its most basic principle, been tried before - by one Nimrod building a Tower of Babel. And God - some kind of invisible guy these Christians believe in - Harold actually said God had thwarted this, "because it won't work that way."

As he dried his hair with few quick strokes of the towel, took on same clothes and went to breakfast, he thought over and over again "if these Christians are right, there is so much which doesn't make sense."

And at the breakfast table he actually muttered these words a bit audibly, his mother asked:

"What doesn't make sense?"

"Going to school for one."

Here his father lowered the newspaper and asked:

"Why?"

"Well, if these creationists are right, we are taught minute details about a process or more than one which never happened, we are taught elaborate projects about things that won't happen, but nothing about the things that matter most."

"You know what, Conan?"

"No, dad?"

"You ask Harold for some scientific material, we'll go through it and see why it doesn't make sense."

And while the author of this story wishes them an ironic "good luck" with finding that, he also endorses getting the material and looking at it. Even from a Protestant, if it's the scientific stuff on Young Earth.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

This is Not a Story, But About One - amende honorable to Neil Gaiman!

Sir, I have boycotted you because of the horror I had of that dream of that other woman in "The Problem of Susan".*

As you know, I wrote (or started writing) my own Susan fic in polemics to yours.

Meaning that Susan will NOT rest either in denial nor even doubt.

But, I can no longer consider you a bad writer.

Yesterday I left off Stardust (French Translation) at p.116, and today I took it up again same library, at about 12:00, finishing at about 15:00.

Tolkien, CSL, Lloyd Alexander have found a colleague in my imagination, and you are closer to them, and to me, even than Ursula Kroeber LeGuin.

I have NOT been finding anything comparable since my teens, until I found your book.

Even including a French novelist, who seems a bit inspired by you, but going from you to him would be like going from Rose Period to Guernica. L'Étrange Monde de Là-Bas is a bit like a bête noire to me - I suppose a bit what Voyage to Arcturus was to CSL. But your book is like a volume from a library which was lost and has been put back into the shelf.

My spontaneous impression of the seven brothers was a bit like "sons of Feanor meet Family Addams". And the overall plot was a bit like "Beren and Luthien - subverted". Congratulations.

It was written a year in which I was having some difficulties. 5th of February 1998, I had had to defend myself against a policeman taking me off to see shrinks on order of a doctor who was more fanatical than some shrinks I have seen. He got ten cm long and perhaps one cm deep (or more superficial) on the hip, and I got, first a month in detention, then a trial at which I was acquitted on grounds of "putative defense", a ground I considered and consider inadequate, then a few days on an escape route, then a new detention, some months longer, a new trial and 3 and a half years, including what I had already done in detention - whereof I served two thirds.

So, glad that someone was doing sth good that year and that I came to enjoy it.

I am not sure how you like a now defunct Ziggy Stardust, but if the title was in honour of him**, I think his best aesthetic vein, the one I enjoyed when seeing Labyrinth, has been very amply honoured therein.

I suppose Stormfold is an Elven Kingdom - according to Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang, not according to the Firstborn of Silmarillion.

But it owes sth to Tacitus and to Lemony Snicket, as well.

This is not meant as an introduction for those who haven't read Stardust, I might write sth like that in French for my pop culture blog gmb1lou. It is just to notify you, you are definitely no longer on my boycott list!***

Hans Georg Lundahl
Nanterre UL
Wednesday after
II Lord's Day in Lent
24.II.2016

* According to reports I found so gross I did not actually read your story. ** Not meaning it have no bearing on the story, of course! *** Barring obedience to the Church, should you come to the Index, but I hope that will not be the case.

It seems this post is n° 200 of the published ones on this blog, meaning The Boy Who Made the Stars came as n° 199 - a fine confirmation that Christ indeed came 5199 after Creation!/HGL

Sunday, January 10, 2016

The Boy Who Made Stars

There was a boy, who coud shape a bird of clay and give it life, just by telling it to fly. He made the stars. There was a man who was jealous, and wanted to own the stars. The boy told him he couldn't have them for his own. Yet, the man proceeded to steal the stars and put them in a sack. It was dark. The boy went down from the sky and told him to give the stars back. Instead the man put the boy in the sack too. But the boy went out of the sack and took the stars with him and put them up in the sky again. And as the man was surprised, and a bit thankful because it was light again, the boy told him, he could come and live among the stars, if he did what the boy told him too. Then the boy went up.

If you don't know the name of this boy, ask someone who is celebrating Christmas. Btw, this is just a very short and confused version of what really happened./HGL

Monday, June 15, 2015

Schliemann’s Dream


Heinrich slept ill that night. He had overeaten and drunk a bit too much. And perhaps he had something on his conscience.

Christ appeared to him – very unusual – and asked : “Why didst thou lie about me? Thou didst not believe I had appeared to Priam, and yet thou saidst I had.”*

“Wait, Lord … you don’t mean you really exist, hrrm, I mean as someone capable of taking offense at such things? As a real person and even really still watching over all we do and all that? Didn’t you forget about earthly matters when being assumed into Heaven? I thought the Gospels and the historic (if such) Jesus in them was just the most developed idea of the Absolute … you really not just exist as a person, you also look down on what happens on earth?”

Christ’s face was firey as the Sun and His garment was white. It was clear even to this German modernist Protestant – at least during this dream – that Christ existed as a real person and was personally aware of what went on on Earth.

“OK, Lord,“ Heinrich said when lowering his gaze “but can’t you see it from my point of view a bit? These Greeks would plunder for the gold, my archaeological science would be ruined, all my expenses would be in vain …”

He stopped, hoping for understanding and “sat sapienti“ and all that.

“Thou thinkst a lot about thy investments, doest thou not? So thy money is more worth to thee than my truth?”

“But, look here, Lord … these Greeks are so superstitious about you …“

Something in the shining figure told him Our Lord was not impressed.

“… so, er … you see, well, in a way … taking advantage of their superstition for the higher purpose of my science, you see …”

“So, between their piety for me and thy nostalgia for Priam and for people worse than he even, thy curiosity is the ‘higher purpose‘, is that it?”

Schliemann saw his habitual excuses would not do with this … dialogue partner.

“If you know everything, you must know any Prussian would agree?”

“If thou knowest the Bible as well as thy Prussian teachers brag, thou must know that I said something against conforming to the world.“

Even Heinrich Scliemann, from a very Protestant and Modern part of Prussia knew Our Lord meant, by “the world”, Prussia, not Austria or even Bavaria.

“So, I am going to Hell for this? Is that what you have decided?”

Our Lord didn’t answer.

“What about the priest who blessed the icon? He should have known better, and yet he went along with me. He did it for the money … like Judas.”

“He knows he acted like Judas, but thou doest not. Look at him!”

And here Schliemann saw the Greek Orthodox priest bowing down before an icon of Our Lord – and Our Lord, as already having appeared in the dream, taking the place of the icon.

It was not – had not been – the icon he had set up and blessed. He did the sign of the cross, from right to left as the Orthodox do. He said “Lord, have mercy on me a sinner. Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I have sold you for money, like Judas.”

And he bowed down again.

And he repeated the sign of the cross and he repeated the prayer. And he bowed down again. And it went on and on, until Heinrich said something about “did he feel that bad about it? I thought he was just greedy and superstitious!”

And the priest went on. Heinrich cried out:

”Lord, if you cannot forgive me, forgive that poor priest! I didn’t mean to hurt him that much. Honestly, I didn’t!”

”I know thou didst not mean it. That is why I am showing thee what thou didst for him. Now look at what he did for thee.”

And the priest cried out:

”Lord, I am by Thy grace Orthodox, and most damnable because I stood not up for the truth, when I knew it. But what about Sleemun**, who, being a heretic, knows no better? Will he be damned for this lie? If it be Thy Holy Will, so be it. And yet, he paid for the widow whom the Turk was evicting …”

(Hullo, thought Schliemann! He didn’t keep the money for himself!)

”God, damn me, if Thou wilt, for trapping his soul in sin, but free him from it. Make his lie to be no lie. Have thou appeared to Priam, on the spot where he said so!”

Have thou appeared – imperative of the perfect past: πεφηνε. The priest was asking God to have already done a thing before the asking.

And Heinrich – who knew Greek better than theology and understood the form – had a wild hope if both being saved himself and seeing King Priam in Heaven due to this prayer. He looked up to Our Lord, and instead of seeing Him face to face as when the dream began, he saw King Priam in the invaded Troy kneeling before Him.

“Lord, is that you?” said Priam. “I have looked for you in all the stories about Zeus … and only found you where you saved Deucalion and Pyrrha … it is as if all the rest was some … some lying gods from the Netherworld …”

“Indeed, I saved a couple from a Flood and another couple from infertility. Thou hast called both of them Deucalion and Pyrrha. But Zeus is not my name, and as thou knowest, neither is Teshub.”

“But alas! I broke your holy law : Helen should have been given to Menelaos, even if he had punished her. I am faulty.”

”Not as thy son. He kept her for lust, thou for pity.”

“Are you not angry at my transgression?“

“The pity of not punishing is not always a transgression. Indeed, thou hast pleased me.”

And Priam, white hair, white beard, suddenly looked as a boy, happy to have pleased his father, though he had feared the opposite.

“Thou knowest I will be man later?“

“If you say so, Lord, I know it.“

“And I will also spare an adulteress, and remember thee.“

If you have ever felt a joy so deep it almost slapped you and it pushed tears into your eyes, you know what Priam felt.

”That is too much … no, if You say You will, it is for You to see about it. I am happy beyond expectation.”

“I will also give a king to a country where Trojans are at least reputed to have come after now. He will be victim of adultery as Menelaos. And he will spare the adulteress, like thou didst.”

“Lord, this is beyond all I deserved!“

“Someone shall have prayed for thee.“

“Is there more?“

“Yes, thou recallest thy son Hector?“

“How could I forget him! One man here who sought you, while others went with Alexander Parid to worship the Wolfgod Apollon.”

“The father of that King will give him tot he care of a stepfather – who shall be a Hector.“

“My Lord, are you mad? Why are you wasting this generosity on me? How can I ever thank you, even if I had all eternity?”

“If I did what I did fort he thanks you men give me on earth, I would indeed be mad. Eternity thou shalt have to thank me, after we meet again, when I shall descend to the Netherworld to make you free, you mortals captive as yet by my enemy. One thing more. I will send to the Troad my men, yes, when I shall become man, it is to this coast that my most beloved disciple will send some letters from me. To Ephesus, to Smyrna, to Pergamus, to Thyatira, to Philadelphia and to Sardis. Yes, I know thy love amidst the synagogue of Satan, that is my enemy.”

Schliemann started waking up, the dialogue between Christ and Priam started becoming smudgy, like things seen through rainstained windows on very rainy days.

Priam asked one thing more, His name. Schliemann was not sure if he heard something about Yehoshua, or sth about Jesus (Yaysooss as the Germans pronounce it) or sth about “thou shalt know when we meet again” or perhaps … yes, this was the final version of this part of dialogue before he finally woke up:

“They will call me the Lion of Judah. Το λεονταρι του Ιουδα. Yahuda Aslan. …”

And Heinrich woke up with the words echoing in his head … Yahuda Aslan … Aslan … Aslan … and because these things were beyond his normal thoughts, he said to himself, “whoa, it was just a dream …”

Years later there was a war. A Lieutenant Schliemann went out to the trenches of France, not Heinrich, but a younger relative of his. He was blonde. He loved reciting Homer, among other Greek poetry, in the evenings. Especially Homer.

One evening he was reciting, somewhat louder than usual, the passage where Glaucos – it means blonde – and Diomede met in battle and decided not to kill each other.

Ως φατο, γηθησεν δε βοην αγαθος Διομηδης·
εγχος μεν καλεπηξεν επι χθονι πουλυβοτειρηι
αυταρ ο μειλιχιοισι προσηυδα ποιμενα λαων

And he heard a deep booming voice answer from the English camp:

Η ρα νυ μοι ξεινος πατρωιος εσσι παλαιος· (…)

The next morning in the fog, he surrendered with his men to an English Lieutenant (or Anglo-Irish from Belfast, actually) named Clive Staples Lewis.

* Throughought the dream, “thou” has the stylistic quality of German “du” and French “tu” – of assuming familiarity. Germans and Greeks also use the “thou” when addressing God, but French do not. Schliemann is not doing it here since God is here appearing to him as a real person – the God he had “thoued” was the “God” of progressive Protestant philosophy, a non-person. Polite address is “you” corresponding to German “Sie” and French “vous”. The Greek priest is thouing the Christ of the dream, since when thouing Him otherwise he was considering Him a real person.

** Greek doesn’t really have an SH, nor exactly a pure S, but an S that is between the two.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Yvetotiade, index

Mon "ticket" vers Bayeux:

Avis d'infraction n°4487700785
identité
M. Lundahl Hansgeorg
Né le 06/09/1968 Vienne Autriche

Chez ESI St Martin
27 ter Bd de St Martin
75003 Paris France

La personne faisant l'objet de ce procès verbal confirme l'exactitude de son identité et de son adresse.

Infraction:
Voyage sans billet
de: Paris St Lazare
à: Bayeux
le 15/10/2012 à 21:45
train 003323

Transaction:
Insuffisance de perception: 37,40€
Indemnité forfaitaire:25,00€
Frais de dossier:30,00€
Total à regler:92,40€
Les choses se passaient de manière parfaitement civilisée entre moi et le contrôleur. 
 
lundi 15/X/2012, Ste Thérèse: j'étais à Paris
lundi/mardi 16/X: je suis parti pour Bayeux
mardi soir: pour écouter une conférence,
nuit à mercredi 17/X
mercredi: et ensuite je voulais en faire un résumé
mercredi soir/jeudi matin 18/X
jeudi: La connexion internet se passe mal les jeudis à Bayeux, je fais le stop vers Caen.
jeudi/vendredi 19/X
vendredi
samedi matin 20/X: Il se passe mal à Caen, j'essaie de faire le stop vers Paris.
samedi: Je marche sur l'autoroute (la filière de côté où les voitures ne peuvent pas conduire sauf pour s'arrêter en cas de nécessité grave),
samedi: les gendarmes m'arrêtent mon marche et me déposent pas du tout dans le bon sens, mais à Pont-l'Évêque.
samedi: J'essaie de faire le stop vers Paris pendant des heures, j'échoue,
samedi: j'essaie de prendre le train vers Lisieux, je réussis à le prendre dans l'autre sens, à Deauville-Trouville.
samedi/dimanche 21/X
dimanche: J'essaie de faire le stop de là, je m'arrête à Touques,
lundi matin 22/X: je continue à faire le stop vers Honfleur, je me fais embarquer même jusqu'Au Havre,
lundi
lundi / mardi 23/X
mardi
mardi / mercredi 24/X, St Raphaël
mercredi soir: et la veille les conditions là-bas s'étaient dégradés entre moi et quelques Musulmans, donc j'ai quitté la ville, essayé de faire le stop vers Paris, et pourquoi pas pris l'autoroute mais la route verte? Parce que je voulais éviter d'être encore une fois embarqué par les gendarmes. Quatre personnes me prennent, et c'est comme ça que je suis arrivé chez vous.
mercredi/jeudi 25/X: intro
jeudi matin: Il me souhaite une bonne journée et bonne route, je lui souhaite également une bonne journée. - Yvetôt - Ste Marie des Champs - vers Rouen
jeudi midi: à Rouen
jeudi/vendredi 26/X
vendredi
vendredi/samedi 27/X
samedi
samedi/dimanche 28/X
dimanche St Sever
dimanche Petit Quivilly
dimanche Grand Quevilly
vers les Couronne
vers Paris
arrivée à Paris
rencontre loupe le repas en marchant vers toilettes
graffiti
un peu de calme le soir
Les courriers de SNCF, pour Deauville aussi. M. l'administrateur de SNCF devrait savoir que Hans-Georg est la forme allemande pour Jean-Georges, donc masculin, donc Monsieur. Il note pourtant Madame/Monsieur. Peut-être bochophobie administrative, mais non seulement la guerre est finie, aussi les Autrichiens étaient des Malgré-Nous (comme mainte Alsacien), et les Suédois qui utilisent aussi des formes allemandes de certains pré-noms n'étaient pas dans la guerre.
Ceux-là sont correctes. Par contre, le suivant p v est le premier au train vers Deauville-Trouville. Le contrôleur avait présumé sans preuve que j'étais parti de Paris ce jour, tandis que je l'étais déjà sur le voyage de Bayeux. Le parcours était donc uniquement de Pont-l'Évêque, est le p v suivant est basé sur le malentendu initial du contrôleur:
Et j'aurais évidemment été moins démuni si je n'avais pas trouvé des blocages à propos les republications de mes essais, voir article:

Triviū, Quadriviū, 7 cætera : Enlevons un doute juridique s'il y en a qui en sont tracassés à propos de moi!
triv7quadriv.blogspot.com/2012/11/enlevons-un-doute-juridique-sil-y-en.html

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Yvetotiade, intro


Tard le soir de la fête de St Raphaël, je pense arriver à Yvetot. J'essaie de demander quelque chose à manger avant de me coucher dans la première maison, où c'est allumé. Ils n'ouvrent pas. Je passe quelques maisons et prend la troisième entrée et un coin un peu abrité du bruit. Je me couche sans rien demander.

Un peu plus tard un homme m'apperçoit dans mes sacs de couchage et dans la hoodie autour de ma tête et de mes épaules. Je le salue.

Il me demande de partir, parce que j'aurais froid, je chopperais la crève, je réponds que je ne puis plus continuer (Yvetot étant 2 km plus loin). Je demande par contre d'avoir un café le matin avant de partir, il se fâche et me dit que si je ne suis pas parti avant six heures du matin, "ça va chauffer". Je lui dis "merci".

Le matin venu, il ne me maltraite pas pour y être resté, bien au contraire, quand je sonne (c'est déjà allumé et les oies des voisins font déjà leur bruit), il me donne effectivement un café et des madeleines. On cause. Ais-je eu trop froid? Non (mais il paraît que j'aurais eu moins froid sous un hangar juste un peu plus loin). Où suis-je venu?

Là je raconte l'histoire qui, résumée ici et continuée après ce rencontre va constituer l'Yvetotiade.

Je vis à Paris dans la rue, j'y ai une adresse postale, j'étais à Paris, je suis parti pour Bayeux pour écouter une conférence, et ensuite je voulais en faire un résumé. La connexion internet se passe mal les jeudis à Bayeux, je fais le stop vers Caen. Il se passe mal à Caen, j'essaie de faire le stop vers Paris. Je marche sur l'autoroute (la filière de côté où les voitures ne peuvent pas conduire sauf pour s'arrêter en cas de nécessité grave), les gendarmes m'arrêtent mon marche et me déposent pas du tout dans le bon sens, mais à Pont-l'Évêque. J'essaie de faire le stop vers Paris pendant des heures, j'échoue, j'essaie de prendre le train vers Lisieux, je réussis à le prendre dans l'autre sens, à Deauville-Trouville. J'essaie de faire le stop de là, je m'arrête à Touques, je continue à faire le stop vers Honfleur, je me fais embarquer même jusqu'Au Havre, et la veille les conditions là-bas s'étaient dégradés entre moi et quelques Musulmans, donc j'ai quitté la ville, essayé de faire le stop vers Paris, et pourquoi pas pris l'autoroute mais la route verte? Parce que je voulais éviter d'être encore une fois embarqué par les gendarmes. Quatre personnes me prennent, et c'est comme ça que je suis arrivé chez vous. - Il me souhaite une bonne journée et bonne route, je lui souhaite également une bonne journée./HGL

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

From a CSL Letter to Malcolm, stuffed out by me


"Who killed Suburbia?"
"Pride" said Superbia.

"When is it really dead?"
"When charity has fled."
"Is there nothing they can do?"
"See that beggar walking through:
"If they will give a penny
 "And he can buy a beer,
"They can go off to Heaven
 "To the Enemy we fear."
We won't gaze on Superbia
 Or devils any more
But the beggar in Suburbia
 And his plight shall be our lore.
At eventide the Capital
 The toil and noise he left
To find a spot in smaller towns
 Where sleeping is no theft
Where friendly people give you food
Where calm the night, though bed be crude.
He got a ticket as a gift
And from his hour made some thrift
But once arrived he paid a tea
 Sun being up but getting low
Wishing his toothache would let be
 But dentists with him make it slow
Pining he loved still to see
Sunset's glow with each tree.

...

Came a girl, brown eyed, blonde
 Brought some food for his cheer
Handsome was she and pretty
Winsome her ways and witty
The belle of any city
 But lived in the town right here.
When o'er apple and cheese-bread
Beggar crossed himself, she said:
"How is a man who's begging
 "And sleeps on stony bed
"Still can believe a fairy story
"Starting wars, many and gory?"
"Now, are you sure," beggar said
"Sleeping on stony bed
"Hurts the faith of monkish creed?
"And who was who started
 "The wars indeed?"
"OK, the Irish have
"Been had badly" - "Yes they have."
"But how about just getting along?
"Doesn't warfare prove you wrong?"
"Now getting along is good indeed,
"Spoilt by ambition, spoilt by greed
"By resenting you spoil it
 "You spoil it by hate
"By the giving and asking
 "Of pardon too late,
"Betimes of law or creed the quarrel
"Living without won't end the war all,
"Commies try, look how they do
 "Rail at crusaders for massacres done
  "At Torquemada for forcing a creed
"And do it more than Catholics do
 "For more than by sword died by gun
  "By men who see men as weeds."

....

"I have to do my job
"As sure as I'm called Job."
The Janitor however took
A cup of tea ere he shook
Shoulder of the beggar sleeping.
"Guv'nor, no use to howl or of weeping
"But if you like a tear of tea
"With milk and sugar that can be."
Beggar truly did no weeping
Slowly waking up from sleeping.
"Now tea sounds good, it is a deal,
"I'll go when I have had this meal."
"No problem I have yet a quarter
"Of an hour before I really ought ter
"Be showing off to early leavers
  "A porch without a stranger here."
  "That is enough! But oh, what cheer:
 "Not all the Janitors so far
   "Have done so to me, only some.
"Enjoy the tea before you leave us.
 "And oh, some biscuits from this jar ..."
   He said because his wife had come
Precisely with the jar of biscuits.
"I know this ain't no beer and whiskey
"But in the morning this is better."
"Agreed." the beggar said and let her
Deal out the biscuits in his hand
 The one that did not hold the cup.

...

"Now who killed Suburbia?"
Said Christ to Superbia.
"And is she really dead?"
"If charity had fled ..."
"But has it now? The beggar
 "Is taking cheese and beer
"With bread after his kippers,
 "Enjoying it with cheer."
"But what about the snubs
 "The beggar had to bear?
"Yes what about them?
 "If you accuse I hear.
"Now read your papers ..." - The devil looked
 But all the ink was blotted out
 Superbia then gave a shout:
"You don't mean it's forgiven??"
"The beggar's even shriven.
"Begone foul Satan, hold thy peace!"
Now Superbia had to cease
His accusations on the town
Which the beggar loved without a frown.
He fled to Hell, the Queen of Heaven
Said "thank you Son, that he is shriven."

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Dialogus Temporibus Romanis


Vir malosus et nigris capillis advenit ad iuvenem ...

"Amicule, amicille ... optime te revideo!"

"Num homunculus factus sim? Bene venisti, sed unde?"

"Fui Lugduni proh dolor!"

"Quare proh dolor? Ut audivi optimas habent salsas carnes!"

"Et vina. Sed linguilla! Non est nominillum quod non diminuunt!"

"Ah, ideo illud 'amicille'!"

"Ideo, ut dicis."

"Bone Jacobe Villari, quae alia dicenda sunt de lingua Lugdunensium?"

"Barbarica verba! Romae dicunt: 'avis habet rostrum exiguum', nonne?"

"Mihi videtur illud et recte quidem! Et Lugduni?"

"Lugduni? 'Avicellus habet beccum finum'!"

"Bene capione: avicellus habet beccum finum?"

"Immo: 'avicellus haat beccum finum' si vis. Quare de barbarismatibus Lugdunesibus curas?"

"Quia narras. Praeterea et Romae dicunt interdum 'haat' pro 'habet'."

"Utinam Corsichae fussem! Vel et Sardiniae vel apud Siculus!"

"Insulis a Cartheginensibus captis abhinc septingentos annos ... verum est quod bene grammatice loquuntur."

"Grammatiche!"

"Grammatice."

"Tu quid dicis de grammatica? Immo curas de illud 'avicellus haat beccum exiguum'?"

"Finum, dixisti, non exiguum."

"Vere, vere."

"Mater mea Ripuaria fuit de Treveris. Ic pratu auc theudiscu talu!"

"Debuisses Lugdunum ire!"

"Et tu quidem Corsicam."

"Ubi de grammatichis nullum opus."

"Quot sunt Lugduni?"

"Lugdunu a longinguu fugiunt omnes, desperatum iam de causa!"

"Sed alii restant, salsarii inter alios?"

"Salsarii, inter alius ... laburusi sunt."

"Quod de Corsica nullus est qui diceret."

"Ah, vidi quidem servus patris! Laburusissimi fuerunt! Et sudor! Et honor!"

"Honor? Nonne dicunt 'improbus labor' ...?"

"Post Christum fabrum, qui est qui posset labures spernere? Videndu servus quasi oratiunem feci ..."

"Sed ipse non 'laburasti'?"

"Habui servus, nun?"

"Bene, forsitan ibo Lugdunum."

"Tu melius quam ego, Faramunde!"

Monday, July 30, 2012

Una Storia che dovrebbero avuto scritta nel anno 1968


"Carissima, abbiamo peccato insieme." Il giovane chierico si tornava alla cortegiana.

"Si," diceva lei. "Abbiamo peccato insieme."

"E non possiamo farla penitenza insieme."

"Perchè?"

"Perchè gia sono sottodiacono. Gia ho fatto il passo che non permitte retrogresso. Mi vita è la castità, non è possibile il ritorno al mondo."

"Effectivamente, non possiamo far insieme la penitenza." Faceva una piccola pausa, e dopo: "Tu farài la penitenza ed andrài al cielo. Io peccarò ed andrò al diavolo ..."

"Non andrài al diavolo. Anche tu farài la penitenza."

"Sono peccatrice."

"Non lo sei per natura. Tutto uomo è creato al immàgine di Dio."

"Tutto uomo si. Tutta moglie, non."

"Scioccheze! Tutta moglie è un uomo."

La cortegiana si metò a ridere, e molto. Dopo diceva:

"Un uomo è un uomo ed una moglie è una moglie."

"Mai adori Giesù, al meno a veci?"

"Si, a veci."

"Sai che si chiama 'il figlio del uomo'?"

"Non sapevo. Essente tu chierico, dovrei sapere, e ti credo."

"E sai che su Matre e Vérgine, sempre?"

"Si. Stessi i Musulmani lo sanno."

"Allora, sei di acordo che la Vérgine è una moglie?"

"Si."

"Allora, essente il figlio di una moglie sola, Nostro Signore è 'il Figlio del Uomo'?"

"Ed allora la moglie non è altra che un uomo?"

"La moglie non è catta, né tampoco cane, non è cavalla, né tampoco vacca."

"Né tampoco angelo?"

"Né angelo."

"Eppur mi chiamavi molte veci questa notte 'mi angela'."

"Nel calore del amore dicono molte scioccheze i uomini."

"Forse."

"Di tutta manierea, ciascun uomo e ciascuna moglie è la creatura e la proprietà del Buon Dio."

"Sicuro che non lo siamo del Allà, il Dio dei Mahometani?"

"Perchè? Credevo che fosti la cattiva e schiava di questa gente?"

"Fui. Portanto, le mani sono le stesse en ciascun, e nella scrittura arabica formano le lettere ..." Lei toccava la mano destra del chierico, al dorso della mano e non la palma, avendo chiusato la pollice en un quasi occhio col indice, e comminciando per il digito minimo. "Aalif, Laam, Laam, Haa" e formava la ultima lettera con indice e pollice del chierico. Dopo diceva: "Cioè: Allà."

"Mai i Christiani che parlano Arabe acnhe egli chiamano Allà al vero Buon Dio."

"Non sapevo."

"Purtanto, liberata dai Turchi fosti a Malta."

"Si. Ti ricordo bene."

"Ed a Malta tutti sono Christiani, tutti parlano Arabe - stesso scrivendolo en lettere latine - e tutti chiamavano il Buon Dio 'Allà'."

"Mai il Arabe è la lengua sacrata dei Mahometani."

"Certo."

"Como il Latino lo è di noi Christiani."

"Certo, al meno del rito latino."

"È un poco difficile trovare - como si chiama Dio en Latino? - nella mano, non?"

"Dio si chiama Deus en Latino."

"È quasi Portuguese."

"Quasi."

"Non trovi Deus nella mano."

"Certo non, mai trovo 'omo Dei' nella faccia."

"Dove?"

"Resta tranquilla." Tracciava un cerculo cerca il occhio destro di su cortegiana, dicendo "o", dopo secquiva le sopracciglia dicendo "emme", dopo un altro cerculo cerca il occhio sinestro, ridicendo "o". "O-emme-o, omo."

"Cioè uomo?"

"Si." Dopo secquiva il naso, al dorso ed all'ala destra, dicendo "di". Dopo il spazio cerca le narici, dicendo "e". Dopo lalinea della bocca chiusa, dicendo "i". Dopo diceva: "di - e - i, Dei." Cio fu la ultima vece che la toccava al corpo.

"Omo Dei? Mai dicisti che Dio en latino è Deus."

"Si, mai 'del Dio' si dice 'Dei'. Si chiama un genitivo."

"È complicata lingua, questo Latino?"

Rideva il chierico. "Si, un poco."

"Allora il Buon Dio mi ha scritto sui occhi, sul naso e sulla bocca chiusa che sono sua?"

"Si. Stesso con bocca aperta puoi significare un dovere. 'Omo Deo ...' apri la bocca per comunicare o per laudare. 'Deo' è como 'a Dio'."

"E chè vuole ch'io faccia?"

"Penitenza per il nostro peccato. Dovi cessare dal essere corteggiana."

"E como posso allora vivere? Nessun uomo mi prendrà, e tu non puoi, gia che gia sei sottodiacono."

"Se cerchi una soluzione per vivere una vita christiana, il Buon Dio darà."

"Allora cerco."

Quasi como post scriptum.

La storia non è finita. Avevano fatto un bambino. Si chiamava Giovanni Omodei. Essente nato fuora matrimonio non poteva essere stesso chierico como su patre. Mai fu un uomo divoto e pietoso. Nella famiglia che fondava saranno due cardinali. Più tarde hanno creduto - gia che non era tanto commune omettere il hacca en "homo Dei" - che Omodei era dialettale per Amadei, di un plurale di Amadeo. È vero che il uomo di Dio - e ciascun uomo è di Dio - è appelato ad amare Dio.

Questo non è una storia che trovevo nei libbri, né che mi hanno racontata, mai è una congettura sopra il origine della famiglia Omodei. Questa ha realmente esistato, è furono realmente due cardinali. E nel Medio Evo fu realmente la moda di tracciare nella faccia umana il "omo Dei" - mai lo restante è la mia invenzione.

È un poco anche per ringraziare Umberto Eco, che mi ha provocato alla conversione cattólica per il libbro Nel Nome della Rosa. Prima di leggerlo avevo creduto che le vittime dell'Inquisizione furono Christiani. Mai furono Albighesi e Valdesi eccetera. Nessuna eresia delle enumerate nel libbro mi sembrava Christianesimo coretto. Né mi sembra oggi.

Hans-Georg Lundahl
Bibblioteca pubblica d'Informazione
Giorgio Pompidou, Parigi
Giorno di Santa Giulietta
Trenta di Luglio, Due-Mila-Dodici.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Chronicle of Susan Pevensie

Based on Susan Pevensie and other characters from the Seven Chronicles of Narnia, and on characters from Enid Blyton, G. K Chesterton, Sir A. Conan Doyle and some of my own, not to mention hitherto unknown episodes in the lives of some historic people, including C. S. Lewis who is generally held to have written the Seven Chronicles of Narnia.

I wish it to be clearly understood that I am not any more than C. S. Lewis claiming the Narnia stories really happened, I am rather treating them, like he, like Dante treated a fictitious journey during his lifetime through the abodes of souls - Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. As an occasion while story telling, to teach truth about some things, both higher and lower ones. Both such every Christian is bound to believe and beliefs the author cherishes (like psychiatry being bosh, like Experiment House being bosh, like that Emperor being in Heaven and that Pope not).

Oh, one more thing. A certain Audoin Errol is getting into more and more of my chapters, so it is high time I admit my debt to an unfinished novel by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, called The Lost Road, and the extant chapters of that one are to be found in a volume of the same name published by his son Christopher.

Least I forget later, overmore, I often rely on wikipedia. It allowed me to verify the gardener and factotum at the Kilns - the one that is the original for Puddleglum - was named Paxford and neither Baxter nor Paxton. It allowed me to verify which year Joy Davidman entered CSL's life. And earlier it helped me to discover what date was what weekday in which of the years.




In order to read the chapters in the right order, click first one, then read it from top to bottom. Then, once you are down, click the link to the next chapter in the comments, as far as you like and as far as the continuity reaches. Then, click "back to list of extant chapters" - i e back here. Whenever you feel like it resume reading from first unread chapter there. Chapters are being inserted between those not yet linked.

Letter to Douglas Gresham
Can Any Sane Man Attack C. S. Lewis?
To Reader of my Susan Pevensie Chronicle (or my Essays) on How to Read my Linked Messages/Chapters
See also Copyright issues on blogposts with shared copyright


Prologue to Chronicle on Susan Pevensie : Chiefly on Fan Fiction

Extant chapters:

Susan has a bad fright.
Who told Susan: introducing Revd. Jinx
Splendour Hyaline - again
Off to Sevenoaks.
The Car Ride to Sevenoaks was a Flashback
What about the train to Bristol?
Another Kind of Necklace of Beads
Four Bad Men Discussing Susan
And There Were Other Mourners
Recognising Spivvins
Small Talk in an Evil Lodge
Spivvins' the Cab Driver's Resurrection (nearly)
Nathan Coon and Spivvins
How Susan met Rose E. Pole
Getting On with the Burial
Reverend Pewsey's Last Sermon
Explanations of a Practical Nature
A Letter from Remorseful Father of a Son Gone Bad
Forgiveness Is Serious Stuff
Two Words with the Gardener
The Planting of a Tree
St John's Feast in Narnia
Helpers of the Holy Souls
Taking up residence.
Nobby
Good Old George (and don't you ever call her Georgina!)
Susan reads her story again
Not Nice, Once you Get to Know him - the Principal, that is
[An Author's Aside]
Susan reads Lucy's essay on Astronomy
Ramandu and Galileo, part 1
Ramandu and Galileo, part 2

And Su Called George About It ...
... Who Would Not Eliminate the Possibility Prematurely
Susan's Teacher Talk
"What are you going to do about it?"
Some Arrows and Some Bullets Whistle Keenly
An Interview with the Shrink
Decisio Medici
A View on Apple Trees
And How was Mental Hospital?
Macready
Macready and Tea
Susan Gets an Inkling About the Inklings
And Friedman looked for Su in the wrong office ...
Jack and Tollers discuss pipeweed
Escape from Merton College
A Car Ride With Roy Campbell
Susan Goes Short Haired for a While
Spivvins Needs a Lesson - they said
Meanwhile, What about Rose?
Rose meets Bobby
George, Meet George!
Forgiveness Has Its Sides
A Centaur and Some Egyptologists
The Unhappy Jew
Where Aslan was a Lion Cub.
A Glass of Cremisan with the Priest
Sorcery Worketh Not
Speaking to Dr Watson
Father Brown's Last Bow, part 1
Father Brown's Last Bow, Part 2
Spivvins' Other Secret
Spivvins is unhappy
Preparing the Defense
In Defense of the Spivvinses
The Archers Do Their Work.
Who is Getting In?
Nobby's Daring
Ann's Wake
The Idol and the Spell
The Exorcism.
Simon and George Catechumens
Tea yes, Tilak no
Susan is Free, So are the Policemen
Mr Errol Proposes
In a Fairy Mound?
So What are Fairies?
More Theories of Fairies
Talking of Elveness were Audoin and Su
A Talk about Tolkien
Barrister Popplewell's pleading for Susan Pevensie
Wedding in Cornwall
A Visit from The Kilns
Susan's dreams become a book
Some Final Words to the Readers Here

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Beaubourg, près d'un collège, 2050, si le monde durera?

- Le garçon demandait: est on lesbigay ou homophobe dans ta famille?

- La fille: ah, plutôt lesbigay.

- Alors, t'es adopté par un couple de lesbiennes ou par un couple gay?

Rigolades. C'était des décennies depuis que ça c'étais l'agenda des lesbigays.

- Non. L'adoption est reservée pour des vieux célibataires ou des couples dont la femme a dépassé 45 sans avoir enfants. Une vieille fille peut adopter dès 35.

Le ton avec lequel elle faisait ces précisions légales était un peu sec.

- Quoi alors?

- Mes papis étaient en couple avant de marier mes mamies. Mes mamies aussi.

- Et tes papis, ils se voient encore en privé?

Bouh général! On savait que des choses comme ça arrivaient des temps en temps, mais la sodomie se soldait déjà avec des années de prison. Comme la contraception, sauf en cas de premier accouchement très difficile d'un couple (tarder les mariages était aussi découragé). Les apothicaires qui donnaient les capotes étaient obligés de demander une ordonnance. Seuls les non-cathos s'occupaient de ces ordonnances. C'est à dire des non-citoyens.

- Non, c'est interdit ça aussi, tu sais. Et dans ta famille, on est homophobe?

Rigolade. Homophobe comme un militaire et séminariste, c'est à dire quelqu'un qui recherche raisons de soupçonner la sodomie là où elle ne se trouve pas.

- Oui. On est militaires.

Soulagement général. Tout ce qui relève de caserne, on a des raisons assez solides d'être un peu plus méfiants que tous les autres ...

Friday, October 1, 2010

Conversations in a Scottish Krak


Here is the story, set in 14th C.

I · II · III · IV · V · VI


Want a modern debate on partly same subjects?

Our Lady of the Rosary to today, debate between a geocentric thomist and some heliocentrics · Five more days with same, concluded on St Luke


I - The castle was built a century ago. Back when there were Templars and the Pope was still in Rome in the years of Grace 1275 and 1276.*

The laird had played a significant part in conquering Isle of Man, was rewarded and could at last afford to build it. It was not as big as a krak in Palestine, but it was similar in architecture. His son married in obedience to a law made by the Scottish Parliament in 1288, a woman who proposed to him. Her father was a Swedish miner who had sold his share in Stora Kopparberg to the bishopric of Westeros in June. Thirty years later HIS son aids retaking Berwick upon Tweed from the English. Nearly forty years later HIS son (greatgrandson of the laird) aids in paying ransom for David II, 1357. He was still laird, and not weak for his age of seventy.

Lady Cougherleigh came back as a widow after the funeral of Duke Rudolf IV of Austria. She descended from a cousin of the first laird of the shire to have a castle, and the family had been impoverished since. Her daughter, Elsa, was only two, now she was 14. A bit fat, which explained why she was not yet married or even with a fiancé. She was always sitting in the alcoves and looking out of the arrow slits while occupied with embroidery. Knitting? Not known in Scotland back then!

Somewhat older, the son of a rebec fiddler. Ian Mac Kinnyough was already 25. Fiddling with rebecs was not a great income.

* http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Château_Pèlerin fut bâtie en deux ans, 1217 et 1218/was built in two years (c Fr version)



II - Ian sat down opposite Elsa in the alcove.

"When I left, I did not know you."

"I was as yet a child, only eleven years old"

"That was some time ago" he said with appreciation.

"Where have you been since then?"

"I have been to study the rebec and even Moorish music in Spain and France mainly, a little too in the Empire, but I do not speak either High Dutch or Low Dutch, only where the speak French and Aostan."

"Where did you like it? What was like here?"

"Two different questions, I think."

"So you do not like it here?"

"I do, but I like places that are very different too."

"Take like here first ... any castle like this?"

"The Montilium of Adhemar, close by the Rhone river, one of the largest in Europe and in the known World."

"And what did they eat there? Any sweets we do not know here?" (She would ask about sweets, plump as she was).

"Right over there, they mix honey with nuts and fry it in a pan, when it cools down it is white. They call it nogat in that area."

"Which means?"

"Have you learned Latin?"

"Yes."

"Mel nucatum."



III - "And Montilium is hillock, but what does Adhemar mean?"

"It is a name, of German origin, but I am not sure they could translate it now in the Germanic parts of the Empire."

"Why not now?"

"Languages change. There was a time when they spoke Latin as you have learned it in France. Then came the Franks and learned that Latin when they settled. They brought the name Adhemar along back then. Since then Latin speech changed to French, and to Lemousin, as we learn for court. And I am sure the High Dutch of our days is not the Frankish that could translate Adhemar, not really same."

Elsa was quiet ... then she said: "if it had been Edelmar, I would at least tell that Edel means noble."

"Ah, you know High Dutch?"

"I was born in Vienna, when my father served at the court of Archduke Rudolf."

As they were quiet, they did not mind at first, then the prudishness of Ian made him take to talk again.

"The walls are thick. The stones are hewn. Hewing such stones takes time, and this alcove shows they are as thick as a man is tall. Yet this castle was built in two years."

"Oh, but they are not at all hewn stone all through!"

"How do you know?"

"The laird is my warden, and he knew quite a bit of masonry. Once his grandfather helped a mason, who was indebted and who had to promise to give him the secrets of the buiolding trade. 'I cannot unless you become a mason' he said. Or so the laird claims. He became a mason, though he is never building anything. But he knew how to build and so does his grandson"

"And if it is not hewn stone, what is it then? Air?"

"No. Pebbles and stones. Just as in a hillock. Only the stone walls keep that from forming a hill of gravel."

"So we are sitting on gravel?"

"We are."

"But then the level must have been pre-determined?"

"How would you know? Are ou a mason too?"

"No. I am a fiddler, I also know a bit of theology and history. Both are important if you sing about what happened long ago concerning God and Church as often as mortal men."

"How then?"

"Well, in a line I determine the level of syllables before I put in the words."



IV - "How do you mean 'determine the level of syllables'?"

"I say to myself: here I will have seven, here I will have six, here I will have seven, here I will have six."

"And then?"

"Roses are blushing for you
you sweeter than a rose
Moses would call an idol
the image of your nose"

"Whom is that about?" she laughed.

"I made it up - but I was looking at your nose."

"Please don't!" she was chagrined. She went away.

They met again a few days later.

"Have you ceased idolising my nose?"

"I have not been trying very hard. I admit that."

"Let us talk about something else, shall we?"

"Like what?"

"The creator. As you saw from my nose, he knows good workmanship. But take other examples will you."

"Well, the stars."

"Yes," she said, and her eyes glistened like such, but he dared not tell, not this time.

"They are very distant. Even the earth is very great, and yet the closest, the moon, is seen from the north and from the south of it. The sun is even more distant, since it is sometimes hidden by the moon. And the constellations of stars are even more distant than the sun, horoscopes are made (for the superstitious) by seeing which constellation is hidden by the sun for a month and also which ones are hidden by the moon for some days or which ones appear at horizon in a certain hour."

"And?"

"Even though as distant as all that, they all circle the earth every day. That means they go very very fast, much faster than an arrow. And they are very big also. And they never get into disorder. Who made that? God. Not only Christianity tells us so, but reason says such an order cannot be conceived without someone keeping it in order and such many and big burning bodies going so fast must have a mover."

"What about just moving on of its own accord?"

"We never see that. Particularly not in circular movement. A spinning top will spin around for some time - like saying a Pater or two - then slow down and fall as it stops turning."

"So God is amusing himself with the stars as a child with a spinning top?"

"Unless ye become as a child ye will not enter the kingdom of Heaven ... God cannot get bored, because He is infinite bliss. Children give us a foretaste of Him."

"So God likes children? I guess that is why they are so tender ... and why it is so ..." - and she stopped.

"Something about making them?"

"Yes." She blushed.

"Well, married people would know more about that ..."



V - Now some readers might think they are not going to keep chaste until marriage. They are. She was old enough to marry, back in those days. Even France had the limits 14 for men and 12 for girls (Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette had been of age for two years when marrying) up to the 1790's.

Both knew what they were talking about. Both knew they should not, as not yet married, either to another or to anyone else. Both knew changing the subject was a really bright idea. Or moralising it.

"They would" she said.

"And we know more than we should as not yet married, I think," said Ian.

"Ah, let's leave it for them to enjoy!"

"Let's. Stars are a better subject for our talk, I think."

"They are. In Paris, I met an old professor, a bishop, Nicole, and he was from Oresme. He said it would make sense too if it was not the heavens that turned but the earth. Only, since we cannot prove it, we should keep to what our eyes tell us."

"How would you prove a thing like that? It is impossible!"

"Right as it is, we are proving the opposite, since the stars beyond the Sun - most of them, I am not counting planets like Jove and Sattern, keep their places."

"You mean, if we saw them all turn around in the opposite direction, we would know it was we who were moving in the opposite direction, like in a boat when approaching land it seems trees and mountains all move to us?"

"Exactly."

"But we don't. Or do we? After all I have not been gazing on stars?"

"We do not. Planets move around, but there are or we see only Moon, Venus, Mercur, Sun, Mars, Jove and Sattern, all other stars we see have their fixed places."

"And so do we then."

"So do we"

"But if they are that distant, even the sun and the moon are so distant we do not see them move, we only notice when they move beyond some object - if the stars are so much further, would we not be unable to see them move if they did?"

"There is a glass lense, when you put it between your eye and an object, it seems greater. If one day one does that for the stars ... But even so, in order to prove anything, the stars would need to be same distance from sun, and we moving around it each year."

"Why?"

"If we moved around the Sun each year, but the stars were very different distances - not counting the Planets, of which we know that - we would see the same thing as if the Earth stands still and most stars are still, but some move in time with the Sun."

"So, if we cannot tell the difference, either might be true. How do stars move anyway?"

"Philosophers say there are spirits guiding them. As Christians we believe in angels and that they, invisible but created, are between God and the seen creatures. Even St Dennys from the Areopagus said that much."

"Who was that?"

"Have you read acts of the Apostles?"

"No. Is it a book in the Holy Writ? I have only read Gospels."

"St Paul converted him."

"You mean that was after Pentecost and a few years later, when St Paul was on his voyages?"

"Ah, that much you know without reading it!"

"I do listen to what is preached by the curate."



VI - "Well, I suppose reading is not everything. As a fiddler I should know that, it is my work to make people hear and remember stories without them having to read. Some have not learned it, others have sore eyes ..."

"The laird is getting sore eyes. Since he did learn letters and enjoyed reading, that is hurtful to him."

... after a moment of silence ...

"You said there was a glass lentil with which you could see things as it were bigger than they are?"

"There are even Italians who will cure the lairds condition, not in itself, but in its effect, as a crutch might for the legs, by putting two glass lentils together."

"I did not know."

"Oh, the first one to do it was not quite a hundred years ago, and this place in Scotland is not quite a Sorbonna."

"True."

Then she added: "did you have as pretty a cousin as me serving you a meal back there?"

"No. Are you serving me a meal?"

"Let's go a few alcoves further and see if the basket is still there."

It was, but Ian had detected the wonderful smell of cheese and smoked sausages before they reached it.

A meal prayer (said somewhat hastily, he would have to admit) and some bites further on, he said: "no, I did not that. There were only men allowed on Sorbonna, as on other academies."

"Glad to be home or sad to have left Sorbonna?"

"Oh, glad to have been there and glad to be home. Very much so."

A little further on he said: "your rye bread is better than they have in Paris - they would do well to stick to wheat bread, though it is more expensive."

"Was their rye bread as bad as all that? Eating wheat bread every day must be expensive!"

"I was joking. Their rye bread was fair enough, but yours is better."