Wednesday, March 7, 2012

From Lotos To Cherry Blossom - Early 20th Century Travel Memoir



This is a beautiful morning, the kind of morning when "the only real things in the world are crystal seas, clean-swept decks, soft rugs, warm sunshine, the smell of salt in the air, and fathomless, futile indolence. 


Still being in the midst of winter doldrums, I find myself continuing to dive into travel books and inspiring bios - the travel books for my wanderlust, the bios to hopefully give me a kick in the pants in my own life, get me pumped about spring, new beginnings, new opportunities. I'm always curious how successful people get where they are. Many times it's a matter of knowing the right people or happy accidents but I read for the stories of the people that worked from the ground up with the same kind of resources around me. 


I recently finished up From Lotos To Cherry Blossom (not a typo on Lotos, actually spelled that way on the cover) by Sarah Graham Morrison. I originally picked the book up from the good ole secondhand shop because I thought it would be about some aspect of Japanese history (I'm a total history junkie and Asian history is some of my favorite).  It turns out this is basically the author's travel journey from her trip around the world for 6 months, starting in December 1906 in New York, ending back in her hometown of Chicago on June 7, 1907.  I'm guessing she booked the tour with Colliver Tours Company of Boston since there's an antique ad for them in the back of this edition I have (from that era). Couldn't find anything about them so I'm assuming the company is now defunct.  She tours a number of countries via cruise and cargo ships with friends she brings with her and others she meets along the way. 




** one I missed - During her travels through the Bay of Bengal, Morrison was also aboard the S.S. Tara for a bit. She also travels on the Santa Fe Railroad on her trip back to Chicago**


Chicago born Morrison takes along her girl bestie, only refered to as "Lady Betty" and later on meets a handsome single man she merely refers to as "Kentucky" or "The Kentuckian". She doesn't say outright anywhere in this book, but judging from the undertones around her writings regarding him, either there was a budding romance there or she was at least hoping for one!


S.S. Oceana, where Morrison met her friend she
simply refers to as "Kentucky"

Inside the S.S. Oceana
Morrison describes boarding the ship:
"Just think! A whole week of lazy afternoons, when wrapped up 
in my big coat and steamer rug, I had nothing to do but to tastethe salt in the air and go to sleep to the deep-toned engines. Awakening,what weird pictures in the skies! Then the sunset -- banks of clouds with edgings
of orange-gold and washes of sea-green in the background; or a mass of
grays and violets, with one long line of burnished copper."




how cool is this! the turn of the century gym inside the S.S. Oceana


Dakota wreck Morrison sailed past


The element that stands out most in this book is Morrison's gorgeous, painting-like descriptions of places. Knowing nothing about this woman, I couldn't stop reading about this journey because she made it so alive! How did so many people of this era seem to exhibit this talent?? Her impressions of NYC at Christmastime (before boarding her first ship): 

New York was bright and sunny; but cold and windy, especially in the "Flatiron District". Waiting on the corner of Broadway for a car, we looked down the alley of high buildings, glanced at the graves of old Trinity while chimes sounded from above, and had a fellow-feeling with the man who said he would rather be a lamp-post in New York lighted once a month than a whole galaxy of electric lights in any other city. The stores were in the freshness of their Christmas gaiety. The brilliantly-colored toy shops were especially alluring; the book stores more seductive than ever; and stations; out in the streets, the vendors with cheap furs; the man hammering white taffy; the crippled with shoestrings; the old woman with lead pencils. At "the rush hour" the advancing army of the morning seemed more eager to retreat. The driveways were a confusion, through which pedestrians tried to make their way, helped by husky, sturdy policeman, hindered by strong winds that twisted their skirts and dusted their eyes. A curiously blended medley filled the air -- clang of trolley bells, staccato crack of whips, an undertone of human voices, once, a motor-car whizzing around the corner, sounded by the clear, sweet tones of a siren whistle. It was the melody of commerce and traffic; of "humanity, with its many colored appeal.




First stop on the tour is France, visiting all the usuals - Palais de Longchamps, the Louvre, Marseilles, etc... 



One one of their first stops, the group visits the Gallerie des Beaux Arts in France and comment on seeing
the painting above:
"In the Gallerie des Beaux Arts, Nattier's beautiful portrait of 
Madame de la Pompadour as Diana echoed the colors 
of the outdoor world."


From France the group moves on to Egypt, where they take their time exploring the exotic bazaars, the ancient city of On (Heliopolis to Greece) and, of course, the pyramids. 


On first seeing the pyramids, Morrison describes " Westward, the somnolent gray pyramids rose above distant palms; in the south, the white sails of the Nile glistened luminously; but think of a quiet hour in the checkered shade of the garden of the Pharoah's daughter, under vine-laden trellises, where every faint zephyr left in its train the fragrance of the rose and narcissus. Bulrushes no longer flap and rustle about the cove where once nestled the Hebrew woman's ark. Isaiah's prophecy is fulfilled -- " the reeds by the rivers of Egypt shall wither and be no more." They also visited the tomb of Caliph Omar, "by whose edict the great Alexandrine library was burned because of the all-sufficient Koran".


Ghezireh Palace, Cairo - one place where 
Morrison and friends stayed while in Egypt

They also stayed at the Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo

The party moves on to India. Though not mentioned in the title, India is where a large part of her trip takes place. They view the stunning architecture - one stop being one of my dream places to see, the Taj Mahal. They mention staying at the Bombay Hotel which could be the modern day Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay. Other stops include Victoria Gardens, Victoria Memorial (aka "White Palace" and Victoria Station (both named after Queen Victoria), the Albert Museum (named after Victoria's husband), Diwan-i-am Palace, Red Temple Fort in Agra, La Martiniere (one of the oldest colleges in India), and the Towers of Silence in Mumbai, India.They visit the shop in Agra where Ganeshi Lall, the shopkeep, tells them the coronation gown of Empress Alexandra was made. They even attended a Parsee wedding. 





Towers of Silence, Mumbai, India -
a sacred Parsee place where Parsee take their dead.

Morrison and friends were only allowed to view the Towers site from a distance because of its sacredness. In another location, another funeral ritual is witnessed by the group, leaving Morrison appalled at the sight of the deceased, the wailing cries of the survivors and the smoke surrounding the ghats. Morrison later reflects:

More to our liking were the Botanical Gardens where we delighted in panbaris filled with orchids and ferns; magnolias and Palmyra palms; where we drank our tea under the spreading almond-trees by the river side, as  we watched the country boats drift by; where we marveled at the largest tree in the world, the great banyan... 
Well, yeaaaa! Who WOULDN'T prefer that to a funeral :-P People are funny sometimes!

Parsee wedding ceremony

The happy bridegroom, as he came through the door with half a dozen friends, was retiring to put on his white suit, garlands of jasmine about his neck, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a cocoanut in the other, seemed to be in a trance. He was seated on one of the central chairs; the sponsors and priests took their places at the side and in front of him and stretched a great sheet before him. Then the bride sat down, facing him on the other side of the sheet, and the ceremony began by them actually  being tied together with a cord seven times. The minute this was finished there was a great laugh. The bride had suceeded in throwing rice at the groom before he could throw any at her, which meant that she would be the one to rule the new household. :-)

 

Above: Coronation gown and train of Empress Alexandra


"One cannot travel in India and not acquire a love for ornament and jewels,"
says Morrison. 

Merina Beach, Madras, India
photo by thanigaiarasu, from virtualtourist.com
"Space, green, white and scarlet and yellow blossom on the trees, the night-breeze from the sea" -- that is Madras, where one drives between avenues of banyan, down colonnades of palms; where people have room to live; where the nights are jeweled and the noons white. 

>>> FUN FACT:  Madras (aka Chennai) is the hometown of Top Chef judge, Padma Lakshmi -- interesting to learn she was once married to Salman Rushdie


Padma with octopus on Top Chef
crazy amount of natural beauty there!



Red Temple Fort in Agra, India


Morrison visits Samman Burj (Jasmine Tower) -

"an octagonal bastion projecting over the river, on whose slender colonettes 
creep delicate, sinuous stems upholding flowers of turquoise and amethyst; on 
whose marble walls are trained rows of chiselled lilies and carelessly
drooping tulips, which the cool breezes floating in from the river have so
intertwined and interwoven that there is no disentanglement. This room, the
gem of the palace, was the boudoir of Mumtaz Mahal, the lady of
the Taj; and like her tomb, though encrusted with jewels, is so simply and
perfectly proportioned that its outlines, its tones, its lights, are all in
perfect harmony. 

The traveling companions visitied the various temples in Benares, India dedicated to cows, monkeys and other animals but Morrison was clearly not impressed! It was this excerpt among others, that (at least to me) hinted that Morrison might be of the class of women of her era that were priveleged financially but sheltered in worldly matters, tending to come off as bratty, spoiled, overly - whiney creatures. If you're going to take a world tour, you have to figure other cultures are not going to be just like your own neck of the woods! There are also clues in her casual use of derogatory terms, almost as if she's never been taught that saying such things is offensive but rather only natural! She speaks of "loathsome beggars" and "cluttered, gaudy temples" (the beggars were getting food at temples, the temples have systems similar to soup kitchens in the U.S.) I found this behavior particularly surprising once Morrison mentioned that she herself was a graduate of Stanford University - you'd think such an education would leave a person more open minded.... 


At Benares, everything specially nasty and repulsive is protected by the cloak of sanctity. This Hindu Mecca is an awful place. Nothing I have ever read gave me any idea of its loathsome mess; nothing I ever encountered smelled as foul.


There are a few worse "damn, girl!" moments. This is just one example. There are gentler, less offensive ways to say one's town was not your favorite stop on the tour lol.




The tour moves out of India and over to the beautiful island of Myanmar, another place on my to see list. The main tour is in and around Shwe Dagon, the Golden Pagoda of Rangoon (this town is now known as Yangon). They also check out Amarapura, The Immortal City, Dalhousie Park and Royal Lake in Burma


Morrison gives a good description of the building below, but also displays a need for some worldly enlightenment. There's a hint of close-mindedness here:


The Golden Monastery is the finest structure of its kind in Burma. It is old and wonderful, but does not in the least suggest a monastery, carved as it is from the lowest step to the topmost spire and covered for the most part with a faded gilt. The roof is a mass of eaves upon eaves, symbolic of royal dignity; ornaments laden the gables; myriad gold spires spring from the steeples. It is indeed a golden monastery, and prowling around the dusty yard beneath the dust-laden palms are monks in dirty yellow robes of silk which harmonize with their bronze skins. Their heads, shaved and uncovered, are protected by the great parasols of heavy yellow paper. For the most part their faces are repulsive, to me they seemed a lot of lazy idlers, who neither worked for their food nor bought it, but begged it, and that in no cringing manner, but with an arrogance that was curious to behold. 
Though she does show signs of epiphany when she reflect:


"Religion, religion and more religion -- French Catholicism, the ancient Egyptian sun-worship, Mohammedanism in Cairo and Delhi, the fire-worshippers of Bombay, Brahamanism at Benares in Southern India, Buddhism in Burma! What a study! What differences, yet what similarities! What an evolution! We have been investigating creeds at first hand in the great labratory of the world, and found all peoples believing in a higher power, though worshipping it in varying manifestations; but all groping for light and peace, for the light that brings peace; all striving to reach a Heaven, but the passports differ as widely as the travelers. 
From Burma, the tour moves to Nepal, visiting the town of Darjeeling (famous for some pretty tasty tea). The highlight of this part is Morrison seeing the Himalayas and especially, one morning, being able to watch the sun rise over Mount Everest. Can you imagine?!

Mt. Everest (the snow capped one in the back)

Sounds like paradise!
(Ceylon background courtesy of JBoss Community)

While in the area, the group visits the Dambulla Temple in Sri Lanka - never heard of this place before reading this book but damn! Impressive!! (Though that door looks a bit like the entrance to a casino or fun house to me... :-S)



While in the neighborhood, they also checked out:


Adam's Peak, Sri Lanka - believed to be the site of Buddha's ascension 
(there's an impression in the rock at the peak of the mtn believed to be the footprint of Buddha)
You can read more about this spiritual, sacred place here. 



Once filled on these sites, the group heads over to China. Starting in Penang and moving through Singapore, staying at the Raffles Hotel. Morrison and her friends takes in the sights of Hong Kong, which I learned in this book, translates to "fragrant streams". Macao, China, is described as "a quaint bit of ancient Portugal dropped down in China" (understandable, when one learns Macao has a centuries old Portuguese settlement) while their trip to Canton - now known as the city of Guangzhou -- sounded much like their experience in Benares, India. Morrison says the locals of Canton behaved as if it was still 12th century B.C. , working constantly, never having fun, existing in extreme filth and squalor.  




Photo by ska.travels @ Panaramio.com





modern day Canton - looks like times have changed! 



"...the beautiful Yomei-mon, a gate so exsquisitely beautiful that the builder purposely carved the pattern upside down on one column lest the flawless perfection of the whole thing might bring misfortune on the House of Tokugawa by exciting the jealousy of Heaven."

 the Macao of today looks more like Vegas!


The group's travels start to come to a close, but not before stopping by the beautiful island of Japan, staying at a number of picturesque hotels: the Fujiya Hotel in Miyanoshita, Japan -- a place with many years of serving as a popular summer resort for the wealthy; the Mikado Hotel in Kobe; the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo; the Grand Hotel in Yokohama.



 Fujiya Hotel  - still operating today 




Stops on the Japan itinerary included the town of Odaware, Kyoto-Kinakuji (Golden Pavillion) Gardens, Mt. Fuji, Ushiku Daibutsu Statue, Nagoya Castle, Nagasaki Peace Park, and demonstrations of the cha-no-yu tea ceremony and traditional dances such as the kagura, miyako, and the nagoya (cherry blossom). 

That week, full of the "murmurs and scents of the Infinite Sea" was most memorable ; for in it we added to our length of days by crossing the 180th meridian, which caused us to have two Tuesdays in one week. 



Nagoya Castle, Osaka

Osaka, Japan - described in this book as "the Venice, the Glasgow, the Chicago of Japan"

stunning statue in Nagasaki Peace Park

Odawara, Japan
Photo by shinnygogo on flickr.com

Ushiku Daibutsu Statue -
 I believe Morrison said this was either the largest or
one of the largest Buddhas in the world. 


tea ceremony scene from Karate Kid 2


Before leaving Japan, Morrison writes something that struck me as eerie because it was written well before our involvement with Japan in World War II, even before World War I, but it has an interesting correlation to the events that were to come:

...the land of the Rising Sun, whose symbol is the sacred dragon.. the dragon reveals himself only to vanish. Coiling again and again on his strength, he sheds his crusted skin amid the battle of the elements, and for an instant stands half-revealed by the brilliant shimmer of his scales. He strikes not until his throat is touched. Then woe to him who dallies  with the terrible one! Such is Japan, especially modern Japan, shaking off customs hoary with age and absorbing what is best that appeals to her in the life of every other nation. Time and again in her history, she has drawn up her forces to fight China and for an instant has revealed an unexpected brilliancy. She is not hunting for war with the United States, but if we touch her in a vital spot, she will strike will all the force she can acquire. 


Remember, this was written by a woman in 1907, merely pondering on her travels and experiences. Weird, huh!


So that's about it for Ms. Morrison, newly-minted world traveler. She makes a brief pit stop, a sort of vacation from her vacation, in Hawaii, visiting schools, the various islands, the former Royal Palace (briefly touching upon the displacement of the queen).  She travels to California to visit the earthquake ravaged streets of San Francisco and Palo Alto, before boarding a train on the Santa Fe Railroad headed back home to Chicago. By the end of the journal she seemed a bit wiser, more educated, a wee less naieve about the world in general but still optimistic about the general good of people. A nice place to leave it I thought, since Morrison, from the tone of her writing, appeared to be probably in her early 20s, not yet really experiencing all that much that might cause her to be jaded towards the world. 


In closing, this more lengthy than usual post (there were just too many good quotes not to share though!) I leave you with the fortune Morrison received from a Hindu fortune - teller, something that can give us all something to hope for for ourselves:


By a wall where trailing vines mingle with falling rose leaves, a solemn-faced Hindu sat at our feet and from the lines on our hands foretold what of good, what of ill, lay hidden in the years to come. Dreamlike his melodious cadences fell -- "You live many years -- very old, lady, and travel in many countries, all countries, lady. You understand? Very good hand, lady. You see -- you will know many strange things while you live. You so very rich some day; People you know now will not believe." Surely fairy stories come true sometimes. 

Reading that excerpt, I had a curiosity to know what happened to Sarah Graham Morrison, how closely did her life match the fortune? Sadly, I wasn't able to find much, but I did find a blurb about her here, which includes pics of her trip that are featured in the book.  She did go on to write a few other books about Egypt and the Taj Mahal -- wonder if in those she hints at any further wooing between her and "Kentucky" :-) Hard not to be a sucker for a happy ending!


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Friday, February 10, 2012

Sharing the Warm Fuzzies!

In honor of the upcoming Valentine's Day, there's a couple of touching passages from Manon Lescaut that I wanted to pull out and present separately. They reminded me so much of talks my husband and I have had, I thought it might remind you of someone you love, maybe give you strength, give you renewed love, maybe just something to think about.

Come, my beloved Queen, said I, come, submit to all the rigours of our fate. Some day, it will perhaps please Heaven to see us happier....She put herself in my arms.. once alone with me, she murmured a thousand endearments, reproaching herself for being the cause of my misfortune. I assured her that I should never complain of my lot so long as she would continue loving me. It is not I who is to be pitied, said I... But it is for you, dear heart, that my heart is stirred. What a fate for a creature so charming! Heaven! how canst thou treat so harshly the loveliest of thy works? Why were we not born, you and I, with qualities that matched with our misery? We have been given intelligence, taste, sensibility; alas, a sorry use we make of them, whilst so many grovelling souls worthy of our fate, enjoy all the favours of fortune! Such thoughts as these pierced my heart with grief. But it was as nothing in comparison with the agony of thinking of the future: fear for Manon shrivelled my soul. She had already been in the Hopital (hospital), and even  had she left it with full consent, I knew that relapses of this sort were visited with dire penalties. I would fain have told her of my dread; I feared it might be too much for her. I trembled for her, without daring to warn her of the danger, and I clasped her, sighing, in my arms, to assure her at least of my love; it was almost the only feeling I dared utter. Manon, said I, tell me frankly, will you always love me? She made answer that she was very unhappy that I could have any doubt of it. Then, said I, I doubt no longer, and I can outface every enemy we have with that assurance.

Shabby Chic Sentimental Plaque, available at 
newageliving.co.uk




Manon looked aghast at the sight of so forlorn a dwelling, but her distress was for me, far more than for herself. She sat down as soon as we were alone, and began to weep bitterly. I tried at first to comfort her; but when I gathered from her that it was I alone she pitied, and that in our common misfortune she only cared for what I must suffer, I affected courage and even gaiety enough to inspire it in her. What have I to complain of ? said I. I possess everything I desire. You love me, do you not? What other happiness have I ever aimed at? Leave the care of our fortunes to Heaven. They do not seem to me so desperate...And as for the poverty of our hut and the rudeness of our furniture, you may have noticed that there seem few people here better housed or better furnished than ourselves; and then you  are a marvellous Alchemist, I added, kissing her, you transform everything to gold. You will be the richest person in the world...

Then, she made answer: for if there never was such a love as yours, even so no one could be loved so tenderly as I love you. I am my own judge, she went on. I feel too well that I have never deserved the amazing tenderness you have for me. I have done you injuries that you could not have forgiven me unless out of the utmost goodness. I have been fickle and light, and even loving you madly as I always  have, I was wholly graceless. But you could not believe how I have changed. The tears which you have so often seen me shed since we left France  have never once been for my own misfortunes. I ceased to feel them as soon as you began to share them. I have only wept out of tenderness and compassion for you.  I cannot be comforted for having hurt you for a single moment in my life. I never ceased blaming myself for my inconstancy , and my heart melts to see what love has made you do for such a wretch  who was not worthy of it, and who could not atone even with her blood, she added, in a flood of tears, for half the sorrows she has cost you. Her tears, her words, and the tone in which they were uttered affected me so violently it seemed to me my heart was breaking in twain. Take care, said I, take care beloved; I have not strength enough to bear such tokens of your love: I am not use to this excess of joy.  O God! I cried, I ask no more: I am assured of Manon's heart; and 'tis all I have ever wished to give me happiness: I can never be unhappy now: felicity secure and firm at last. 

Ring a bell with anyone? :-)














Happy Valentine's Day to everyone --- ladies, please remember to treat your gents special too... not only about us... true love goes both ways and everyone likes to feel they're special to someone else ;-)







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Manon Lescaut by the Abbe Prevost Dexiles


"Woman With Pearl Hairdress" by Jean Francois de Neufforge



I think the Abbe Prevost best summed up his work here in the "Note By The Author" (Preface to Manon Lescaut)


If the public has found something agreeable and interesting in the history of my life, I dare promise that it will not be ill satisfied  with this addition. It will see in the conduct of M. des Grieux a terrible example of the strength of the passions. I have to paint a blind young man who turns his back on happiness to plunge of his own free will into the worst misfortunes: who with all the qualities that go to form the brightest merit, chooses an obscure and vagabond life in preference to all the advantages of fortune and of nature: who forsees his misfortunes without wishing to avoid them; who feels them and is overwhelmed by them without availing himself of the remedies which are continually offered him and which might at any moment put an end to them; in short, an ambiguous character, a mixture of virtues and vices, a perpetual contrast of good sentiments and bad actions. Such is the substance of the picture which I am about to present to the eyes of my readers.



Abbe Prevost


Though Prevost is speaking mostly of Grieux, Manon's main love throughout the novel, "an ambiguous character, a mixture of virtues and vices" could well describe Manon, the sort of anti-heroine of the story. The Story of Manon Lescaut & the Chevalier Des Grieux is perhaps not what one would call a traditional romance (ie. perfectly gorgeous man meeting girl-next-door stunner and falling in love for forever) but it is more of a realistic romance. It's messy, ugly at times. Manon is a girl you can love and hate equally for her choices. You want her to grow up, yet you feel sorry for her losing some of her innocence too early. The poor girl makes enormously bad choices in men and finances, but in the end, her end doesn't seem all that just. Somehow, in some way, she makes her self likeable despite her behavior.


artwork from an early edition of Manon Lescaut


Manon Lescaut is the story of a young French girl, Manon, who is about to be confined to a nunnery for the rest of her days, a fate she herself does not want but feels no escape from, thanks to her father.  The same day that Manon is to take her vows, the narrator of the story, Chevalier des Grieux, sees her in the street just outside of the convent walls and is immediately smitten with Manon's youthful, innocent kind of beauty. Grieux ditches his original plans of touring the area with his best friend, Tiberge, and goes after the girl, much to Tiberge's annoyance. Grieux takes his mode of transportation, sweeps Manon away from her father and the convent, carrying them away as far as they can go on their limited income. 


French carriage
photo by Jorge Barrios



As you might have guessed, this plan of Grieux's wasn't thought out all that much lol. Those crazy kids ran out of money pretty quick and Manon was returned to her family... but then he steals her away again!!  And again they run out of money. So starts the pattern of Manon running with the impulses of her heart and worrying about the rest later (a tough mode to live by but one I've certainly experienced myself!).


"Woman With A White Hat" by Jean Baptiste Greuze


The bulk of the story is Grieux's retelling of all the financial mishaps he and Manon got into in the early days of their acquaintance and romance. They travel all around France, and even parts of England, trying out different "get rich quick" schemes Manon thinks up, as well as honest, manual labor when they get really desperate. Manon's trouble stems from the fact that she loves living the good life but hates that she should ever be forced to do any sort of serious, "blue-collar" type work to get the things she wants. She wants men to fawn over her beauty and just hand her jewels and dresses in luxurious fabrics. LOL, well don't we all! No peasant wants to be a peasant but Manon refuses to believe anything other than that she must be entitled to the finest in life, though she holds no titles, no education, nothing that would recommend her to the upper classes outside of her pretty face and fun-loving disposition. Wish I could have been there to tell her that's rarely enough! It might get you in the door, so to speak, but you're going to have to have something for those uppity-ups to want to keep you around... which really only leaves one easy (and I do mean "easy") way in in that time period.... that of a mistress to men of power.




Actors from Puccini's opera adaptation of Manon Lescaut


Grieux floats in and out of her life but always comes back. Manon, I think, truly loved Grieux -- though that's part of the fun of the story, the reader getting to debate whether her actions and feelings were real or if she was just playing a part and using Grieux as a toy. Grieux didn't have endless finances so Manon secretly took up with wealthier men on the side. For a good while she kept herself and Grieux in the lap of luxury without ever really explaining to him how she was doing that. But,as these things tend to, her secret leaked out one day and after he gets over his shock a bit, Manon somehow convinces Grieux to help her set up these trysts, reasoning that them working together can only bring them more money!



"In The Boudoir" by Ettore Simonetti


There is a distinct pattern throughout the story where these plots go really well at first and then fail utterly miserably. When they fail, what does Grieux do each time?? He runs to his buddy Tiberge that he left stranded in town the first time! Failed scheme after failed scheme, Grieux goes to Tiberge each time Manon gets him in trouble again or saps him of any savings he might have had. Grieux has to beg Tiberge for money or sometimes shelter... mostly money. What I found surprising was that no matter how many times this happened, no matter how many times Tiberge said "Seriously, this is the last time -- get yourself together!" , he'd always pony up more money the next time Grieux asked! That's the sort of situation where I can't decide if that makes for the most loyal, unconditionally loving friend or if you have someone that just can't learn to stop sticking their hand in the fire! Then again, Grieux says of this:

That human resolutions are liable to change has never been a matter of surprise to me: one passion gives them birth, another can destroy them. 
And then Tiberge's own response:

...the first thing I {Grieux} entreated of him {Tiberge} was to let me know if I might still look upon him as my friend, after having so justly deserved to lose his esteem and his affection. He answered me in the tenderest tones that nothing could make him renounce his friendship; that my very misfortunes, and -- if I would allow him to say so -- my faults and my disorders did but redouble his tenderness towards me; but that it was a tenderness mingled with the keenest pain such as one feels when one sees the beloved on the verge of ruin without being able to give him aid.

I don't know, that's a tough one for me. Granted, there's few things more irritating than a fair-weather friend, but shouldn't there be some cut-off? Some point where you say, "I love you but I can't let you take me down with you." ?? As a friend, if you don't set a boundary, are you really helping them or are you just enabling their bad choices? Is it heartless of me to think such a person as Grieux could use a good dose of tough love?? I've received a few doses from friends over the years and yeah, it stings at first, but it does set the senses back in order in a hurry!

"The Korin Brothers" by Mikhail Nesterov


Manon's biggest blunder in scheming involved a man referred to as "M. de G.M.", and later his son, G.M. Junior. G.M. Senior, an older, aristocratic man, is introduced to Manon and arranges to pay her a certain hefty sum of money for what is only described as "favors". By the way, there is nothing blatantly sexual (least not that I noticed) in this novel, it is only hinted at that Manon sells herself for money. Part of Manon's plan is that Grieux is to introduce himself as her cousin, or it might be brother, a relative at any rate, and a younger one at that. It's a bit of a hard sell but G.M buys into it. Manon somehow manages to keep him at bay as far as having to actually sleep with him and waits for a night when he is called away for work when she and Grieux try to gather up money and jewels, but not before attempting a quickie in G.M. bedroom! That little pause ends up being the undoing of them. G.M. comes home, understandably flips out when he figures out what's going on and swiftly has Manon locked up, but for some odd reason she's placed in the mental ward at the Common Hospital (that's what it's called in the book - I'm guessing it's another term for a general hospital). Grieux is sent to prison. 


Actors from Puccini's opera adaptation of Manon Lescaut





Grieux manages to escape from prison. Borrowing a gun from Manon's brother, and putting together some plans of his own, Grieux eventually manages to break Manon out of the hospital and does his best to "take her away from it all". They try to live a modest life with honest work and a small cottage but of course Manon gets bored with this and starts up her old tricks again soon enough. Shame is, the next man she sets her sights on to make her rich is none other than G.M. Junior. Junior, like his father, falls into infatuation with  Manon, until he too finds out he's been duped. Manon and Grieux are arrested again but work their connections magic and find a way to board a ship to America to escape persecution in France. A few rough months at sea later, they find themselves in what would become New Orleans, Louisiana. Grieux comments that " we had not been able to see the town from the sea -- it is hidden from the sea by a small hill". 

Bummer for them, America doesn't hold all the hopes and answers they prayed for. I won't give away the big ending (and it's pretty dramatic) but I will give you a small teaser in saying it has something in common with this:





Grieux has an interesting way of making a girl feel special, telling Manon " 'tis a fate enviable enough for me to be unhappy with you."  Aawwww :-P



"On The Beach" by Edouard Manet



It breaks Grieux's heart to see Manon hurting (ahhh crazy, bewildering love lol) and his description of her suffering makes for a heartbreaking image. Looking back on her capture, he recalls:

Must I tell you what was the sorrowful subject of my talks with Manon during that journey, or the first impression of the sight of her when I got leave from the Guards  to draw near her waggon! Ah, words can never but half express the feelings of the heart; but imagine for yourself my poor mistress chained by the waist, seated on some handfuls of straw, her head leant despairingly against the side of the waggon, her face white and wet with streaming tears that forced their way beneath the eyelids that she kept perpentually closed. She had not even had the curiousity to open them when she heard the commotion among the Guards at the moment of our threatened attack. Her linen was soiled and disordered; her delicate hands bare to the harshness of the air; all that enchanting frame, the face that could bring back the universe to idolatry, was sunk in unutterable abandonment and despair. 




There's not a TON of action in this story, but it does serve as a sort of love lesson, the dangers of  lusting without loving, loving too hard, loving for the wrong reasons, even loving unconditionally. I think it will mean different things for different people. Manon Lescaut is an antique read but an easy read definitely looking into. As I said earlier, it's not your traditional love story but there are plenty of passages to stun you, make you nod your head in recognition, even moments where all you can say is "aaawww!" :-)


Happy Leap Year Love Month Everyone!!



"Woman With A Pearl Necklace"
Jean Francois de Neufforge

**Barry, quit snickering ;-)**








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Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Happy Birthday Charles Dickens!

Today, February 7th, marks what would have been Charles Dickens' 200th birthday.

http://www.dickens2012.org/


"Dickens' Dream" by Robert William Buss
(you may have seen this painting mentioned in
the 2010 film HEREAFTER)

What's your favorite Dickens' novel? I admit, I haven't read them all, but to date my favorites have been Nicholas Nickelby, Bleak House (two stories I wish to revisit soon) and of course the classic A Christmas Carol.  I played Mrs. Cratchit in my 4th grade class holiday play so I have a special attachment to that story :-D. Though I gotta say, in my opinion, the film adaptations have been done to death!

Dickens' work can be dense to get through at times, I struggled through parts of Hard Times but still enjoyed it. I appreciate Dickens today because he was one of the first authors I read that introduced me to the Victorian literature I love :-)



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Thursday, December 8, 2011

A Eulogy of Sorts..

For those wondering where I've been, I apologize for the absence but I needed some time.

On November 26th of this year, a little after midnight, my father passed over to the other side. In a way it had been a while in the making, as my father led a life of hard drinking, smoking and numerous other habits that tend to lead to an early grave. Still, I hadn't really planned on being one parent down before the age of 30, certainly not mere weeks after my wedding.


I had a complex, confusing relationship with my father. He was an incredibly difficult man to live with, tortured by mental illness and internal demons he seemed unable to conquer. He was even more difficult to communicate with. His demons made him answer everything with severe bouts of anger, violence, paranoia, and insanely erratic behavior.  I spent my teen years and my early 20s hating him but let go of much of that hate ages ago. That's not to say my anger left entirely, only cooled to a level that didn't entirely hinder the chance of my life feeling successful. I haven't had the hate in years, but I'm not entirely sure I loved the man he became in later years.




I explained to my husband (who never had a chance to meet his father in law) that I feel as if I am grieving for different people. Or maybe just one man - the man trapped deep inside the shell that presented itself as my father. On one hand, I feel like I am living my own version of the film Death At A Funeral, with someone handing me pictures of this man, saying "this is who he really was", I'm reeling from the shock of some of the information I've been given.


On the other hand, I look back on the life of my dad and feel like he had some sort of demon possession. That seems to be the easiest way to explain the dichotomy in his personality - the dad that only rarely made an appearance, the one that was funny, who would actually listen to you , tell you a cool story, the one that even gave you props from time to time for doing something impressively - that guy vs the guy that seemed to take up the majority of his life : the one that was judgemental, hypocritical, mean, abusive, just downright awful and at times pure evil - no other word for it. I have memories of looking into that man's eyes and seeing straight into hell. In a way it may be responsible for very few things having the ability to scare me now. So why am I grieving?



That's the question I've been asking myself every day. For decades, this man doled out so much pain and abuse on nearly anyone he met. Living my childhood in a constant state of survival and terror at home meant the loss (because there was no time or teacher to learn from) of decent social skills and the ability to talk to anyone -- particularly guys (I just had to work that out through trial and error.. and believe me, there was a whole helluva lot of error on my part!). It would leave me feeling as if I were cast out to fend for myself in the world with very few skills to go off of.  It meant I would spent my first few years of my adult life bitter and suspicious of any kindness shown me. The theme of my life for the most part has been "just survive, it has to get better ... it HAS to". (Thankfully, that voice of faith proved to be true!).

 It's developed in me a very self - sufficient nature, a belief that I can figure anything out given time, but also an  incredibly lonely existence. Even now, being married to the most loving man a woman could ask for, I have days where I feel so within myself because I fear sharing all the memories.


For years I thought the news of this day would give me some sort of MLK "Free At Last" moment. So what do I grieve for?? There is something... 



I grieve for the wasted life. The man that could have been, the man that almost was... the great father, the husband who honored his wife. I grieve the man who once took us on camping trips, the man who would read us The Night Before Christmas by candlelight every Christmas Eve when we were little, the Navy Corpsmen I called Dr. Daddy when I was barely out of my toddler years. I grieve the man that gave me a love of old Hollywood movies, Motown songs and especially Sam Cooke - the artist he taught me to dance to when I was seven (and yes, I stood on his feet lol). Cooke is STILL my all time favorite artist and has never failed to pick my spirits up. I'm sure now I'll have his songs on repeat for quite awhile!



I grieve the man who, after I asked him why I looked so different from so many of my friends and why did I have this big ol' nose (which was much more prominent when I was younger than now but still larger than what one normally sees on a woman) when most of my friends had petite or button noses, taught me to never be ashamed of my mixed race or apologetic of my dark red hair, brown-black eyes and slightly tinted skin, to be proud of my Native American & dark Irish (or "Black Irish as they are called in US - a misnomer in Ireland) roots, the man who told me to tell anyone who had a problem with that to f-off. In the years since that talk, I've had some men deem me "exotic" looking and verbalize their appreciation for my unusual features. Thankfully, my husband (of Irish-German ancestry aka very white lol) loves his "lil' shot of mocha" :-D



Native Pride


Lots of mixed emotions here, which I'm sure (or at least I sincerely hope) will be sorted out over time. Maybe at least I will get to where I can say "Still don't know what to think, but I'm okay with it now". 






This book blog will continue, because it provides an outlet for me, a small corner of bibliotherapy. My books have always been my safe haven, my comfort zone, my therapist, my moral compass even. They blocked out the sounds of my parents fighting, they gave me faith that there is beauty in the world if you take the time to quiet yourself enough to see it, books told me there WAS a true knight out there for me, maybe not one that wore armor (because how unwieldy would that be in today's world!), maybe not one that spoke Middle English or even one that would know how to joust or fence. BUT.. the books told me there would be a man with the HEART of a knight - he would be honorable and kind, he would never raise his voice to me, never speak ugly of me, he would fight any foe that dared to endanger me, he would have that much spoken of "rapier wit" and devilish smirk. He may not sing ballads or write odes but he would have a wildly romantic streak and a equally passionate drive to bed me ;-) 

The Compleat Angler by Arthur Hughes



And whaddaya know - I found this mythical man with the heart of a knight and married him just as soon as he let me! He even turned out to be a firefighter - which, wouldn't you say, is a reasonable modern facsimile to the knights of storybooks?  



So that's been the reason for the absence. Slowly but surely life continues. Thank you for your readership and please continue to stop by and leave your thoughts on anything you see here! :-) 

Thanks for your patience during this time.... 




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