In M-, an important town in northern Italy, the widowed Marquise of O-, a lady of excellent reputation and mother of several well-bred children, had the following announcement published in the newspapers: that she had, without knowing the cause, come to find herself in an interesting condition, that she wished the father of the child she was expecting to present himself; and that she was resolved, out of consideration for her family, to marry him.
The Marquise of O-, Heinrich Von Kleist (Translated by Martin Greenberg)
*****
I started reading this story because it was recommended in a book about writing, but I continued it after the opening line because I wanted to know whether the father would turn up and how he would prove his paternity.
Queen Maritorne was the terror of greedy thieving children: she reigned from the attic, where lines of pears and apples ripened, to the vat from which the wine was drawn; she was also the punishment for drunks, and without warning would leap out from the cask tapped by the dishonest valet.
Queen Maritorne, Jean Lorrain (Translated by me)
*****
This is the opener of a fairy tale I translated in France. I felt like I’d met her before, this queen who punishes overeaters and overdrinkers.
Marianne of East of Málaga had the idea of finding a subject worthy of an impressionist painter’s interest. For me it’s this view, one I reckon Monet would have painted if he had been on my balcony. And he could very well have stood on it – the building has been there for a century or two!
Two views from the same spot; different days, different hours:
Port-Vendres, France, sunrisePort-Vendres, France, rainbow
Marianne proposes we recommend two blogs worth commenting on. I found these two which show amazing wedding photography though neither of the bloggers is a professional photographer (yet); have a look at what’s possible when you love what you do:
I am to break into the conversation
With a word that tastes like snow to say;
I am to interrupt the contemplation
Of the familiar headlines of the day –
Horses, divorces, politics, murders –
With a word cold to hear or look at,
Colder to speak.
The Fire on the Snow, Douglas Stewart
*****
A play written for radio: the story of Captain Robert Scott’s expedition to the South Pole, reaching it only to find that Amundsen had beaten him.
Following the tragic events of February, 1937, when the Stinson Airliner VH-UHH crashed in the McPherson Range, I have received many oft-repeated and apparently sincere requests to write the story of that memorable rescue in which it was my good fortune to play the principal part.
Green Mountains, Bernard O’Reilly
*****
A rescue story that has to be read to be believed. Ten days after their plane had crashed into rainforest in a cyclone, two men were still alive. Bernard O’Reilly was their rescuer, and fortunately for us he was a great writer. He was also renowned in south-east Queensland, Australia, as part of the first generation of the family that built O’Reilly’s Guesthouse in 1926 in the Lamington National Park, now run by the third generation.
I bought this book at a charity shop just before leaving for France, and read it during the first three weeks. I was staying in a small untouristy village and when I found the story turning on another small French village and its future – draw tourists or perish – I started to live in the book, unable to put it down. I finished it at 4am on the morning of my last day, reading it to the end to cure my insomnia. (It didn’t.) My bag was already packed, already too full, so I placed the book on the shelves with several other English language novels; it seems this flat is only ever let to English speakers.
I liked Harris’s tricky point of view – it’s the bottle of wine that narrates the story.
In the photo below there are two signs. I’m guessing you can read the sign on the right, Mister Tacos Sandwicherie. But as for the other one, since this week’s photo challenge is “The signs says…”, the photo gives me the opportunity to tell you what the sign says:
“This home was built by the Lyonnais magistrate, Claude Paterin, under the reign of François 1st. Its name was later changed to the House of Henri IV after the monarch had a short stay here in December 1600.”
Hôtel Paterin, Lyon
A bust of Henri IV sits in a niche above the sign. However, it was not his property but a private mansion. He stayed here for a short while after his marriage to Marie de Médicis in the Cathédrale Saint Jean, a few streets away, which was when and where they met. The marriage produced issue, ancestors of some of the present European royal families including Prince William through his mother’s family. But apart from this, the marriage was an unpleasant affair for Marie who shared her husband with several of his mistresses until it all ended when Henri was assassinated ten years later.
Hôtel Paterin and Mister Tacos, Lyon
The house is at 4 rue Juiverie in old Lyon where most of the Renaissance buildings have been restored and receive constant attention. Unfortunately, while someone occupies the upper floors of the building, judging by the pot plants and the open window, the Hotel Paterin has been sorely neglected on the lower levels and now houses Mister Tacos, though even this shop looks like it has closed down. I was shocked by the two signs, visible together in one glance and disturbing enough to make me look back.
The photo challenge this week is to take a photo of myself, perhaps as a reflection, so that the background is more interesting than the subject.
Today I found this piece of reflective metal at the bottom of a whole-wall fresco here in Lyon, France. So, I took the hint, took my camera and photographed myself on the street with the fresco. My mind never quite accepted that these people were painted onto a two-dimensional surface. Even now, looking at my photos, my eye is fooled into thinking they are real.
This mural covers the entire blind wall of the building at the corner of 49 Quai Saint-Vincent and 2 rue de la Martinière. There are 24 historical Lyonnais characters on their balconies, going back further in time as they rise up the wall. At ground level there are 6 contemporary personalities (not including me). The fresco was produced in 1994/95.
La Fresque des Lyonnais and me, street level and first floor
Here’s another view which I liked so much that I’ve attempted to blot out a nasty dark mark made by an idiot dragging a black pen or brush through all the faces. I think I’ve improved the photo but unfortunately it’s not easy to remove the real mark from the fresco without retouching the artwork. Isn’t it fantastic, though? All the people to my left are painted, they don’t exist, nor does the brickwork or the doorway.
La Fresque des Lyonnais et moi, street level
And one more, just because I’ve bought some important books in the bookshop, Gibert Joseph.
La Fresque des Lyonnais. A painted Bernard Pivot leaving a painted bookshop, Gibert Joseph.
I’ve walked a million miles in the past few weeks, many of them on sealed surfaces and others on dirt paths. The following photos were taken on two difficult climbs. The first two show the path up to the Abbey of St Martin of Canigou in France; I walked up the 3 kms and down again which was steep but not TOO harsh because the path is sealed. But some older people in our group took the optional jeep ride which apparently is not always better; some said they had vertigo looking at the edges.
Jeep doing 3-point turn on a hairpin bend; at the edge, straight drop down!L’Abbaye de Saint Martin du Canigou at the top of the 3 km path (check out the cloud!)
This next photo was taken from half-way up a steep dirt track on my way to Cap Béar, though I never got there. When I reached this point my heart was pounding and I was breathing heavily, absolutely alone and a wee bit scared, so I made the decision to descend. The track is grazed out of the hillside and sometimes supported by improvised stone steps. Very steep but not frightening for genuine hikers. And on the subject of pathways, from up on the hill there’s a great view of the pathway to the lighthouse, that is, the jetty.
Half-way up the hill on the path to Cap Béar, France; looking over the jetty and lighthouse
This post was inspired by Ailsa’s Pathways: have a look at the awesome paths she has trod.
When I walked up over this hill in the early morning and looked back at the village, I was completely alone on a small part of the Mediterranean coast. No one knew where I was.
Port-Vendres from top of the hill
Turning round to see the sea, I looked down over this cove, and, on the far side, a fort and war ruins, French and German, that remain on the cape.
Cove between Port-Vendres and Collioure, France
Having escaped from civilisation for a brief hour, I walked down to take a closer look at the ruins and saw why this point had been chosen for a fort; it’s ideal for shooting and blowing up shipping way out on the horizon. No escape for them.
This is one of two arches through which cannons were pointed, with holes for thinner weapons. Unfortunately, with the arch and holes positioned as they are, it resembles a face.
Gun and cannon slots, Fort Mauresque, Vermilion Coast, France
It was horrible, seeing this war junk lying all along the cliff edges.
War junk, coastline between Collioure and Port-Vendres, France
What struck me was the ugliness of concrete, while the nineteenth-century stone fort has that element of beauty found in stone construction all around this region, whether it be houses, barriers, walls, steps or forts. Here’s some more ugly concrete, a piece of German war litter, a base for a revolving cannon.
Base of revolving German cannon, leftover from WWII, between Collioure and Port-Vendres, France
Fortunately, wars end, and life is good again. But if you need to take a break from the troubles of ordinary peacetime life, I recommend this coastline where surprises make every day special. I found this beautiful Bottlebrush tree, which I didn’t know grew outside of Australia, growing on a hill with red roses, grapevines and palm trees, all overlooking the blue Mediterranean.
