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— Deborah Landau, from ‘September’ (via soracities)
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“August moved toward its impervious finale. A mood by the river […] Borderless and open the days go on—”
— Deborah Landau, from ‘September’ (via soracities)
The chronicle of the monk Herbert of Reichenau for the year 1021 ends “My brother Werner was born on November 1.“
1021 was not an uneventful year. The emperor began a campaign into Italy. Illustrious abbots died. There was an earthquake. But Herbert took the time to note, at the end of the year, that his brother was born.
Of such acts of tenderness is history made.
This post broke through the shell of crustiness on my medievalist heart and made me go ‘aww’.
There was a medieval parenting manual that recommended parents smack pieces of furniture their toddlers bumped into and scold the furniture for being so naughty as to get in the way, so that the kids would laugh and forget about their bumps and bruises
I read that and my heart melted
(source: Medieval Women by Deirdre Jackson. She cited the primary source but I cannot for the life of me find the book to check what it was called)
We should hold a thousandth birthday party for Werner in a couple of years.
In 11th century Constantinople, the historian, philosopher, monk, and general insufferable know-it-all Michael Psellos once wrote a letter to his infant grandson. He begins like this:
“Perhaps I will not live to see you, dearest newborn and offspring of my soul, when you reach adolescence, if God so wishes it, or when you mature; for the days of my life are failing and the time approaches when its thread will be cut short. I have therefore decided to address this speech to you in advance of that day and reciprocate your innate charm with the graces of speech. I should be ungrateful and entirely thoughtless if at a time when your perceptions and thoughts are undeveloped (though as far as I alone am concerned you are perfect in these respects, insofar as you hear my voice and feel my affection, cling to my neck, slip into my embrace, and put up with my annoying kisses), I should be ungrateful, I say, if I myself failed to render to you a fitting return.”
He then goes on to praise his grandson, who is the most HANDSOME and INTELLIGENT and RATIONAL child ever born. (No seriously, he calls a four-month-old baby “rational” – rationality and moderation were considered important virtues so OBVIOUSLY his grandson was full of them.)
He observes every little thing the baby does – breastfeeding, taking baths, fussing, babytalking – with unrestrained marvel and delight, complete with flowery descriptions:
“[Your eyes] moved cheerfully, whenever a smile was about to come upon you. It sufficed for me to take note of this only once—I needed no Delphic tripod or bacchic ecstasy—to prophesy without hesitation from the kindly look in your eyes that you were about to laugh. And, true enough, you moved your lip slightly, blushed, and, behold! you laughed.”
He takes special pride that the baby likes him, and puts himself in the picture too:
“And when I would see you becoming perplexed, I immediately snatched you away from your toys, took you up in my hands, and lifted you up in the air until you were full of joy.”
He wishes him to lead a happy life. He calls him “my living pearl, the ornament of my soul”. And he ends the letter like this:
“May you obtain all that you love, but especially education and good sense, which alone can elevate the soul to its proper beauty and which constitute understanding of the more profound things. I wrote all this for you while holding you in my arms and kissing you insatiably.”
Isn’t it incredible? Translation by Anthony Kaldellis, from Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos (University of Notre Dame Press, 2006).
Werner’s thousand birthday is this year.
Imagine being a Romantic poet and being able to say something like “I am as lonely as a dandelion” (die like two weeks later) and have people analysing that for centuries
Historians identify lost portrait of Shelley painted days before his death
The poet Percy Bysshe Shelley has been identified in a portrait painted by an artist who met him just days before his death by drowning off the Italian coast in 1822, aged just 29.
It was created by William Edward West, the American painter, who had been struck by Shelley’s good looks while on a visit to paint Lord Byron in Tuscany.
Professor Andrew Stauffer, who has conducted the research, told The Telegraph: “This portrait captures Shelley just before his death. We don’t have better portraits of him.”
He believes that its modest size - 7.25 inches by 9.25 inches - may explain why it eluded notice before an American academic, Newman Ivey White, decided in the 1940s that it actually depicted Leigh Hunt, the English essayist, journalist and poet.
Until then, it was accepted as a portrait of Shelley, after surfacing in 1905.
Prof Stauffer said: “Then White’s debunking comes along and it disappears. But I’m basically debunking his debunking.”
Shelley had come to Italy to broker an introduction between Hunt and Byron, wanting them to collaborate on a new political poetic journal. They sought Byron’s involvement, both for his money and his fame. Literally a week after Hunt arrived, Shelley drowned after his boat foundered during a stormy return voyage to Lerici.
West later recalled their meeting, telling his nephew: “After seeing Shelley again…, I determined to paint [a] picture of him while his image was fresh in my memory.”
Prof Stauffer is President of the Byron Society of America and head of English at the University of Virginia, in whose library the painting hangs.
‘Misdirected debunking’
He made this discovery while doing research for his forthcoming book, Byron: A Life in Ten Letters, to be published by Cambridge University Press early next year.
He will publish his research in the Keats-Shelley Journal this month.
He points to evidence that West had multiple opportunities to observe Shelley in person. For example, an 1828 article titled Shelley in The Yankee and Boston Literary Gazette features West’s description of Shelley as having “the most wonderful-looking head ever seen alive on our earth”.
Prof Stauffer writes: “Published when Shelley was little known in the United States, this reference to West’s opinion of Shelley’s appearance strikes me with the force of authenticity.”
He argues that “the misdirected debunking” of this painting has “distorted our sense of Shelley’s appearance”, with the result that he has been seen primarily through lesser portraits by amateur artists.
In the newly attributed oil painting, the poet was captured by a professional who had observed him firsthand.
Of the amateur portraits, one is by Amelia Curran, who was so unhappy with her work that she threw it onto the fire, only to rescue it at the last minute.
Prof Stauffer said that putting the West and Curran portraits side by side, one sees similarities such as the straight nose with its elongated nostril, a heavily curved upper lip and a rounded chin.
White had argued that, according to contemporaries, Shelley’s hair was beginning to turn grey in 1822 and that this was absent from the portrait.
Prof Stauffer writes: “Perhaps White never saw the West portrait in person and could not see in reproductions the grey, which is plainly visible in the painting.”
— The Telegraph, 23 September 2023
Painter Haidee Becker's North London home and studio. Photography by Mark Anthony Fox for House & Garden.
home of vanessa bell, english painter and sister of virginia woolf
from villaarnaino
Count Raniero Gnoli’s Italian home. Photo by Oberto Gili
Carley Summer
SPRING HEADERS (requested by anonymous)
4 MARIE ANTOINETTE AND 4 THE SECRET GARDEN (with and without ripped paper texture)
650 x 350
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Klara Kristin photographed by Dan Beleiu for XOXO The Mag.
AD Italia, Agosto 1996. Foto - Massimo Listri