[For Writer's Island, ABC Wednesday and Sunday Scribblings]
“U” is for “Unblemished.”
(As in an unblemished record.)
Good morning.
Our European History class will begin by studying the country of Spain, and we’ll start with the era before the Spanish-American War.
Take notes; this will be an important part of the final exam.
I thought that a good way to start off is with a certain musical work, an opera, something that, even if you don’t much like opera, I’m sure you’re all familiar with. The reason I’m using it for this class is that the particular musical work I have in mind says a lot about the customs, traditions and moral attitudes of that time.

It’s a story of an army man who was not just putting in his time before being released back into civilian society, but of a young career soldier who believed he had a great future in the Spanish Army.

When he wore the uniform and saluted his flag, he stood for centuries of tradition; he was constantly reminded of the glory days of the 16th and 17th centuries, when the Army of Spain was the most powerful and prestigious in Europe.

Let’s say his name was Don Jose. He was of course a young man of good family, all-important in those days, a capable, serious junior officer whose unblemished record unfortunately became – well, blemished. And all because of his love for a woman.

She was a Spanish Gypsy. The story of the Gypsies is the story of a persecuted minority. For centuries they had known discrimination, and this helped to create the powerful emotions – of tragedy, sadness, joy and love – found in their music and dance.

All of which ultimately led to the well-known flamenco of today.

The soldier named Don Jose had fallen hard for a beautiful, tempestuous Gypsy girl who had danced for him; he was even ready to take the next step, to leave his promising military career to be with her.
The punishment for this was severe; he was jailed. While he was behind bars a strange thing happened.

As he stood at the window of his cell she threw a flower to him. He caught it and was fascinated by the flower’s fragrance. Though the flower, as flowers do, wilted and became dry, the fragrance remained, and it was to keep alive for him the memory of the beautiful, incomparable girl for whom he had sacrificed so much.

Later, an operatic composer, Georges Bizet, was attracted by this romantic tale and composed a work that was to become a masterpiece, one of the most famous operas of all time. Among its best-known arias was one that had to do with the moment when the Gypsy girl threw the flower to the prisoner. (You’ve been able to figure out by now which opera we’re talking about?)
Here’s the scene:
Aria: “La fleur que tu m’avais jetee dans ma prison me’etait restee.”
“The flower you threw to me stayed with me in prison. It withered and dried, but it kept all the while its sweet fragrance, and I became intoxicated – because during the night I saw you!
“At times I took to cursing you, to cry out that I detested you. Why did destiny put you there, in my path?
“But then I realized that this was a kind of blasphemy because the only real feeling I had was a strong desire, a kind of desperate hope – to see you again, oh Carmen! To see you again!”

Magpie 68

Prosecutor Sawyer: “Your name, please?”
Witness: “My name is Edna Emice. I’m the only Emice this side of the Mississippi.”
Sawyer.: “Well, that’s quite a distinction. Now, let’s see. Where were you on the afternoon of March fourth last?”
Witness: “I was parked across the street from that poor murdered girl’s apartment.”
Sawyer.: “And how did you happen to be parked there?”
Witness: “Well, I saw Mr Hartley leaving her apartment. That was quite a shock, so I parked my car and watched.”
Sawyer.: “Now I want to remind you, Miss Emice, that you are under oath and your testimony is very important. You know Mr. Hartley well, don’t you?”
Witness: “I sure do.”
Sawyer.: “And you are certain that it was Mr. Hartley that you saw there?”
Witness: “Absolutely.”
Sawyer.: “Your witness.”
Miss Wylie: “You used to work for Mr. Hartley, didn’t you, Miss Emice? For how long?”
Witness: “For twelve years.”
Wylie: “And then you were unfortunately -- let go, weren’t you?”
Witness: “I was fired, if you want me to spell it out for you.”
Wylie: “And it was Mr. Hartley who fired you?”
Witness: “Yes.”
Wylie: “So you really don’t like Mr. Hartley very much, do you?”
Sawyer.: “Objection, your Honor. Approach the bench?”
Judge: “Yes.”
Sawyer.: “Judge, you can see what’s happening here. The defense is trying to suggest that Hartley canned Emice, she got sore and she decided to get back at him by inventing his presence at a crime scene. A wild story. They’ve made all this up.”
Wylie: “No, that’s just what happened, your Honor.”
Judge: “We’re going to need something more solid than a suggestion, Miss Wylie.”
Wylie: “That will be provided, during cross examination.”
Judge: “All right; let’s get on with it.”
Wylie: “I understand you have some interesting hobbies, Miss Emice?”
Sawyer.: “What!? I object! Relevance?”
Judge: “Good point. How are the witness’s hobbies relevant, Miss Wylie?”
Wylie: “That’s what I intend to show, Judge, if I’m permitted to continue.”
Judge: “Well, I guess so, contingent upon you providing the relevance. Objection overruled.”
Wylie: “And you have a special interest in astronomy, don’t you?”
Witness: “Yes. But I don’t like to talk about it much; people usually laugh.”
Wylie: “Why?”
Witness: “Well, you know—people think I’m just a sweet little old lady without any advanced degrees and such. It is believed that only the PhDs know about such things as astronomy.”
Wylie: “But you have special knowledge, don’t you, something the PhDs don’t have? Especially about the planet Jupiter?”
Sawyer.: “That’s it! That’s enough! I object. Soon we’ll be hearing about Miss Emice’s hobby of building small ships in bottles. There’s only one point at issue, Judge. Did Miss Emice see Mr. Hartley at the crime scene or not? I realize that Miss Wylie is new to the legal profession; in fact, I believe this is her first trial as a defense attorney, so we should be tolerant and understanding and all that. But there’s a limit.”
Judge: “Yes, you haven’t shown relevance, Miss Wylie. Sustained.”
Wylie: “But she went there!”
Judge: “Sit down, Miss Wylie! I have just ruled against you. You should have learned at least that much in law school. Er—she went where?”
Wylie: “She went to Jupiter!”
Judge: “She went to..? Continue with your cross examination.”

Wylie: “How did you make that trip to the planet Jupiter, Miss Emice? Was it on a flying saucer?”
Witness: “No, not a saucer. It was more like a spaceship.”
Wylie: “And what happened when you got to the planet Jupiter?”
Witness: “Well, there was a wonderful welcome; everybody was friendly. I got to see the King.”
Wylie: “Really? You saw the King of Jupiter, with your very own eyes? Could you see him clearly?”
Witness: “Oh, yes. Very clearly.”
Wylie: “As clearly as you saw Mr. Hartley at the crime scene?”
Witness: “Yes, exactly.”
Sawyer.: “Your Honor…”
Wylie: “Move for dismissal, your Honor.”
[Submitted also to Writer's Island, ABC Wednesday and Sunday Scribblings]

[For ABC Wednesday and Sunday Scribblings]
"S" is for "Shoes"

ANNOUNCER (VOICE OVER): The “Judge Phyllis” show, one of cable television’s most successful programs, is already under way as we join it...
(FADE IN ON...)
GLINDA: We had been staying together.
JUDGE PHYLLIS: For how long?
GLINDA: Three weeks, like.
JUDGE: So, Alberto, you were in a relationship with this young woman?
ALFREDO: We were, your honor; I mean I was. We both were, actually.
JUDGE: You were in love?
ALFREDO: I most certainly was.
GLINDA: Yet he stole my shoes!
JUDGE: Yes, that’s what this all boils down to. Why would you steal a lady’s shoes, Alberto?
ALFREDO: Judge, I am a philosopher. You see, the heart only knows what the yearning of the soul is aware of. Men may have scoffed through the centuries, but the truth is always there, always waiting to be found. You see, I am not one of the sheep; I stand out from the rest of the flock. This is what I have learned as I have wandered down through life’s path.
JUDGE: Unfortunately the network gives me just one hour for this program; otherwise I could take twenty minutes or so to try to figure out what you just said. In the meantime, how about you, Glinda? Why do you think he stole your shoes?
GLINDA: That’s easy! He found a new girl friend! He met her at work.
JUDGE: Where do you work, Alberto?
ALFREDO: Your honor, usually I take what comes my way. As a philosopher I learned long ago not to try to change the world, though deep inside all of us is the awareness that it certainly needs change. But, "Plus ca change," as they say at the Sorbonne. So I emphasize that I am not offended that you don’t seem to know my name, though it’s written right there on that paper in front of you. My name is “Alfredo,” not “Alberto.” Just think of the sauce, Sauce Alfredo – though they usually use too much butter in its preparation – and you’ll get it right every time.
JUDGE: Whatever. Let’s get back to business. Where do you work?
GLINDA: Go on, tell her. He works in the town dump, Judge.

ALFREDO: Actually, it is officially the municipal waste disposal division. I am a separation supervisor. As people come in with various types of material they wish to dispose of, I separate this into three parts: metal, wood and cardboard.
JUDGE: And you met this new girl friend at the town dump?
ALFREDO: She drove in with some things she wanted to throw away so I showed her how I was there to separate them. She appreciated my expertise and life philosophy. We sort of got to know each other. Her name is Eunice.
GLINDA: It would be something like Eunice. Look at him, Judge. He’s not much to look at but believe it or not he has a kind of mysterious charm that appeals to women.
JUDGE: That definitely is mysterious. So you decided to go after this new girl and dump the old one – speaking of the town dump.
ALFREDO: I would certainly not put it that way. I saw immediately that I could be of help to this young woman. Her shoes, your honor. Her shoes were all wrong for her – boring, utilitarian, unattractive. But I knew where there was a pair that was just right for her, made for her you might say.

JUDGE: I’m beginning to figure this out. So you went back and stole Glinda’s shoes to give to your new girl friend?
ALFREDO: I stole nothing. They were given to me.
JUDGE: And you, Glinda, Good Witch of the North, you gave him the shoes? Why on earth would you do that?
GLINDA: Well, I thought he was a freak, a bit of a pervert. You know, a “footishist” or whatever they call it. He wanted the shoes so I figured it would do no harm for him to have a little fun with them. I certainly didn’t know he planned to give them to another woman.
JUDGE: That’s it. You’ve got to give them back, Alberto.
ALFREDO: I don’t have them. They now belong to Eunice.
GLINDA: But you stole them!
ALFREDO: Again, Your Honor, I stole nothing. They were given to me, which means, according to our ancient Anglo-Saxon legal code, that I could do with them as I wished.
JUDGE: I’m afraid he’s got something there.
GLINDA: But isn’t there some kind of law against inalienations of affections?
JUDGE: Not really. At least not with that pronunciation. You know, Glinda, there’s an opera song titled “La donna e mobile”: women are fickle. But so often it’s men who are the fickle ones. You’ll see. Alberto will stick with this current girl friend till he meets someone new – or maybe comes across an enticing new pair of ladies’ shoes. Then he’ll be gone like a shot.
Bailiff, next case!

Magpie 67

The Tournier banquet reminds us of one of Shakespeare’s most famous scenes: the banquet that Macbeth throws to celebrate his splendid new Kingship.
All the nobility and accompanying VIPs have been invited. Lady Macbeth, very experienced in such social occasions, is gracious to everyone.
There is actually an element of farce in this scene. It’s the kind of thing usually played for comedy: the elegant supper party where everything goes wrong. But the play’s audience is aware that the background of the scene is far from funny. The Macbeths have committed regicide; they have murdered Duncan, the previous King, though no one at the banquet is aware of this.
Macbeth’s second murder is to be of Banquo, a colleague, a friend. He doesn’t actually commit the murder; he has a hired killer do the deed. When he asks the murderer, “Banquo’s safe?” the man knows just what is meant. “Aye, my good lord, safe in a ditch he lies.”
And the banquet goes on, an event everyone is enjoying. Lady M. is in her element, charming all with her social poise.
But the pleasant occasion is wrecked beyond retrieval; Banquo shows up. He is, of course, a ghost, but Macbeth sees the real Banquo, sitting there in his chair. No one else sees him, of course.
The new King is visibly shaken, distraught; he cries out to his wife: “Can such things be?”
Lady M shifts into damage control mode. She tells the guests that the King is suffering a bit from an old illness, nothing to worry about.
Macbeth then cries out to the ghost: “Avaunt! And quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!”
Lady M. decides that it would perhaps be better if everyone just left. “Good night! Stand not upon the order of your going but go at once.”

(For Writer's Island, ABC Wednesday and Sunday Scribblings)
“R” is for “Rewrite”
I always enjoyed reading “Winnie the Pooh” to my kids; it gave me a chance to act out the parts.
They’ve grown past Winnie the Pooh age now and would no longer be interested, but when they were small they got a kick out of such readings. Eeyore was easy; you just dropped your voice an octave or so and added overtones of melancholia and weltschmerz. Pooh, humble and naïve, wasn’t difficult either. Piglet’s lines were delivered in a higher register as he was lively and full of spirit.
So I was interested indeed to read that A A Milne has published a new book of the series: “Return to the Hundred Acre Wood.”
Seemed a bit odd since A A Milne died a half-century or so ago.

Turns out that it’s a new book in the series all right, but it’s by someone else, David Benedictus. If you’ve got to do a rewrite of a classic, his is the way to do it. He has done a remarkable job of capturing the tone, the voice, the spirit of the original work; he doesn't try to jazz it up or put some sizzle into the style. And the new illustrator does the same. You’d swear the pictures in the new book are by Ernest Shepard, the original artist who turned Milne’s creatures into world-famous icons.
But there’s a question.

Does a great classic need a rewrite? Why? After all, the original stories are available to today’s youngest generation. True, today's kids get interested early on in all kinds of digital gadgets and gizmos; they probably get around to the real Pooh characters a little later than we did, but better late than never, ss the saying goes.
The only change in the new version is this: there’s a Pooh Corner newcomer. Lottie the Otter tries to fit in with the other critters.
They’ve done all kinds of rewrites over the years. “Peter Pan” was recreated in this way, and of course there was a kerfuffle when a rewrite of “Gone With the Wind” was published.
What’s your opinion? Should they have left the “Hundred-Acre Wood” alone, or is it a good idea to come up with a new, well-done rewrite of the stories?

Magpie 66

Polonius, the Lord Chancellor, can’t figure out just what’s the matter with the young prince.
He should be content; the country has a new king, a queen who is obviously very happy – all Denmark is celebrating.
But moody young Hamlet just sits with his nose in a book.
Polonius is determined to find out what is wrong. Shakespeare’s famous scene in Act Two beautifully sums up what happens when a stodgy, tedious old bureaucrat tries to deal with, or even understand, a young guy who is astute and sharp-witted.
The Lord Chancellor approaches the Prince.
Polonius: Do you know me, my lord?
Hamlet: Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Polonius: Not I, my lord.
Hamlet: Then I would you were so honest a man.
Polonius: What are you reading, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
Polonius: What is the matter?
Hamlet: Between who?
Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
Hamlet: Slanders, sir. Though I most powerfully and potently believe that you could grow as old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.
Polonius: My lord, I will take my leave of you.
Hamlet: You could not take from me anything I would not more willingly part with – except my life, except my life, except my life.

(For Writer's Island, ABC Wednesday and Sunday Scribblings)
“Q” is for “Queen.”

As you may have heard, William Shakespeare was the top dog in the playwright trade.
And Elizabeth I was unsurpassed in the queen business.
So here’s something interesting.
Both Will and Liz lived in the same town, at the same time, and they knew each other. Thus a natural question would be, what kind of relationship did they have?
The answer appears to be, not much.
Queen Elizabeth was one of the greatest, and most powerful, sovereigns in the history of England.

Will Shakespeare, even though he may have been a genius, was a commoner. Sovereigns did not hang out with commoners.
Unlike today? :-)
But the Queen enjoyed the playwright’s plays and we can almost say that, without her, there would have been no Shakespeare.
It’s difficult for us today to understand the position of the theatre and theatre folk at that time. As you may know, in the seventeenth century a great many people let superstition govern their lives: there was a general belief in such things as witches, ghosts and omens. Another general belief on the part of many was that there was something "wrong" with the very idea of players and playhouses. Those in authority would have closed the theatres, torn them down, and forbidden anything except works of a religious nature - which was pretty well all that English drama had consisted of before the Shakespearean era.
There would have been no point in Will S. trying to fight local authorities; he would have had to surrender.
But they had a problem: Elizabeth.
She enjoyed plays as much as she loved music and dancing (she loved to dance). Whenever those in power tried to close down theatres, they were reminded that such an action would make the Queen unhappy. And they had learned early on that making the Queen unhappy was to be avoided, to say the least.

So William Shakespeare and his theatrical company flourished. They often performed before her at court. She so loved the character Falstaff in “Henry IV” that she let it be known to the playwright that she’d like to see him in another play. So Will S. sat down and speedily turned out “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” loading it with Falstaff and Falstaffian humor.
Elizabeth was gifted in a number of areas, but her knowledge of languages was amazing. She spoke English and Latin with equal fluency, Italian almost as well, and had a fair knowledge of French, Spanish and Greek. Since Latin was the language of diplomacy at that time, she could converse fluently with diplomats visiting England from just about anywhere, even if they spoke no English.
There’s a wonderful story – I’d like to think it’s true – that the Queen had invited the Russian ambassador and his entourage at court to see a Shakespeare play. As the actors performed, she kept up a running translation, in Latin, of what was going on.

Magpie 65

Charles Baudelaire:
“To be a great man and a saint
FOR ONESELF,
That is the one important thing.”
(“Avant tout, être un grand homme et un saint -- pour soi-même.”)