Random Thoughts on Christmas Eve

Good day, my dear friends. I am, without warning, in a mood for blogging today. I have truly no idea what I am to write, but hopefully something of at leat a little merit will arise.

Well, let's see. Over the last few days I indulged in my taste for film in a very small way by piecing together a mock trailer for a non-existant film of Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park". I read the book this past year, and despite numerous warnings that I would not enjoy this 'black sheep' of the Austen canon to any great degree, I was happily surprised to find that I did, especially since I also read the "scandalous" play they nearly perform in it, "Lovers' Vows" (please don't be shocked - it's milder than some of the things Jane Austen puts in her books, and is an extremely moral story about extremely proper people. I can't help but think JA was poking a bit of fun at Fanny and Edmund by having them so upset by it). However, I have yet to see any of the three film adpations, having been warned by the other ladies (and a few gentlemen!) of the Republic of Pemberley that two of the three versions are rather unfaithful to the book (Slavery? A vivacious Fanny Price? Fanny actually accepting - ugh - Henry Crawford?). The remainging one, an old BBC production, is rather hard to find. I suppose I could look on Amazon... Yes... But, in any case, I have not seen any film of MP. For this reason, I decided to cast some actors from films in my own selection of DVDs as Austen's characters, and edit them into a trailer. Heavily relying on films like "Rossini's Ghost" and "Persuasion", with about six films in all, and using music from Leonardo de Fillipis' "Therese", I'm rather pleased with the end product. Unfortunately, I can't post it for copyright reasons, but I certainly enjoyed it.

Well, The Tale of Despereaux film has been released, I believe. I don't know how it's doing in box offices, and I don't care at all. Ordinarily I am not a purist, and enjoy a film adaption of a book as much as any other, but somehow Kate DiCamillo's wonderful book, which everyone ought to read, is not compatible with 3D, CGI animation. No. Please read the book - a perfectly crafted story, nominally for children, but truly a piece of art for anyone. I believe C.S. Lewis said something to the effect that a children's book that cannot be read with enjoyment and profit by adults is a bad children's book. This is certainly not a bad children's book. Please, treat yourself to the beauty of this tale of darkness, light, a mouse, a princess, a needle, and a bowl of soup.

But not in the cinema.

Last night was our family's annual viewing of "The Muppet Christmas Carol". Sometime this evening we will likely have our annual viewing of the Alistair Sims "A Christmas Carol" (Yes, I have read the book many times). Since the Muppet version is still fresh in my mind, I might as well dash off a bit about that as well. I must say that while it is definitely not the Dickens story, it is certainly an enjoyable romp. Michael Caine as Scrooge is fair. Gonzo and Rizzo, in their first time cast together, are just as delightful as they are in "Muppet Treasure Island". Our family loves Scrooge's nephew, Fred, dearly, and this Fred tops those of every serious adaption of the classic. He just exudes joy and makes you smile. Some songs are rather forgettable - for instance, "Bless Us All" - but some I can't help but enjoy. I especially like "There Goes Mr. Scrooge", with it's wonderful opening in a minor key, and the darkening of the streets as Scrooge traverses London, and the Ghost of Christmas Present's jolly "It Feels Like Christmas" - I think it's the people in wonderful 1830's fashions dancing around teh square that does it. Speaking of fashions, this adaption actually follows them very well during the "Christmas Past" sequence. For instance, When Scrooge is a young boy, we see tricorn hats, knee-breeches, and ruffles abounding - very 1780's. By the time of 'Fozzywig's' Christmas Party, Fozzy certainly is wearing a wig very much in keeping with the 1790's, and Belle's gown reminds me of Marguerite's in "The Scarlet Pimpernel". Some years later, when Scrooge and Belle go their seperate ways, any Jane Austen fan can describe their regency fashions without even seeing the film. And then, of course, the wonderful corkscrew curls and toppers of the 1830's present. Marvelous!

Well, I really ought to make myself useful about the house - and I'm afraid I've a few gifts to wrap. Good heavens, everything I've written has been related in some manner or other to film! How embarassing. At any rate, Happy Advent! Hopefully I'll be here to wish you all a merry Christmas on the morrow.

Quotes From Here on Campus

These are very fun. :)

(Speaking in Ubbi-Dubbi by accident)
Lady Clare: Uboh, Ubi hubeard thubat yubou hubad slubipped uband huburt yubour lubeg! Ub subure hubope yubou ubare fubeelubing bubettuber nubow.
Someone Else: Are you French?

QuoteGirl: I want to marry a smurf!

(Talking about what became of a bagful of stolen quotes written on scraps of paper)
The Captain: Did you eat them?
Lady Clare: I didn't have any supper, you know!

(Thank you to Lady Clare for writing this down for me)
Me: "Big Egos and Bigotism". That's my new name for "Pride and Prejudice".
Someone Else: Just don't put Bigamist in there.
Me: Although that would solve the marriage problem. Bingley could just marry all the girls. "Pride and Prejudice" set in Utah.

Lady Clare: Are you calling me a sylllogism?

(During a conversation about British Columbia)
The Captain: Let's stop talking about BC.
Lady Clare: Why should we stop talking about BC?
Me: Because this is AD!

QuoteGirl: Watermelon is the fruit of the devil!

Yes, very goofy. I know. :)

Here's a slightly more edifying quote:

In order to love and serve God, it is not necessary to do extraordinary things. Christ asks all men without exception to be perfect as His heavenly Father is perfect (cf. Mt 5: 48). For the great majority of men, to be holy consists of sanctifying their work, to sanctify themselves in their work, to sanctify others with work, and also to find God on the road of their life."
~ St. Josemaria - Escriva, Founder of Opus Dei

Duels, Dinners, Dulcimers...

Well, last night was the music fest at the "Musical" Residence - where else? A very enjoyable affair on the whole - tasty snacks, fine atmosphere, and splendid people. I actually arrived half and hour early for a brief meeting of The Weavers (Writers Club). We meet in a very cozy, English tavern-like basement which we call "The Ball and the Cross", both because it sounds like a good pub name and because we are all Chesterton devotees. I read aloud a portion of my National Novel Writing Month story, and was surprised at how well it was recieved, condiering it is a very goofy piece about a rather - shall we say non-conformist? - all right, a rather nutty character who wishes to declare his farm in Suffolk an independant country and burst into the House of Lords, brandished the imperial Mace melodramatically, and started namecalling. Yes, it's definitely a comedy.

After that, we headed upstairs to join the party in honour of St. Cecilia's Feast Day. Yes, we are a day late, but if it had been held Saturday, it would have had to compete with two other events. Lots of wonderful music - guitar, violins, accordion, piano, drums... At one point in the evening the Captain, Lady Clare, and another student played several Celtic trios with violin, hammered dulcimer, and penny whistle (no, that's not something you get from the dollar store!) It was great to hear some new tunes, and to sing along to old one we haven't sung since the last bonfire, which was held in September.

At any rate, at one point in the evening, Lady Clare and I felt the urge to enjoy a quote duel, which is quickly becoming a tradition with us. There is a long story behind this, which I will have to relate sometime. Suffice it to say that we are engaged in a long and most diverting war involving quotes, which has manifested itself in all forms of pranks and battles, all involving the words of great authors. For some time we have been quote duelling, which means that we stand across from each other, throw down the gauntlet, and proceed to hurl quotes at each toher from memory. Ever quote must be related in someway to the last one, and must be sourced. For instance, if she said, "Is life a thorn? Then count it not a wit. The Yeomen of the Guard," I might respond, "Life's a pleasant institution. Let us take it as it comes. The Gondoliers." We try to keep them coming fast and furious. If there is too long a pause between quotes, our witnesses are obliged to say so and declare the last who spoke to be the winner. thus far, however, this hasn't happened.

Anyway, lots of fun. You really ought to try it some time.

Graces Derived From Attending the Holy Mass

1.The Mass is Calvary continued.

2. Every Mass is worth as much as the sacrifice of Our Lord’s life, sufferings and death.

3. Holy Mass is the most powerful atonement for your sins.
4. At the hour of death the Masses you have heard will be your greatest consolation.

5. Every Mass will go with you to judgment and plead for pardon.

6. At Mass you can diminish more or less temporal punishment due to your sins, according to your fervor.

7. Assisting devoutly at Holy Mass you render to the sacred humanity of Our Lord the greatest homage.

8. He supplies for many of your negligences and omissions.

9. He forgives the venial sins which you have not confessed. The power of Satan over you is diminished.

10. You afford the souls in Purgatory the greatest possible relief.

11. One Mass heard during life will be of more benefit to you than many heard for you after your death.

12. You are preserved from dangers and misfortunes which otherwise might have befallen you. You shorten your Purgatory.

13. Every Mass wins for you a higher degree of glory in Heaven.

14. You receive the priest’s blessing which Our Lord ratifies in Heaven.

15. You kneel amidst a multitude of holy angels, who are present at the adorable Sacrifice with reverential awe.

16. You are blessed in your temporal goods and affairs.

In eternity, we shall fully realize that it was certainly worthwhile to have assisted at Holy Mass daily

.
Pray for priests that they may offer the Holy Mass devoutly and reverently.

The Feast of St. Cecilia

St. Cecilia, also known as Cecily, was born in Rome and educated in the teachings and perfect practice of Catholicism. In her youth she made a vow of virginity to God. However, she was forced by her parents to marry a noble pagan youth named Valerianus. Refusing to forego her vow, she convinced her new husband to respect her virginity, and eventually also won him over to Christianity.
Later, his brother Tiburtius was converted to the faith and both brothers practiced it with great zeal. Consequently, the prefect Turcius Almachius condemned them to death. Their executioner Maximus, however, himself was converted and suffered martyrdom along with the two brothers. Their remains were buried in one tomb by Cecilia.

At this point Cecilia came under the eye of the prefect and was soon sought by his officers. Before being taken prisoner, she made arrangements to have her house converted into a place of worship for the Roman Church. After a glorious profession of faith, she was condemned to be suffocated in her bath. Miraculously, this failed to harm Cecilia, so a soldier was assigned to behead her. Striking the neck of Cecilia three times without completely decapitating her, the soldier fled, leaving the virgin soaked in blood. She lived for three more days, during which time she was able to make dispositions for the poor. She was buried in the Catacombs of Callistus among the bishops and confessors who were martyred for the faith.

St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music. Many medieval pictures of Cecilia show her either holding a crown of martyrdom in her hand or playing the organ. While musicians played at her wedding, Cecilia sang in her heart to God. When the Academy of Music was founded at Rome in 1584, Cecilia was made patroness of the institute, whereupon her veneration as patroness of church music in general became more universal. Today, Cecilian societies (musical associations) exist everywhere, and the organ has become the primary attribute depicted in Cecilian art.

Prayer

St. Cecilia, pray for us that we make music in our hearts to God and manifest our love for Him in our daily deeds. In the holy name of Jesus we pray. Amen.

Humour: "Self-Made Men" by Stephen Leacock

All right, so Canada doesn't have much of a literature. At least, however, we have Lucy Maud Montgomery, and Michael O'Brien, and of course, Stephen Leacock. Yes, that master of humour is just as funny today as he was a hundred years ago, and I do believe it's time I gave him his due by posting something of his on this website. And no, it isn't "My Financial Career"!

*****

They were both what we commonly call successful businessmen--men with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings onfingers like sausages, and broad, comfortable waistcoats,a yard and a half round the equator. They were seatedopposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant,and had fallen into conversation while waiting to givetheir order to the waiter. Their talk had drifted backto their early days and how each had made his start inlife when he first struck New York.

"I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I shall never forget my first few years in this town. By George, it was pretty uphill work! Do you know, sir, when I first struck this place, I hadn't more than fifteen cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up in, and all the place I had to sleep in--you won't believe it, but it's a gospel fact just the same--was an empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, leaning back and closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite experience, "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like you has simply no idea what sleeping out in a tar barrel and all that kind of thing is like."

"My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "ifyou imagine I've had no experience of hardship of that sort, you never made a bigger mistake in your life. Why,when I first walked into this town I hadn't a cent, sir, not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for months and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind a factory. Talk about hardship, I guess I had it pretty rough! You take a fellow that's used to a good warm tar barrel and put him into a piano box for a night or two,and you'll see mighty soon--"

"My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation,"you merely show that you don't know what a tar barrel's like. Why, on winter nights, when you'd be shut in there in your piano box just as snug as you please, I used to lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in at the bunghole at the back."

"Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh,"draught! Don't talk to me about draughts. This box I speak of had a whole darned plank off it, right on thenorth side too. I used to sit there studying in the evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And yet, sir," he continued more quietly, "though I knowyou'll not believe it, I don't mind admitting that some of the happiest days of my life were spent in that same old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent days, I can tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings and fairly shout with high spirits. Of course, you may not be able to stand that kind of life--"

"Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand it! By gad! I'm made for it. I just wish I had a taste of the old life again for a while. And as for innocence!Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as innocent as I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand old life it was! You'll swear this is a darned lie and refuse to believe it--but I can remember evenings when I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd sit round and play pedro by a candle half the night."

"Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've known half a dozen of us to sit down to supper in my piano box, and have a game of pedro afterwards; yes, and charades and forfeits, and every other darned thing. Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, you fellows round this town who have ruined your digestions with high living, have no notion of the zest with whicha man can sit down to a few potato peelings, or a bit ofbroken pie crust, or--"

"Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess I know all about that. Many's the time I've breakfastedoff a little cold porridge that somebody was going to throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone round to a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that theyintended for the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten more hog's food--"


"Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely on the table, "I tell you hog's food suits me better than--"

He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as the waiter appeared with the question:
"What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?"

"Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "Dinner! Oh, anything, nothing--I never care what I eat--give me a little cold porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of salt pork--anything you like, it's all the same to me."

The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson.

"You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he said, with a defiant look at Jones; "Yesterday's, if you have it, and a few potato peelings and a glass of skim milk."

There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked hard across at Robinson. For some moments the two men gazed into each other's eyes with a stern, defiant intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his seat and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the muttered order on his lips.

"Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess I'll change that order a little. Instead of that cold porridge I'll take--um, yes--a little hot partridge. Andyou might as well bring me an oyster or two on the halfshell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, anything), and perhaps you might fetch along a dab offish, and a little peck of Stilton, and a grape, or a walnut."

The waiter turned to Jones.

"I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added;"and you might bring a quart of champagne at the same time."

And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory of the tar barrel and the piano box is buried as far out of sight as a home for the blind under a landslide.

Barnaby Rudge Continues

Well, as some of you may know, I've been working away on a screenplay for sometime, on and off. The goal is to produce a faithful, six episode miniseries of Charles Dickens' "Barnaby Rudge". At present I am in the second episode and somewhat revising the first. I have to say, I am very fond of the way I'm pulling Barnby himself off, though i can't find much of interest to do with Gabriel Varden. Why must he be so necessarily - normal? Oh well, it is all Dickens' fault for publishing the novel as a serial, and thinking at first that boring old Varden would be the main character at first. Thankfully, he'll change his mind soon- I hope. I'm going to try to find a way of focusing more on Barnaby in the first couple of episodes than happens in the book.

At any rate, I'm going to turn it over to Lady Clare, the Captain, and another friend of ours whom I will call Gonzalo, after the character he is playing in our production of "The Tempest". They are graciously going to red pen it for me, so that I can improve my poor little unfinished screenplay. I will only be giving them approximately a quarter to a half of the first epsiode. See if it would actually catch anyone's interest were it to hit the screen. All three of them are splendid writers, I must add. We are all members of "The Weavers", our campus Writers' Club, which Captain Quicksilver founded. However, this post is getting dreadfully dull, but it fulfills my urge to type something up for "The Minstrel". I doubt anyone actually reads this - oh well. I shall be like the barber who whispered to the reeds, "Our prince has donkey's ears!" soully for his own good.

Anyway, at present we have Barnaby dashing through the fields to deliver a message to the Warren, Mr. Chester riding in his carriage (accompanied by suitably ominous music), the Maypolers sitting about in their tavern being country bumpkins and knowing everything, and Sim Tappertit about to attend a secret underground meeting of the prentice kngihts, plotting the day when they'll overthrow everything...

St. Francis Was a Minstrel Too!

Well, as you have no doubt noticed, this blog has completely changed it garments. Indeed, like a religious, it has taken on a new name. I have decided that from now on it shall be known as "The Minstrel", partly in honour of St. Francis. I ran across this wonderful excerpt from "God's Troubadour - The Story of St. Francis of Assisi" today, and have decided to post it for your pleasure.

The Young Soldier

“Content to take his adventure gladly.”- Hakluyt

“Stone walls do not a prison make,Nor iron bars a cage.” - Lovelace

There were many and terrible wars in Italy in the thirteenth century, and the chance of trying his fortune as a soldier was not long in coming to Francis Bernardone.

Only fifteen miles away from Assisi stands a larger city, called Perugia. It also is built upon a mountain, and the two towns seem to smile at each other across the green valley. But for hundreds of years there were only bitter looks and hatred between the two. Perugia, higher and stronger, lay like a dragon, ready to spring upon her small but furious enemy. Assisi, like a lion’s cub, was always ready to fight. Sometimes the lion was victor; always it was fierce enough to make the huge dragon writhe with pain.

When Francis Bernardone was about twenty years old, there was war between the great dragon and the little lion. Down from one mountain came the Perugian army. Down from the other came that of Assisi. With the army of Assisi rode Francis and most of the company of friends who had been so merry together in times of peace. They were gay as ever, and eager to see what a real battle might be like.

The armies met in the plain, and fought by the river side, near a tiny town called Ponte San Giovanni, the Bridge of Saint John. This time the Perugians were too strong for the Assisans, and the young soldier’s first combat was a defeat. One day taught him all the horror of a field of battle. He saw men wounded and dying. He heard the terrified cries of riderless horses. He suffered from blinding sun and parching thirst. War, that he had thought so noble and glorious, seemed somehow confused and cruel and hideous.

The army of Assisi lost heavily that day. Many men were slain, many were made prisoners, and one of the prisoners was Francis Bernardone. He was too tired, too hungry and too thirsty to feel anything keenly except the need of sleep and food; yet he wondered how it had all happened. Could he be the same man who had gone about for days delighting in the song of a warlike Troubadour: “Luck to the arm that’s quickest, And, if at odds ye strive,Die where the field is thickest,But never yield alive”?

He knew that he had not been a coward. He had not even been afraid, yet here he was unarmed and captive.

Because of his beautiful dress, and because of his courtly manners, Francis was placed, not among the common soldiers, but among the nobles. For a whole year he was a prisoner of war. It must have been a sad change from the free, wild life in Assisi. Captives, even if of noble rank, were not softly treated in old times; and, though Francis and his companions may not have suffered serious hardships, the long confinement was, in itself, a cruel thing to bear. On Francis Bernardone, however, his misfortune sat lightly. The army of Perugia could not make a captive of his fancy. His fellow-prisoners were astonished to hear him tell of his hopes and plans for the future; of the battles he should fight; of the fame he should win; of the beautiful ladies who should smile on him. The brave knights whom he admired, Gawain, Tristram and Lancelot, had sometimes fallen into prison, but had won their way out again, to fight better than before. So Francis still dreamed of war and glory, and boasted in his pride: “You will see that, some day, all the world will adore me.”

Though he was proud and boastful, Francis was still gentle-hearted, and quick to feel sympathy for all who were unhappy. Among the prisoners of war was one man so vain and ill-tempered that his companions would have nothing to do with him. The unfortunate creature sat gloomily apart, with a black frown on his face, and with black thoughts in his mind. The songs and jests and games with which the others whiled away the long hours made him seem all the lonelier in his silent corner. The sight of the sad, bitter face was more than Francis could bear. Many times he slipped away from the noisy group of his comrades to speak cheerily to the solitary knight, and, little by little, with the friendliness that no one was ever known to resist, he won the heart of the miserable man. Through the good-will of the boy whom everybody loved, the victim and his tormentors in the end became friends once more, and there was peace in the great prison.
All through the long winter, from across the valley, the sad eyes of the Lady Pica watched the towers of Perugia. In her heart she questioned what might have been her boy’s fate. Was he ill, and suffering and lonely? When would he come back to her? She seemed still to hear him singing, as on the morning when he had ridden out so blithely to his first battle:

“Comrades, let each be readyTo give and take his part;Shields bright and lances steady, And all men glad of heart.”

If the breeze that swept down the long valley from Perugia could have carried the prisoner’s merry voice, the mother might have been somewhat comforted.

In prison or out of it, the heart of Francis of Assisi was always the heart of the poet, the Troubadour. Because his companions remembered gratefully the songs and laughter that brightened their captivity, the story of his gaiety has come down to us across seven hundred years.

Here We Go Again

Call me irresponsible. Call me unreliable. But here I am again after a long absence. Settling into college has really overturned things, and at long last, here I am again after months. Let's see, what ought I to say?

Well, let's see. If I'm going to be talking about students around here, I'd better come up with some nomenclatures I can use to refer to them in the future without breaking security, and having to be arrested by the secret police and tortured until I recant. :)

OK, here are a few people who might be mentioned several times:

Aristotle - One of my brothers. All my siblings are presently at home, and I miss them very much. Aristotle is studious, imaginative, and has a wonderful sense of humour. He loves to cram as much information into his mind as possible. He's the Library of Alexandria, I'm telling you. I love him!

Faramir - Another brother. Faramir is just like his namesake - rather quiet and thoughtful, but one of high courage and very skilled in the ways of the world outdoors. He loves to read, and is extremely kind and generous. I love him!

Lucy Pevensie - My sister. Very energetic, curious, and full of life! Loves pretty much all the same things I do - Books, drama, humour, opera, writing, all that. She is a beautiful girl, and I'm so glad that when I'm home, God gave me such a wonderful sister to share a room with. I love her!

My Mama and Daddy - I suppose those are generic enough names, what? Absolutely wonderful man and wife, great parents, devoted to God and everything great and good. Humourous, patient, fun, kind...After our Father in Heaven and the Blessed Mother, the best parents.

Lady Clare - I am naming this very charming classmate of this because it the name of her character in a series of impromptu plays we've been enjoying around here whenever we can. A very charming, funloving maiden who loves books (GKC!), writing, craziness, dancing, her faith, and a myriad of other fascinating things.

Captain Quicksilver - Again, a name from the London Coast Tapestry. Lest there be any confusion, she is also a lady, though of the sort to swing a cutlass and ship a handspike. The Captain loves books (GKC!), writing, craziness, oh, wait, we did this already, didn't we? Well and good I stopped when i did, though, for she is no dancer, though she is a duellist, and as we were remarking just the other night, a dance is in many ways very like a duel.

As more occur to me, I'll add them. Now, what of today?

How many random things have I done in the last 48 hours?

- Went into the Musical Residence, pulled out some short ropes, and sat down to read the newspaper. The Captain walked in suspiciously and accused me of being up to something. I waved the ropes about and declared I was up to nothing. She seemed unconvinced.

- Swordfought an invisible opponent using a ruler.

- Sat in a bits of classes that I'm not enroleld in for the fun of it.

- Attended a Flowery Residence meeting that was scheduled for 11:00 at night (!)

- Wrote a message in Italian on a blackboard

- Sang and made up verses to "Blow the Man Down" while doing chores. That song is splendid for making up your own sea stories - Aristotle and I love to sing it together at home.

- Sang another sea song of which I only know one verse, because I've only heard the beginning from "Master and Commander"

- Applauded a Crusade on Meatballs, declared on the anniversary of the convocation of the First Crusade

- Watched "This is My Idea" and "Practice, Practice, Practice" from The Swan Princess. A couple of girls is my house were atching it. Despite being a college student, I still have a soft spot for some animated movies, and The Swan Princess is right up there with Beauty and the Beast and The Prince of Egypt.

NOTE: Studying, attending classes, going to Mass and such, are not included on this list. I do them in abundance,
but they are not random. I'll post about the serious things another time. I need to go to lunch now.

God bless you!
Non mihi, Domine, sed Nomine Tuo da gloriam.

BOOK REVIEW: The Autobiography of a Hunted Priest"

Oh, and a Black as Night Signature

You won't get it unless you read the book "Black as Night" by Regina Doman. Here's the first chapter.

Signatures and Avatars

Ok, the formatting has come out a little bit strangely, but there they are, ready to transfer to the forums. I'm sure most of you know this, but the sources for these pieces are Master and Commander, Hidalgo, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, A&E's Emma, The Neverending Story, Persuasion (Amanda Root), Sense and Sensibility (Emma Thompson), BBC The Old Curiosity Shop, and Amazing Grace.

In Memory of Jane Austen

We will now have two minutes of silence in memory of the finest author of the Napoleonic/Regency era, Jane Austen. However, since most people read in silence, it will be unnessecary for me to pause in any way. Yes, today, on the eighteenth of July, the one thousandth, eight hundredth and seventeenth year of Our Lord, that genius of wit, romance, and sheer delight passed aay, with no children fo her own but her sweet writings, who are alive and well even now.

In honour of this great author, I wish to post a couple of excerpts from her juvenilia. Jane wrote "The History of England" at the age of fifteen, for her own amusement and that of her family, completeing it November, 1791. One can see her sense of humour was alive long before she put it to work in her adult works. Beneath, if one scrolls down, one will find an exceedingly short play, "The Mystery - An Unfinished Comedy", which, I believe, she wrote when she was twelve. Enjoy! (Please note that in the interest of space, I have posted only exceprts from "The History".

**************************
Exceprts from

"The History of England From the Reign fo Henry the 4th to the Death of Charles the 1st"

By a partial, prejudiced, & ignorant Historian.To Miss Austen, eldest daughter of the Revd. George Austen, this Work is inscribed with all due respect by
The Author

N.B. There will be very few Dates in this History.

Henry the 4th

HENRY the 4th ascended the throne of England much to his own satisfaction in the year 1399, after having prevailed on his cousin & predecessor Richard the 2d to resign it to him, & to retire for the rest of his Life to Pomfret Castle, where he happened to be murdered. It is to be supposed that Henry was married, since he had certainly four sons, but it is not in my power to inform the Reader who was his Wife. Be this as it may, he did not live for ever, but falling ill, his son the Prince of Wales came and took away the crown; whereupon the King made a long speech, for which I must refer the Reader to Shakespear's Plays, & the Prince made a still longer. Things being thus settled between them, the King died, & was succeeded by his son Henry who had previously beat Sir William Gascoigne.

Henry the 5th

THIS Prince, after he succeeded to the throne, grew quite reformed & Amiable, forsaking all his dissipated Companions, & never thrashing Sir William again. During his reign, Lord Cobham was burnt alive, but I forget what for. His Majesty then turned his thoughts to France, where he went & fought the famous Battle of Agincourt. He afterwards married the King's daughter Catherine, a very agreable Woman by Shakespear's account. In spite of all this, however, he died, and was succeeded by his son Henry.

Henry the 6th

I CANNOT say much for this Monarch's Sense -- Nor would I if I could, for he was a Lancastrian. I suppose you know all about the Wars between him and & The Duke of York, who was of the right side; If you do not, you had better read some other History, for I shall not be very diffuse in this, meaning by it only to vent my Spleen against, & shew my hatred to all those people whose parties or principles do not suit with mine, and not to give information. [...] There were several Battles between the Yorkists & Lancastrians, in which the former (as they ought) usually conquered. [...]

Edward the 4th

THIS Monarch was famous only for his Beauty & his Courage, of which the Picture we have here given of him, & his undaunted Behaviour in marrying one Woman while he was engaged to another, are sufficient proofs. [...] One of Edward's Mistresses was Jane Shore, who has had a play written about her, but it is a tragedy & therefore not worth reading. [...]

Henry the 7th

[...] His Majesty died, & was succeeded by his son Henry, whose only merit was his not being quite so bad as his daughter Elizabeth.

Henry the 8th

IT would be an affront to my Readers were I to suppose that they were not as well acquainted with the particulars of this King's reign as I am myself. It will therefore be saving them the task of reading again what they have read before, & myself the trouble of writing what I do not perfectly recollect, by giving only a slight sketch of the principal Events which marked his reign. Among these may be ranked Cardinal Wolsey's telling the father Abbott of Leicester Abbey that "he was come to lay his bones among them", the reformation in Religion, & the King's riding through the Streets of London with Anna Bullen. It is however but Justice, & my Duty to declare that this amiable Woman was entirely innocent of the Crimes with which she was accused, of which her Beauty, her Elegance, & her Sprightliness were sufficient proofs, not to mention her solemn protestations of Innocence, the weakness of the Charges against her, and the king's Character; all of which add some confirmation, tho' perhaps but slight ones when in comparison with those before alledged in her favour. Tho' I do not profess giving many dates, yet as I think it proper to give some & shall of course make choice of those which it is most necessary for the Reader to know, I think it right to inform him that her letter to the King was dated on the 6th of May. The Crimes & Cruelties of this Prince were too numerous to be mentioned (as this history I trust has fully shown); & nothing can be said in his vindication, but that his abolishing Religious Houses & leaving them to the ruinous depredations of time has been of infinite use to the landscape of England in general, which probably was a principal motive for his doing it, since otherwise why should a Man who was of no Religion himself be at so much trouble to abolish one which had for Ages been established in the Kingdom? His Majesty's 5th wife was the Duke of Norfolk's Neice who, tho' universally acquitted of the crimes for which she was beheaded, has been by many people supposed to have led an abandoned Life before her Marriage -- of this, however, I have many doubts, since she was a relation of that noble Duke of Norfolk who was so warm in the Queen of Scotland's cause, & who at last fell a victim to it. The king's last wife contrived to survive him, but with difficulty effected it. He was succeeded by his only son Edward.

Edward the 6th

As this prince was only nine years old at the time of his Father's death, he was considered by many people as too young to govern, & the late King happening to be of the same opinion, his mother's Brother, the Duke of Somerset, was chosen Protector of the realm during his minority. [...] He was beheaded, of which he might with reason have been proud, had he known that such was [to be] the death of Mary Queen of Scotland; but as it was impossible that He should be conscious of what had never happened, it does not appear that he felt particularly delighted with the manner of it. [...]

James the 1st

[...] His Majesty was of that amiable disposition which inclines to Freindships, & in such points was possessed of a keener perception in Discovering Merit than many other people. I once heard an excellent Sharade on a Carpet, of which the subject I am now on reminds me, and as I think it may afford my Readers some Amusement to find it out, I shall here take the liberty of presenting it to them:

SHARADE [sic]
My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on my whole.

The principal favourites of his Majesty were Car, who was afterwards created Earl of Somerset and whose name may have some share in the above mentioned Sharade, & George Villiers, afterwards Duke of Buckingham. On his Majesty's death he was succeeded by his son Charles.

Charles the 1st

[...] The Events of this Monarch's reign are too numerous for my pen, and indeed the recital of any Events (except what I make myself) is uninteresting to me; my principal reason for undertaking the History of England being to prove the innocence of the Queen of Scotland, which I flatter myself with having effectually done, and to abuse Elizabeth, tho' I am rather fearful of having fallen short in the latter part of my Scheme. -- As therefore it is not my intention to give any particular account of the distresses into which this King was involved through the misconduct & Cruelty of his Parliament, I shall satisfy myself with vindicating him from the Reproach of Arbitrary & tyrannical Government with which he has often been Charged. This, I feel, is not difficult to be done, for with one argument I am certain of satisfying every sensible & well disposed person whose opinions have been properly guided by a good Education -- & this Argument is that he was a Stuart.

Finis
Saturday Nov: 26th 1791

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THE MYSTERY

An Unfinished Comedy

DEDICATION

To the Rev'd George Austen

Sir, I humbly solicit your patronage to the following comedy, which tho' an unfinished one, I flatter my self as complete a mystery as any of its kind.

I am, Sir, your most Humble Servant,

The Author

ACT THE FIRST

Scene the first - A Garden

Enter CORYDON

CORY.: But hush! I am interrupted! (Exit CORYDON. Enter OLD HUMBUG and his son, talking.)

OLD HUM.: It is for this reason I wish you to follow my advice. Are you convinced of it propriety?

YOUNG HUM.: I am, sir, and will certainly act in the manner you have pointed out to me.

OLD HUM.: Then let us return to the house.( (Exeunt)

Scene the second - A Parlor in the Humbugs' House

MRS. HUMBUG and FANNY discovered at work.

MRS. HUM.: You understand me, my love?

FANNY: Perfectly, Madam. Pray continue your narrative.

MRS. HUM.: Alas, it is nearly concluded, for I have nothing more to say on the subject.

FANNY: Ah! Here's DAPHNE.

DAPHNE: My dear Mrs. Humbug how d'ye do? Oh! Fanny, 'tis all over!

FANNY: Is it indeed!

MRS. HUM.: I'm very sorry to hear it.

FANNY: Then t'was to no purpose that I...

DAPHNE: None upon Earth.

MRS. HUM.: What's to become of...?

DAPHNE: Oh! That's all settled. (Whispers Mrs. HUMBUG)

FANNY: And how is it determined?

DAPHNE: I'll tell you. (Whispers FANNY)

MRS. HUM.: And he is to...?

DAPHNE: I'll tell you all I know fo the matter. (Whispers MRS. HUMBUG and FANNY)

FANNY: Well, now I know everything about it, I'll go away. (Exit)

MRS. HUMBUG and DAPHNE: And so will I. (Exeunt)

Scene the third

The curtain rises and discovers Sir Edward Spangle, reclined in an elegant attitude on a sofa, fast asleep.

Enter COLONEL ELLIOT.

COL: My daughter is not here, I see. There lies Sir Edward. Shall I tell him the secret? No, he'll certainly blab it. But he is asleep, and won't hear me. So I'll e'en venture. (Goes up to SIR EDWARD, whispers him, and exit)

END OF THE FIRST ACT

FINIS

Oh, and incidentally...

It just occurred to me that few of those viewing my blog probably know what I look like, so...

Chesterton for Beginners

In the comments box on the previous post, I see that Raewyn has asked my opinion on which books would be the best launching pad for those who are only just embarking on the adventure known as G. K. Chesterton. He's rightly been called the 'biggest author of the twentieth century'. This name is fitting not only for the obvious reason of his physical size, but because he wrote over a hundred books in his lifetime, not to mention hundreds and hundreds of articles for G.K.'s Weekly, The Illustrated London News, and numerous other periodicals. It can be a bit daunting for necomer. If they've heard of him at all, they've probably heard from friends that Chesterton is spectacular, but that is not enough information. What one shoudl really know is, where do I start among that vast sea of Chestertonia?

Let me being by saying that there are a few diehard Chesterton fans who will tell you, "The Everlasting Man is the most thought-provoking, amzing book Chesterton ever wrote. Start there." But all I can say is - don't. Please don't. I beg you, don't start with The Everlasting Man. Because if you do you will get a false impression of what Chesterton is like, and the chances are about 1 in 500 that you'll enjoy it the first time through. Wait on that one. Don't get me wrong, it is great, but it is notorious for giving even devoted Chesterton fans doubts about him.

In my opinion, the best inroduction to Chesterton is through one of two doors.

The first door is through his novels. I say this because they have everything Chestertonian (solid Christianity, laugh-a-minute humour, political arguments, apologetics, swordfights, redheads, pubs, cheese, wine, and rum), and also compelling plots, drama and characters that one expects from a novel. He's written quite a few, but I would reccomend one of the following to start off with - choose whichever appeals to you:

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The Napoleon of Notting Hill - This was Chesterton's first novel, written in 1904, but set eighty years later, in a fictional 1984 (and yes, it is coincidental that it's the same year picked by George Orwell). At this point in English history, people don't care a great deal about politics, and now run on a new system - alphabetic despotism. That is, they have a list of everyone in London arranged alphabetically, and every time a king dies they go to the next letter and select a new king whose name begins with that letter at random. And in this particular instance, chance has it that Auberon Quin, a man who lives for nothing but jokes and pranks, should be picked. In no time he has turned modern England into a Medieval parody, and out of this confusion rises one Adam Wayne, the only man in England who believes there may be a method in this madness, and is ready to go to war over it.

The Man Who Was Thursday - Chesterton's most famous novel, this is a fast-paced tale of a Victorian police detective who unwittingly infiltrates a circle of anarchists plotting to overthrow the country! Each of this men goes only by the name of one of the days of the week (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc.). Finding himself to be Thursday's succesor, the detective sets out to bring the anarchists to justice and discover the identity of their mysterious leader, Sunday. But who are these men, and are they more than they seem?

Manalive - It's been called the most Chestertonian of all his fiction. In this tail, a staid and boring London boarding house invaded by Innocent Smith, who seems to be a little out of his mind, but who certainly lives up to his Christian name. Imagine their surprise when they find that the sweet, baby-faced Smith has been accused of practically every crime in the book! Why was he seen shooting a gun at a professor hanging out of a window at Oxford university? Why did he invite a couple of parsons to break into a house with him? Why did he run off with a series of ladies named Miss White, Miss Black, Miss Brown, Miss Green, and Miss Gray? The 'slogan' of the book is one absolutely every Christian in this modern world should remember - "Break the conventions, keep the commandments!"

The Ball and the Cross - When a hotheaded Highland Catholic challenges and atehist English newspaperman to a duel for the honour of the Blessed Mother, the adventure is only just beginning. Pursued by the police by land and by sea, MacIan and Turnbull are determined to fight out their differences, by tongue and by sword. They run into an array of characters, who wish either to help or harm them. And what does all this have to do with a flying machine bearing a professor named Lucifer and a monk named Fr. Michael? Read it and find out!

The Flying Inn - Set in an Edwardian "future", this tale chronicles how the Muslims take over Great Britain and outlaw, among other things, the consumption of alcohol. All the inns and pubs in the land ar closed by the government. It is thus that Patrick Dalroy, an enthusiastic Irishman, and his innkeeping friend, Humphrey Pump, concieve the idea of "The Flying Inn". Armed with a barrel of rum, and wheel of cheese, and an inn sign, travel the country, fleeing the forces of the powerhungry Lord Ivywood, and discovering that there is more to the new governments agenda that religious acceptance.

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Absolutely marvelous, every one of them.

However, if you're a fan of non-fiction, you may wish to start with soem of Chesterton's, whimsical, humourous, though-provoking forays into that realm. I never knew essays could be so entertaining before I met GK.

Here are the three I particularly reccomend:

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Tremendous Trifles - Essays about everything, ranging from 'trifling' like running after one's hat, to the highest ideals like God's will for man. Everything under the sun. Wonderful.

On Lying in Bed and Other Essays - This one is actually an anthology of his work, not arranged by the man himself. Otherwise, ditto to the above.

Orthodoxy - This was my first Chesterton novel, which gave me a great appreciation of him, although it didn't get me hooked (The Man Who Was Thursday did that). This deals with two subjects. First it dispels the myth that orthodox, faithful Christianity is dull. Rather, says Chesterton, it is the most exciting and daring adventure known to man. He also discusses his own conversion expereince, and how he came to Christianity because it was such a paradox. Of course, in classic Chestertonian fashion, he rambles into other subjects too - Why mathematicians go mad and not poets, the ethics of elfland, and many others.

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Of course, you can always opt for the shrotest Chesterton work of all but first, a word about it. You see, a newspaper was running a contest asking for people to write articles on what was wrong with the world, the best to be awarded a cash prize. Chesterton wrote a letter running thus:


Dear Sirs,

I am.

Sincerely yours,
G.K. Chesterton


Needless to say, he won.