Tuesday, March 31, 2015

GETTING STUCK



It is probably a natural symptom of intellectual decay but I have recently got stuck. I had to abandon reading George Eliot’s Middlemarch after about 150 pages. I enjoy reading but in time I shied away from even looking at my copy of the novel. I shuddered, allowed myself to be distracted into completing crosswords or scanning magazines instead of doing my duty and reading George Eliot. For weeks I was wracked with guilt at my dereliction and feebly self-justified my actions by saying I disliked the heroine Dorothea Brooke and her involvement with the dashing doctor Tertius Lydgate and enigmatic Will Ladislaw. But the blame lies entirely with me, not with George Eliot. In the dim and distant I recall struggling a little with The Mill on the Floss but I had loved Silas Marner. Maybe if I had seen the admired 1994 BBC TV adaptation of Middlemarch, I would have been better prepared, but more likely I am just a disengaged lost cause.

Will and Dorothea in BBC's Middlemarch
I only recall getting stuck in this way once before. About four years ago I had to abandon The Problem of Pain by C.S.Lewis. I had expected some sparkling theology on the lines of The Screwtape Letters but this was heavier fare and I found it indigestible. Speaking to my splendid son, Eddy, he confessed to getting stuck on Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, which I had recommended, and on Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, which I like him had found too declamatory but I persevered to the bitter end. Talking to Eddy reassured me that the agile-minded also sometimes got stuck and I was perhaps not yet going totally gaga.


I suppose we all get stuck in some way or another – there were after all the three, some say seven, old ladies who got famously stuck in the lavatory! The stick-in-the-mud is a familiar figure, he who has little capacity for fun and who is immobile and unenterprising. Avoid him, he is an enemy of that conviviality which warms our hearts and enlivens our existence.


My butterfly mind flits on to the stuck pig. Pig-sticking (or boar hunting if you prefer) was an enthusiasm of the Ancients as many an old carved relief will testify. Popular throughout medieval Europe until wild boar became rare, pig-sticking was a cherished equestrian sport of Asians and of the British Army in India. Wild boar are a fierce and dangerous quarry and pig-sticking was a particular passion of Robert Baden-Powell, famed founder of the Scouts. He wrote a book in 1924 about this sport and to those who denounced it as cruel he explained:


 "Try it before you judge. See how the horse enjoys it, see how the boar himself, mad with rage, rushes wholeheartedly into the scrap, see how you, with your temper thoroughly roused, enjoy the opportunity of wreaking it to the full. Yes, hog-hunting is a brutal sport—and yet I loved it, as I loved also the fine old fellow I fought against." 


Willie Rushton suggested that Baden-Powell's love of pig-sticking is a good reason for any self-respecting Boy Scout to "hand in his woggle and garters” and for sure it is not nowadays a politically correct activity!


Returning to “getting stuck” it will be evident to my long-suffering readers that I do not suffer much from writers' block. Whatever may obstruct my reading, my writing tumbles on and on like an unrelenting torrent. Conjuring up a suitable subject, I summon up some gumption and promptly “get stuck in!”



SMD
31.03.15
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2015.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

ROCOCO IN FRANCE AND ITALY



This is my tenth and final piece on the Rococo style I enjoy so much. I have written on the tremendous Rococo treasures in Germany, especially Southern Germany, in Central and Eastern Europe, touched on those in Spain and her old Empire and celebrated the great Rococo collections of England. This brief article sketches in some of the surviving Rococo glories of France and 18th century Italy.

The Triumph of Galatea by Jean-Baptiste van Loo (1720)


The Embarkation for Cythera by Antoine Watteau (1719)

The term “Rococo” was invented by the French, as a combination of Rocailles (stones) and Coquilles (sea-shells). It was often used disparagingly but the style, a witty and graceful extension of the overpowering Baroque, soon became the mode and influenced many art forms. One of the most striking French manifestations of the Rococo spirit is in the world of painting with the compositions of Watteau, Fragonard, Boucher, Lancret and van Loo. These works were often fantastical, heavy with classical allusion, carefree and patrician. Another notable French medium for Rococo was in porcelain, where delicate sculpture was perfected in biscuit colour by the Sèvres factories, especially by the master Etienne Maurice Falconet.

Falconet: The Teaching of Love

Sevres Rococo candle-holders
            

Rococo is associated with the long absolutist reign of Louis XV (1723-74): Mme de Pompadour was an eager patroness. The French, being ever-fashionable, in time dropped the Rococo style for the later revolutionary and Napoleonic certainties of Neo-Classicism. They were astonished when English collectors paid good money for “yesterday’s art” in the 1820’s salerooms.


Italy took to Rococo in many fields, not least in architecture. Italy was fragmented into at least 8 sovereign states and each had its own cultural idiosyncrasies. The House of Savoy ruled in Piedmont and in 1729 commissioned the talented architect Filippo Juvarra to build the lavish Royal Hunting Lodge of Stupinigi outside Turin. This is an astonishing Rococo interior to a Baroque exterior serving as the main reception palace for Savoy state functions.

Stupinigi Hunting Lodge, Turin

In the Spanish Bourbon fiefdom of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, Rococo flowered in the delicate, fanciful porcelain produced by the Capodimonte factories outside Naples from 1743. 

Porcelain decoration at Capodimonte Palace
Rococo found a natural home in surrealistic Venice, then in 18th century decline, but still ruled by her Doge and replete with cultural icons. The great painter Gianbattista Tiepolo, whose apotheoses enliven many a church and who had lavished his genius on the Bishop’s Palace at Würzburg, was commissioned in 1746 to produce the lovely frescoed Ballroom at the Palazzo Labia depicting the love of Antony and Cleopatra. Appropriately this Rococo palace was the venue for one of the 20th century’s last great costumed balls in 1953 attended by the “glitterati” including Dali, Christian Dior and launching the career of Pierre Cardin. 

Palazzo Labia, Venice, with frescoes by Tiepolo

My pieces on Rococo are those of an enthusiastic amateur and not those of a scholar. I know that I have only provided a glimpse of this ravishing style but I hope I have stimulated some to visit and enjoy these lovely places and objects. From pilgrimage churches to monastic libraries, from palaces to chapels, from porcelain figurines to paintings, desks and snuff-boxes, the Rococo spirit brings grace and joy to enrich our lives.



SMD
28.03.15
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2015

Friday, March 27, 2015

DAVID LIVINGSTONE and MARY SLESSOR: Famous Scots (3)



[This is the third in a series describing Scots who won distinction outside their native land]


At my Scottish prep school we had three school houses, Nelson, Scott and Livingstone. Everyone knows the great Admiral of Trafalgar, or the leader of the tragic expedition to the Antarctic, but the Scots missionary and African explorer is now a fading historical figure. Yet he was hugely celebrated in Victorian Britain. Mary Slessor was then less well known but she is now admired as the epitome of feminine grit, charity and fortitude.

David Livingstone
Mary Slessor


David Livingstone (1813 – 73) was born in the Lanarkshire mill-town of Blantyre, South of Glasgow, into a working class family of 6. His father worked in the cotton mill, but was an ardent Protestant Congregationalist handing out tracts and determined to educate his children. David started work at the mill aged 10 but was schooled in the evenings. He was interested in science and medicines and wanted to study to become a doctor. His father would have preferred him to read theology and to confine himself to one book, namely the Bible. David much cherished the writings of Scots minister Thomas Dick who tried to reconcile Christianity with Victorian scientific discoveries. They agreed between them in 1836 that David would study medicine and theology at Anderson’s College in Glasgow (now part of Strathclyde University). He finished his education as a doctor at various medical schools in London, while simultaneously training as a missionary preacher at a church in Ongar, Essex.


Livingstone was an indifferent preacher but the London Missionary Society took him on for his medical knowledge and in 1841 he was sent to a mission station in modern Botswana, near to the Kalahari Desert. He focussed his interest on travelling into and mapping the African Interior, spreading Christianity and preventing the brutal exploitation of Africans by Arab slave traders. He married Mary Moffat, daughter of another Southern Africa missionary, in 1845. They were to have two children, delivered in the Interior by David.


In his first expedition 1849-51 he sighted the then unknown Upper Zambesi and in 1852 he embarked on a 4-year expedition to cross Central and Southern Africa, “opening up” large tracts to contemporary geographers and colonists. In 1855 he became the first European to set eyes on Victoria Falls and in 1856 he found the mouth of the Zambesi on the Indian Ocean. He returned a feted hero to Britain.


His missionary efforts achieved little. The African tribes had their own gods but the native kings of the Interior, beset by Arab slavers, at least did not fear unarmed Livingstone who preached earnestly from the back of his wagon. He was actually useful with his knowledge of obstetrics and his ability to treat eye problems. The sum total of Livingstone’s converts was one, a certain Sechele, influential king of the Kwema people of Botswana. They became shaky Christian adherents as they often reverted to polygamy and rain-making rites, but it was a start.


The British government decided to sponsor Livingstone’s next expedition from 1858-64, to find if the Zambesi were navigable; it was not, as his earlier treks had not spotted the various rapids and cataracts making the river impassable. Livingstone was out of his depth managing a large expedition. He was secretive, self-righteous and moody, resenting any criticism. His own physician Dr John Kirk wrote scathingly “Dr Livingstone is out of his mind and is a most unsafe leader.” After several unfruitful excursions trying to map the river systems, the government recalled him, judging his expedition a failure.  He had been joined by his wife but she soon died of malaria in 1862.


He managed to raise the funds to launch his final expedition from 1866 to 1873. Resigning from the missionary society, he started from Zanzibar joining the likes of Burton and Speke to find the source of the Nile. Spurning advice, he mounted too small an expedition and his native bearers and sepoys soon melted away. He enjoyed being a loner but in his final years he was wracked by tropical fevers and dysentery. He was mortified that he had to be rescued by Arab slavers; he was later horrified to witness some 400 African slaves being massacred beside Lake Tanganyika. For several years nothing was heard of him and the New York Herald financed Welsh-born but US-based journalist Henry Morton Stanley to search him out. He duly found him in the Arab village of Ujiji, in modern Tanzania on 10 November 1871 with the famously polite greeting “Dr Livingstone, I presume!”

Stanley finds Livingstone in Ujiji
Although Livingstone was the first European to see important lakes in Central Africa, he did not find the source of the Nile. He died in Ilala in modern Zambia in May 1873. Hailed as a hero, his body lay in state at the Royal Geographical Society’s offices then at 1, Savile Row (now the tailoring emporium of Gieves & Hawkes) and he was buried with full pomp at Westminster Abbey.


As a proponent of Christian missionary work and a harbinger of the imperialist “scramble for Africa” Livingstone is an unfashionable figure these days. His courage and dour perseverance is beyond doubt, but there was an unclubbable, narrow and contrarian side to him seen still in plenty of other Scots. He makes a worthy but uncomfortable hero.



Livingstone and Slessor commemorated on Scots banknotes

Mary Slessor (1848-1915) was inspired by Livingstone’s example and may have done more tangible good. She was born in Aberdeen, daughter of a poor alcoholic shoemaker. Unable to find regular work, the family moved to Dundee, which has subsequently rather adopted Mary, and she, aged 11, and her now widowed mother worked in the famous jute mills there. 


Her story is easily told. Always drawn to charitable work and a devoted Presbyterian, Mary was inspired by news of the death of Livingstone and aged 28 was sent in 1876 to a missionary establishment in Calabar, a long established port in South Eastern Nigeria, to work with the local Efik people. Contracting malaria she was invalided home to Dundee in 1879.


She returned to Calabar in 1881. With her red hair and blue eyes she was a distinctive figure; she avoided the trappings of the European missionary, wearing African clothes, eating local food, learning to speak the local Efik language and living in an African mud-hut. Another bout of malaria made her return in 1884 to her mother and sister in Dundee, but they were ill too and died soon after.  Mary became a celebrity in church circles.


Mary returned to Nigeria finally and spent 15 years in the interior with the Okoyong people, thought to be a danger to Europeans. Her practical help and determination won them over. She made a particular point of helping twins, as a local superstition held that one of the twins was an evil spirit. The mother of twins was ostracised and the twins themselves left to die in the bush. Mary brought up a number of twins and adopted one girl called Janie. Mary also fought against the custom of human sacrifice after the death of a village elder, based on the notion that the dead man needed servants and retainers in the afterlife. 


Mary soft-pedalled evangelism and concentrated on settling disputes, encouraging trade and improving the status of women. She became a judge in the native court and was a cherished influence. Weakened by her persistent malaria, Mary finally died in Calabar in 1915. She had a colonial-style state funeral there and the famed pro-consul Sir Frederick Lugard in Lagos praised her unique contribution. Her centenary has this year been marked with honour in her adoptive Dundee.


Mary was a good woman and hers was a life well-lived.

SMD
27.03.15
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2015