Alceste moi

“My hate is general, I detest all men;
Some because they are wicked and do evil,
Others because they tolerate the wicked,
Refusing them the active vigorous scorn
Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds.”

- Molière

And so to the theatre. I have been to see an all-female production of Molière’s ‘The Misanthrope’, or more properly of Tony Harrison’s early 1970s updated translation. This version further changed things so that the circle in which hypocrisy was being practised was that of modern celebrity television chefs. Not being at all familiar with those being run down behind their backs - I was straining my ears in vain for mention of Fanny Craddock or the Galloping Gourmet - I was a bit lost at times.

You can't beat a bit of Fanny

However the energy of the verse speaking swept it all along most pleasurably. There were also some well-choreographed physical interludes among the rhyming, plus yet another prop inadvertency. Less intrusive than last week’s curtain problems the Michelin inspector’s peeling false moustache nevertheless caused just as much amusement. Of the three ladies I went with one loved the play and the other two weren’t so keen; they did like the shoes though.

The mould of the body and mind

"Always be a poet, even in prose." - Baudelaire

A couple of readers have offered me some tips and pointers regarding the blog. The first - well-intentioned no doubt, but someone who perhaps isn't as au fait with the world of toy soldiers as he might be - says cut out all the stuff about teak varnish. The second says avoid anything risqué and include more poetry. Excellent advice from both I think. Varnish I can take or leave, but I love poetry, and have always felt - and I say this in the greatest humility - that I shared certain traits with some of the great English poets of the early nineteenth century. Byron was disreputable, Shelley was left-wing, and Keats was extremely fond of Fanny.

Miss Brawne

So, here is a quote from a letter that Keats wrote to his fiancée:

 "My dear Girl I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you. I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest."

 "Tout ce qui n'est point prose, est vers; et tout ce qui n'est point vers, est prose." - Molière