Mercoledi Musicale (A Day Late)

In all probability I will be waxing lyrical about Venice in the next few days - I've been working on several posts - but in the meantime I thought I'd share one of my favourite artists singing the lyrical praises of one of my favourite cities.

One of the things I miss - amongst so many things - about living in Italy is the opportunity to hear singers like Anna Caterina Antonacci (left).  I was fortunate enough to see her on three occasions during my four years in Europe.  The first was in a searing portrayal of Medea in Cherubini's opera which opened the season in Torino in November of 2008.  Though I had reservations, serious reservations, about the production about Antonacci herself I had none - I loved her.

The second was a semi-staged performance of Gluck's Alceste with Gregory Kunde in Athens the following October.  My dear Fotis had insisted I fly over for it and as well as it being an opportunity to see him and visit my beloved Greece it allowed me to experience another facet of Antonacci's art.  Her grasp of the French style was masterful and the gentle nobility and sacrifice of Alceste - which can often seem, if terribly admirable, also terribly dull dull - had all the doubt and anguish that bargaining with death for the life of a loved one would draw from a human.  It was a remarkable evening made more so by the perfect interplay between Antonacci and Kunde.

It was made even more remarkable because Fotis led me backstage to say hello and congratulation both Mr Kunde and - gasp! - Anna Caterina - her ardent admirers often refer to her as AnnaCat, but as much as I adore her I can't bring myself to call her that.  Now I have a history of being less than tactful when meeting famous opera singers - I still have nightmares about the Marilyn Horne episode in 1986 - and this meeting was no exception.  In my stumbling efforts to say something other than "I adore you!" I muttered  that I really hadn't liked Hugo D'Ana's production in Torino - not her mind you but the production, which it turned out she liked very much!!!!  But Signora Antonacci, ignoring my awkward attempts at retrieval,  flashed me her wonderful smile and said that she would make it up to me by adding me to the guest list for an upcoming private concert in Rome at the American Academy.

And so I found myself wandering the beautiful grounds of Villa Aurelia on the Juniculum Hill on a cool but pleasant December evening; having coffee and chatting about Rossini with Philip Gossett , one of the leading authorities on 19^th century opera; and sitting with him and 40 other people in the gilt and white grand salon listening to Anna Caterina accompanied by Donald Sulzen in Echi della Belle Époque, a programme of songs by Fauré, Tosti, Cimara, Toscanini, Respighi and Zandonai.  It is an evolving programme that she and Sulzen have now presented in Europe and North America including a rare and much heralded appearance at New York's Lincoln Centre last month.  The programme had been well-thought out and beautifully performed with the Tosti English songs and Resphighi's Cinque canti all'antica as the highlights.

Anna Caterina Antonacci and Donald Sulzen after their concert at Wigmore Hall.
  Sulzen is a brilliant accompanist much in the Gerald Moore vein. At a reception
after the concert he talked a bit with me about how they had chosen the programme
- it was very much a collaborative effort.

The concert had opened with Fauré's Cinq mélodies de Venise so there was a taste of La Serenissima but it wasn't until a few months later that she added Reynaldo Hahn's Venezia cycle.  Of the two I realize that the Hahn is perhaps the more frivolous which is not a word I can ever imagine applying to Antonacci.  However she add a touched of perfumed erotica - and tongue in cheek tartness when needed - to Hahn's postcard-picturesque tales of moonlit nights on the lagoon.
I have only been able to find five of the six songs posted by yukio84 on YouTube; they are taken from a concert in Firenze this past March.  It may seem like quite a few videos but believe me they are worth it - I only wish that Primavera, the final song was available.

Sopra l'acqua indormenzata - Asleep on the water

A young lady is invited to accompany her lover on a gondola ride on the lagoon in the moonlight.  Her inamorata  is afraid that the moon will be jealous of her beauty - a beauty that is only enhanced by the gentle movement of the waves.  But he does warn her that "Tears will come soon enough, so now is the time for laughter and for love."

La barcheta - The Little Boat

Another lovesick swain takes his Ninetta out in the evening air in a gondola piloted by the silent, and obviously discreet, Toni. So discreet that the lover assures his beloved Ninetta that should the evening breezes cause her veil to lift and reveal her lovely breasts, that Toni is much too intent on plying his oar to pay any attention. Why he tells her, its almost like we are along here and anything could happen!

L'avertimento - The Warning

The lovely Nana has obviously broken the singer's heart.  Ah yes there are roses in her cheeks, her breasts are milky white and her voice gentle and sweet "but.. but.. but.. the lovely Nana has the heart of a tiger!"

La Biondina in gondoleta

As their gondola glides across the lagoon the lover rhapsodizes over the beauty of his "blonde" as she lays sleeping, her golden tresses floating in the water.  But he arouses her - from slumber and in other ways also it would appear as he declaims "God what wonderful things I said, what lovely things I did! Never again was I to be so happy in all my life."

Che pecà! - What a shame!

The gentleman assures the still-lovely (and one feels perhaps loved?) Nina that his days of seeing only her are long since gone. After all she is only a woman - and a fickle one at that so who really cares? But all the same "what a shame!"

That big sigh you heard was me - Anna Caterina and Venice!  Two of my treasured memories! 

10 May - 1849: Astor Place Riot: A riot breaks out at the Astor Opera House over a dispute between actors Edwin Forrest and William Charles Macready, killing at least 25 and injuring over 120.

Lunedi Lunacy

Back in the 50s when my father would take me downtown to the Imperial Theatre  (one of the grand old movie palaces in Toronto - marble sinks, two story high mirrored stairways, plush seats) to see first run movie amongst the most anticipated where anything with Danny Kaye.   Kaye was a master of the tongue twister, the slightly-frantic and the most wonderfully funny facial contortions that a 10 year old could ever want to see.

A true "movie palace" - the Imperial Theatre was pretty much this grand when my father and I went to see films there in the 1950s.  No longer used - as it was in this photo from the 1920s - as a vaudeville house it still retained all the grandeur that made a trip to the movies a special event.

On re-viewing its also apparent that his films were erudite, witty and never played down to their audience.  It was a time when "culture" wasn't considered a filthy word and if you included a ballet or operatic aria in your movie you weren't playing to the "elite".   Often the dance or musical interlude took the mickey out but in a loving, knowing way.

Perhaps the most spectacular dance sequences in any Kaye movie where those created for Zizi Jeanmarie and Erik Bruhn by Roland Petit (now that's class!) for Hans Christian Andersen that delightful 1952 fantasy based more on the stories of the Danish writer than his actual life.  But dance also figured - tongue very much in cheek - two years later in Knock on Wood.  As a neurotic American ventriloquist whose dummy seems to have taken over the act Kaye gets involved with spies, counter-spies and dead bodies.  He spends most of the film changing disguises as he runs for his life ending up in a ballet sequence that out-exotics anything that the Ballet Russes ever came up with.  Choreographed to a fare-the-well by Michael Kidd (more class) and featuring Diana Adams - of the New York City Ballet (even more class) - as a rather nonplussed prima ballerina partnered by a danseur less than nobile it is a brilliant send-up of all the cliches beloved of classical dance. 

I'm posting this with a big hug to my darling Simonetta - who drew me more into the world of dance than I had ever been and in the process gave me a new love and appreciation of it as an art and as an entertainment.  Baci cara and 1000 grazie!

May 7 - 1920 – The Art Gallery of Ontario, in Toronto, opens the first exhibition by the Group of Seven.

Half Way Between

The approach to St Helena as recorded by James Wathen on a three day visit to the island in the summer of 1812.  From his A Series of Views of the Island of St Helena published in September 1821.  It is said that the view, save for the sailing ships, has little changed today.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the death in 1821 of Napoleon Bonaparte; he died in exile, a prisoner of the British, on St Helena - a 47 sq mi volcanic island 1200 miles from Angola in Africa and 1800 miles from Brazil in South America.   Uninhabited when it was discovered by the Portuguese in the 1500s it was to become an important outpost for the East India Company and other English ships on the voyage to the Indies and Australia.  Like many other isolated locations it also served in its early years as a place of exile for felons and prisoners of war including the Little Corsican, Dinuzulu kaCetshwayo and more than 5,000 Boer prisoners.  Forts were built along the rouged coast line to act as lookouts for possible escape attempts - and during Napoleon's exile British Navy frigates circled the island night and day.

Its importance was to be greatly diminished with the opening of the Suez Canal in the 1800s and then ultimately by the jet plane.  Today the island can be reached by the only remaining Royal Mail ship which calls at the island from Capetown en route to Ascension Island.  There are plans for an airport and several smaller cruise ships do stop there but for the moment it is one of those almost unreachable places that - for me at least - begs to be reached.  And perhaps one of these days I will reach it.

After his death - and there has been much discussion over how natural it was - Napoleon was interred on the island.  In his book  A Series of Views of the Island of St Helena*, James Wathen gives this explanation to his illustration of the Tomb:

BURIAL PLACE OF NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE

This is situated in a place called Haine's Valley, or the Devil's Punch-bowl, near Hut's Gate.  It is distant from Longwood about a mile and a half in a strait direction, but the common road forms a circle of about three miles. Before the Funeral, which took place on Wednesday, the 9th of May, 1821, one hundred men were employed to cut a direct descent to the grave. The tomb is in the vicinity of some willows, and a spring of water which were favorites with Buonaparte; who pointed out this spot for his burial place, soon after his arrival on the Island. A centinel is constantly on duty at the grave.

* A left click will take you to a facsimile of the book - including Wathen's beautiful illustrations with explanations.

 For the next 16 years his body was to remain in the unmarked grave - his warder Hudson Lowe, whose harshness in all probability hastened Napoleon's death, refused to allow any sign of royalty to be inscribed so the slab was left blank - on the island that was his home for the last six years of his life.  In 1840 at the request of Louis Philippe I the British returned Napoleon's remains to France.  They were carried on a journey from St Helena to Cherbourg on the Belle-Poule, a French frigate that was painted black for the voyage.  They were transferred to the steamship Normandie onward to Le Havre and up the Seine to Paris.  A state funeral was held on December 15 and the hearse carried Emperor Napoleon I from the Arc de Triomphe to a temporary resting place at St Jérôme's Chapel until Louis Visconti's porphyry sarcophagus was completed under the dome at Les Invalides.

At 1100 (GMT) yesterday morning there was a commemoration of Napoleon's death at the (now empty) Tomb in St Helena that was timed to coincide with a similar ceremony at Les Invalides.  The 20 minute memorial, arranged by the St Helena Tourism Office and the Honourary French Consul, included the laying of wreaths and the playing of the Last Post.  It was a brief tribute to the man whose unhappy stay there gave the island a lasting place in history.
I admit that I only knew of this little ceremony because of my good friend Gary.  He has developed an interest in this small outcropping in the middle of the Atlantic and follows news events from the island regularly.  But his interest is not a passive one - for the past ten years he has been sending books to the library in Jamestown.  Almost a decade ago he was downsizing and as he was culling his considerable book stash - in one of those moments of serendipity - came across a travel article about the island.  He had quite a few books about Canada  and he thought that rather than shunting them off to a second hand bookstore he would send them to St Helena - a way of sharing the story of the largest country of the Commonwealth with one of its smallest territories.

So for the past 10 years he has been gathering up books once or twice a year  (some of his own and many that he has bought for that purpose),  making a trip over to London and mailing them through a forwarding company that deals exclusively with St Helena, Ascension and the Falklands.  Recently he sent a history of Rideau Hall, Canada's Government House, to the library and in return received a thank you note from the (then) Governor's wife and a signed copy of the history of Plantation House, the Governor's Residence on the Island.  As an interesting sidebar it is thought that Jonathan, one of the tortoises living on the grounds of the residence, is the oldest living reptile on earth.

Gary's reminder had me delving into a bit of the history of St Helena and into some of the stories surrounding Napoleon's exile and death.  And it brought to mind a disarming little movie I saw many years ago.  The Emperor's New Clothes has as its premise the intriguing fantasy that it was not Napoleon but a double who died on St Helena.  Starring Ian Holm as Napoleon - he has played the role several times - it tells the story of his mistaken-ridden attempt to regain his throne but finding instead love, honesty and happiness in anonymity.  It is a movie I would love to see again but unfortunately it doesn't appear to be available on iTunes or Netflix.  Should you get a chance to see it I highly recommended it, not because it is a great movie but because it is a warm-hearted and gently funny film with a dynamite performance at its core.

06 May - 1844: The Glaciarium, the world's first mechanically frozen ice rink, opens.
 

Friday's Flowers

Given its age old association with May Day in France - I was hoping that I would find a Lily of the Valley (La Muguet) amongst the first blooms in Grandville's Les fleurs animées but he seems to have missed this early sign of Spring.  Tradition says that Charles IX first gave out sprigs of the flower as tokens of good luck - though it appears that did not work for many of his Huguenot courtiers if history is to be believed.  Predating the King's little flowery gesture it was the custom in many places in France for a bride-to-be to announce her pending nuptials by hanging sprigs of the heavenly scented flower in the doorway of her parent's home.   Over time it became commonplace to give lily of the valley to loved ones on the first day of May - a tradition still observed today.  It also became a symbol of an emerging labour movement in the 1800s and was worn as boutonnieres on International Workers Day.   It would have been nice to be able to offer my friend Yvette in France - and all my other friends too - a porte bonheur to celebrate the arrival of spring however that was not to be.

Rather Grandville and Taxile Delord heralded the arrival of Primavera with a rather chilling little conversation between the Snowdrop and the Primrose.  And given the chill that has descended on Ottawa in the past few weeks perhaps it is appropriate. Though Grandville's flowers are without question feminine, Delord's tale is one of unrequited love between a lady (?) and a gentle man.

Galanthus (Snowdrop; Greek gála "milk", ánthos "flower") is one of a small genus of  bulbs which break through the snow and flower before the Vernal Equinox.  It has been suggested that the snowdrop may well be the mysterious herb moly that acts as an antidote to Circe's poison in the Odyssey.  Given the rather ageist tale being told by Delord it is perhaps a touch ironic that as well as having antitoxin properties galantamine is also used to control but sadly not cure Alzheimer's.

After the ground has been warmed by the sun - and also perhaps by the efforts of the snowdrop to break through the snow - Primroses (from prima rosa or first rose) make their early appearance.  Under the right conditions they can carpet an open wood and were a great favourite of Victorian cottage gardeners.  Give the cruel manner in which Miss Primerose in our tale parries Snowdrop's declarations of affection perhaps the Latin name of Primula vulgaris is not unwarranted.

THE SNOWDROP AND THE PRIMROSE
A Duettino

THE SNOWDROP:
Primrose! Primrose! Wake up!

THE PRIMROSE:
Who calls me?

THE SNOWDROP:
It is thy friend the Snowdrop, who is cold, and wishes to warm himself in thy breath.

THE PRIMROSE:
How pleasant it seems to inhale the spring breeze—to see the green herb — to feel the warm odour of the buds—and to see one's self in the pellucid stream!

THE SNOWDROP:
But for me, thou hadst been sleeping still. To me thou owest the smiles of this bright April morning. Ah! didst thou but know how pretty thou art, in thy little white corsage — how fresh thy cheeks are — and how gracefully thou stoopest to the breeze that brushes past thee! Bend towards me thy corolla, and let me give thee a kiss.

THE PRIMEROSE:
The spring loves not the winter; youth loves not old age. Thou art at the point of death, and yet thou talkest of love.

THE SNOWDROP:
My strength has been exhausted by piercing through the hard snows of winter. But thy breath, Primrose, refreshes me. Love will revive me.

THE PRIMROSE:
Dost thou not perceive in the air, the fluttering of unseen wings? The young Zephyr is coming. It is he whom I wish to love, and who shall have my first kiss.

THE SNOWDROP:
I have bloomed until this time, in spite of the frost. I feel that spring is coming. Must I die without hearing the sweet songs of the birds, and without experiencing the reviving warmth of the sun and of love?

THE PRIMROSE:
The old are intended neither for the sun nor for love. The warm breath of spring, and of the passions, injures their weak lungs. Woe to him who loves too late!

While she was saying this, Zephyr swept past the Primrose. Breath and perfume were mingled together. The wind, excited by this kiss, then swept over the head of the Snowdrop, which died, a victim to the breeze.

And to think when I had my first garden primroses were one of my favourite flowers - after that crack about the old I may just have revised my affection for those lovely - but obviously heartless - spring flowers.

04 April - 1910: The Royal Canadian Navy is created.

Mercoledi Musicale

There was a time when film glamour meant artfully applied make-up and perhaps a bit of gauze or Vaseline on a lens not botox or photoshop.   It was a time before anorexia became a fashion statement rather than a serious disease, when breasts were lifted by bras or artful taping not implants.   Sure there was artifice but what artifice!

One of the most glamorous was the gorgeous Rita Hayworth; but she was more than glamour she had talent as a dancer and an actress.  Almost born in a trunk as Margarita Carmen Cansino, she had danced with her father in clubs and bistros before making her first film at the age of 16.  She was to become one of the great stars of the 40s and 50s and proved her worth in musicals, dramas and comedies.  Her performance as Gilda was to become iconic as the ultimate femme fatale and the famous striptease scene - despite take-offs on it over the years - still packs quite a punch.

That and several of her other dramatic films (Separate Tables, Miss Sadie Thompson, The Lady from Shanghai) tend to overshadow the musicals she starred in with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly amongst others.  However Ellen over at et7waage1 on YouTube has put together a wonderful montage of dance clips which fit a popular 1970s disco tune almost perfectly.

 

This is just one of the great compilations that Ellen has put together as a tribute to her favourite movie star. A left click on the link above will take you to the rest.

May 2 - 1952: The world's first ever jet airliner, the De Havilland Comet 1 makes its maiden flight, from London to Johannesburg.

Hooray Hooray The First of May

Oh for heaven's sake get you mind's out of the gutters!  I'm not talking about that dirty rhyme from high school (I'll leave that to YDG) but of the celebrations throughout much of the world that are taking place today.

May Day has its origins in pagan fertility rites in the Northern Hemisphere - okay so maybe that old rhyme wasn't that far off the mark!  It was normally a celebration of the feast of some goddess or other who symbolized the regeneration of spring.  Of course the Christian church appropriated it, as was its wont (god I've always wanted to write that phrase, finally I get the chance) and it became the first day of the Month of Mary, though in Germany it was celebrated as the infamous - according to the Faust legend -  Walpurgis Night named after an English missionary to the pagans, Saint Walpurga. 

Maypoles, round dancing, May baskets all were traditions that sprang from pagan customs and seem to have crossed many borders or maybe its just that after long winters practising fertility rites there are only so many ways you can celebrate the coming of spring.  It was also the time when labourers had finished spring planting and where given a holiday - coincidentally (?) May 1st of St Philip and St James, the patron saints of labourers though in 1955 St Joseph was given the added task of looking after labourers as well.  This was a move to combat the emergence of left wing movements in Europe and in particular Italy after the Second World War.    The old Pagan-Christian traditions had started to fade in the late 1800s and into the 20th Century as May 1st began to be celebrated as International Workers' Day . 

And it is celebrated in over 80 countries as a national holiday with marches, rallies and demonstrations - sometimes peaceful, sometimes not.  Though the first Monday in September is traditionally  Labour Day here in North America it appears from the news today that there were May Day demonstrations - some of which turned violent. There were rallies and demonstration in here Canada but it appears none of them took a violent turn - even those in Montreal which has had its share of riots and unrest the past month or so.

Which brings us to this little poster that's been appearing around town the past few days encouraging public servants to attend a rally against the austerity measures that have been introduced in the past few weeks.

I won't comment on the politics around what is happening here in Ottawa, as anyone who knows me will know where I stand, but rather on the poster itself.  It is firmly in the style of the labour posters so popular in the 1950s.  And the symbolism of Mr Monopoly being toppled like some Middle Eastern or Soviet dictator has a delicious irony.  Even the events have a slightly 50s flavour to them - a Community supper and Music Festival.  Perhaps it is a sign of the times and current events that we are returning to the labour movements of the 50s. 

01 May - 1869: The Folies Bergère opens in Paris.

Someone's Going To Get ....

... such a smack!


No doubt in response to my whining about things not being the way they use to be my young colleague David sent me this photo.

Mirror Mirror on the Street

I am always fascinated by the things you see laying about the streets of a city - my regular reader may recall that in Rome it always seemed to be shoes cast aside in pairs (?????) that I discovered on the street.  Here in Ottawa it seems to be furnishings that end up on the street including this lovely piece of Japonisme I saw leaning against an apartment building reflecting life around it.

A fine piece to grace anyone's living room or for that special bedroom - don't you think?  Well at least its not on black velvet!

30 April - 1894: Coxey's Army reaches Washington, D.C. to protest the unemployment caused by the Panic of 1893.

Lunedi Lunacy

With thanks to my friend Lara for this one.

30 April -1900: Casey Jones dies in a train wreck in Vaughn, Mississippi, while trying to make up time on the Cannonball Express.

Friday's Flowers

Despite the snow fall earlier this week and this mornings minus temperatures Spring is really on its way here in Ottawa. No honestly it is!  A patch of early warm weather has nudged daffodils, hyacinths and other early spring flowers out of the earth.  Now mind you the near sub-zero temperatures have them hiding their heads but I'm always surprised how hardy so many of those seemly delicate flowers really are.

A few weeks ago to mark International Woman's Day I sent out mimosas to the special women in my life in the form of a wonderful lithograph by J. J. Grandville from Les Fleurs Animées (Flowers Personified) a two volume set of 54 hand-coloured lithographs which propose that "Flowers are the expression of society."

The introduction to Les Fleurs Animées was written by Alphonse Karr and the allegorical texts by Taxile Delord.  Grandville's designs accompany their stories of the various flowers who have at their own request been given human form by the Flower Fairy.  They are warned by her: “Go, deluded flowers; — let it be as you propose. Ascend upon the earth, and try human life. Ere long you will come back to me.”  And in each story a flower learns the burden of living up to the attributes given their floral form by the Victorian world.  Though they are lovely in themselves Grandville's flower ladies were also a subtle bit of social satire and given that it is Grandville criticism.

However my purpose is not to engage in either social satire or criticism but to build a small garden - as I have none of my own other than a patch of balcony - on my blog.  So every Friday - and maybe if nothing much happens in  my world on other days as well - I'll post one of Grandville's lovely ladies with a short word about its origins and what it meant when Grandville published his book.

The early spat of warm means that the tulips that are the symbol of spring here in Ottawa have started to bloom a bit early - perhaps too early for the 60th annual Canadian Tulip Festival that begins May 4th.  Tulips have been part of the Ottawa landscape since 1945 when the Dutch Royal Family gifted the city with 100,000 bulbs as an expression of gratitude for providing a home for Princess Juliana and members of her family during World War II.   During the stay here the Princess gave birth to her second daughter, Margriet.  For the encouchment her rooms in the maternity ward of the Ottawa Civic Hospital where declared as "extraterritorial".  There is a common misconception that the maternity ward was declared Dutch territory.  However as Dutch nationality law is based on the principle of Jus sanguinis  it was not necessary to make the ward Dutch territory for the Princess to become a Dutch citizen.  At the time Canada followed the rule of jus soli,  so it was only necessary for Canada to disclaim the territory temporarily so that the Princess would not, by virtue of birth on Canadian soil, become a Canadian citizen. The day she was born (January 19, 1943) the Dutch flag flew from the Peace Tower on Parliament Hill and the carillon rang out to announce the good news.

A tulip bed on the Canal a few steps from our apartment.  Hopefully they haven't started to bloom to early for the Canadian Tulip Festival that begins May 4.  There are beds the entire 10 km length of the Canal and spotted throughout the city. 

The primary tulip beds are located along the Canal and as a result lawns and gardens in the surrounding area have renegade blooms popping up, no doubt from bulbs stolen and squirrelled away by Public Enemy #1 in Nora's books.  So in honour of the Tulip Festival, the Dutch Royal Family and those pesky squirrels the first flower in my blog garden is La Tulipe.   Like the tulips the engravings - because they were hand coloured - come in an array of colours.  And betokening the flowers origins there is a decidedly Turkish cast to the lovely lady and those surrounding her.

There are many variations on the story of how the tulip (Order: Liliales - Family: Liliaceae - Genus Tulipa) made its way from Turkey to Europe.  In 1558  Oghier Ghislain de Busbecq,while serving as Ambsassador to Suleyman the Magnificant, remarked on them as a flower not before seen in Europe.  However there exists a description in 1559 of tulips flowering in Councillor Herwart's garden in Ausburg in Bavaria.  By 1573 Carolus Clusius had planted tulips in the Imperial Botanical Gardens of Vienna and later at the Hortus Botanicus at Leiden when he became director in 1593.  Though tulips had appeared in Dutch gardens before that time the flowering of Clusius's tulips in 1594 is consider the "official" introduction of the tulip into the commercial market in the Netherlands.  As hard as it may be to believe it triggered a market speculation in tulip bulbs that let to tulip mania in the 1630s and the financial collapse that followed.  To this day the tulip has remained one of the images most associated with the Netherlands and still ranks as a major industry.

Grandville's engraving serves as an illustration for the tale of La Sultana Tulipia which traces the history of the tulip in Holland and tells the sad story of a tulip that has been changed into a Dutch merchant's daughter by the Flower Fairy.  On a voyage the Merchant and his daughter are captured by Barbary pirates and eventually sold into slavery: the father as a farm labourer and the beautiful Tulipia as an odalisque in the harem of the mighty Sultan Shahabaam.  The Sultan is captivated by Tulipia's beauty and makes her his Sultana.  But sadly Tulipia proves, in the Sultan's eyes at least, unworthy of the position.

Had Tulipia's ambition equalled her beauty, she might long have preserved her power.  But she was indifferent.  Her mind was inactive.  She knew not how to sing, to dance, to make puns or to solve riddles; and these were great deficiencies in the eyes of a master so sagacious as Shahabaam.

Poor Tulipia is replaced in the Sultan's affections by an actress from the Varietes who turns out to be Rose-pompom, a sister flower who has also been given human form by the Flower Fairy.  Having fallen from favour Tulipia is soon dispatched to an ignominious and watery end.

And the moral of her sad tale is summed up thus:

For a few days the tragical end of the unfortunate sultana was the common topic - and then she ceased to be named.  No one regretted her.  Beauty without intelligence leaves few traces on the memory.

I sincerely hope that not all of Grandville's lovely flowers end up so tragically as they are added to my garden.

27 April - 1749: First performance of Handel's Music for the Royal Fireworks in Green Park, London.

A Revelation in Movement and Music

At the end of last week's performance of Revelations by the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre I joined the rest of the audience at the NAC in the ubiquitous Ottawa standing ovation - a tradition which I abhor with all my being. But in this case the pure energy that this marvellous troupe gave off as they launched in to the joyous dance that Ailey created to "Rocka My Soul" more than 50 years ago had  me on my feet clapping and swaying along with the rest of the audience.

Indeed the whole evening, that had begun with Streams - another Ailey piece, was an energizing experience.  But the company, recently revitalized under new artistic director Robert Battle, doesn't rely on energy alone: the Ailey tradition of a solid ground in the techniques of ballet married to the modern, Broadway and ethnic dance forms was evident in all the dancing.  Ulysses Dove's Urban Folk Dance  -  two couples battle for power in a pas de quatres of tension and changing dynamics - was the strongest piece of dancing of the evening.  Linda Celeste Sims,  Michael Jackson Jr, Hope Boykin and Mathew Rushing brought an effortless sense of style and drama to the  ever shifting charged energies (there's that word again) of Dove's athletic choreography.

But the highlight of the evening was Revelations.  Back when I was working for Ballet2000 I had translated several reviews of this piece and my friend David had written about it when he saw the company in London.  This was Ailey's signature piece and uses gospel and blues to trace the role of faith in the black history of America.  No where is that sense of faith more strongly evoked than in the "Fix Me, Jesus" pas de deux.  Ailey said it was meant to convey the strength of the faith between a woman and her pastor.

As well as the dance the power and emotional appeal of Revelations is in the music. And in glancing at the programme I noticed that the arrangement of "Fix Me Jesus" was by Hall Johnson.  Johnson was a pioneer in preserving the praise songs of the slaves and raising them to the level of an art form.  He researched and arranged spirituals particularly for the various choral groups that he founded.  Perhaps the most famous was the Hall Johnson Negro Choir that sang in the 1930 Broadway production of The Green Pastures - and repeated their contribution internationally, on radio, television and in the film version of Marc Connelly's adaptation of Roark Bradford's Ol'Man Adam and his Chillun.

The play portrays episodes from the Old Testament as seen through the eyes of a young African-American child in the Depression-era South, who interprets The Bible in terms familiar to her.  It could be claimed that Connelly's play is demeaning to African-Americans and those opinions were voiced as early as the film's release in 1936.  But I recall when I first saw the film on television many years ago I was moved and touched by the dignity of Rex Ingram as De Lawd and the magnificence of the music.  The following clip begins the story of creation - a gentle Sunday school teacher explains to his charges that heaven was just like a local fish fry - with food for all and 10 cent cigars for the men.  And without facility I say it sounds a little bit like heaven to me!

Much of the "old time religion" that flavours The Green Pastures can be seen in the third section of Ailey's journey through the faith of his people.  The Day is Past and Gone has a tongue in cheek poke at dressing up in your "Sunday best" and Rocka My Soul is redolent with the joy and power of the prayer meetings and missions he would have seen as a child in Texas.  The performance in the clip below has a particular poignancy as it was part of the celebration of his life at New York's Cathedral of St John the Divine in April 1989.  His troupe bade farewell using his own vision of  the religion that had given him comfort and strength and, as is more than apparent, joy.

In writing of Spirituals Johnson said:

True enough, this music was transmitted to us through humble channels, but its source is that of all great art everywhere—the unquenchable, divinely human longing for a perfect realization of life. It traverses every shade of emotion without spilling over in any direction. Its most tragic utterances are without pessimism, and its lightest, brightest moments have nothing to do with frivolity. In its darkest expressions there is always a hope, and in its gayest measures a constant reminder. Born out of the heart-cries of a captive people who still did not forget how to laugh, this music covers an amazing range of mood. Nevertheless, it is always serious music and should be performed seriously, in the spirit of its original conception

Johnson's arrangements were sung by some of the great African-American singers in recital and he coached Marian Anderson, Robert McFerrin and Shirley Verrett.  After his death Anderson said, "Hall Johnson was a unique genius.  For although he invented no new harmonies, designed no new forms, originated no new melodic styles, discovered no new rhythmic principles, he was yet able to fashion a whole new world of music in his own image."  Though I am not a dance expert the same could be said for Ailey in that his genius was not to invent new forms of dance but created a dance style drawing on ballet, modern, jazz, Broadway and eventually hip-hop.  He created a form of dance expression as unique as Johnson's music.

26 April - 1336: Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) ascends Mont Ventoux.

Sharing

Back in the old days of regular blog postings I would share some of my favourite bloggers and their words of wit and wisdom as well as random photos with a bit of theme thrown in. As I look over the old list on the side bar I see that many of my old friends no longer post regularly and in some cases not at all. Many of them have graduated to Facebook where we still are able to keep in touch with the comings and goings in our lives, if in a slightly more concise manner.

April 23, 2012 - Springtime comes to Ottawa!

However a few of my longtime blog buddies are still around, one has - to my immense joy - started blogging again and at least one of my dearest friends has begun her own blog.   Sadly one of my longtime favourites has announced she is closing down her blog.  So I'm back to sharing both favourite blogs and I thought, that given our return to winter yesterday,  I'd post a few photos of the "winter of our discontent" here in Ottawa. Now some of you may recall my "bitch slap" threat - well if one more person tells me what a "mild" winter its been this year I will personally make sure they are incorporated into an ice sculpture for next year's Winterlude - some pictures of this year's entries follow.

A recent addition to the many memorials to Canadian politicians, warriors and notables that dot the landscape of Ottawa is this remarkable statue of jazz great Oscar Peterson.  Unveiled by Queen Elizabeth in 2010 the bronze figure of Peterson, seated at his piano, observes the pedestrians and cars at the corner of Elgin and Slater in front of the National Arts Centre.  And passersby are treated to Peterson playing some of his most famous melodies.  I took this picture and short video late one evening after a January snow storm as I was walking home from the NAC.

My darling Jacquie Sue is still kicking ass over at Yellow Dog Granny - though with all the great things she's been doing for the folks over at the Rest Home plus old Dexter fussin' and a fumin' I'm not sure how she does it. And now that she's the youngest Great-Grandma I know she's got a budding YDG to take under her wing - Olivia is one lucky little girl. But we still get our Monday Morning chuckles, updates on the doings in West and whatever else strikes her fancy. And one of these days I'm going to accept her invite and get my butt down to West and try one of those world famous skunk eggs!

One of the most popular features of Winterlude, after the 10 km skating rink on the Rideau Canal, is the International Ice Sculpture Contest. The first weekend of the annual winter festival was perfect for viewing some spectacular pieces of ice carving.  Unfortunately by the time we got to them the second weekend and an evening or two later many of the details had been eroded by a turn in the weather.  But there were still spectacular.  Many had an Inuit theme to them though there was a odd bit of commercialism.  And a sidebar to my friend Marco - that's what would happen to your Samsung smartphone if you came to Canada in the winter!

You may recall that in January I headed over to London for a few days to see Dame Edna in her first - and sadly given her announced retirement, last - panto and to spend a few days with some friends.  Though time was tight I was able to have a lovely meal with my dear friend David - after having been royally entertained by his diplomate at the Garrick Club.  It was good to see David again, howbeit briefly, and even better to see that he has taken up blogging again at I'll Think of Something Later.  David has been my guide to so many things through his blog and my meetings with him and his current postings are once again giving me untold delight.  Wonderful to have you back caro!

When we lived in Poland we were lucky that we had a great group of people at the Embassy, not always a given - a group that 12 years later many of whom we see for the occasional lunch, dinner or breakfast.  And one or two who have remained close friends - almost family actually.  Among the later is my darling Bev.  It would take a book to tell her story - she always seems to be on the run not from but to danger.  In the past 10 years I've lost count of the places she's lived but I know Islamabad, Kabul, Darfur and Colombo are on the list.  Currently she's living in Bangkok - thats when she's not on the road to all manner of exotic places with strange sounding names like the up coming tour of  Nepal, India, Beirut, Bhutan, Kuala Lumpur, Sri Lanka, Nairobi.  Now my Bev is a person who does everything with passion and commitment both work and play and her latest passion is physical training.  And she loves sharing her passions and what better way than through a blog.  Her adventures as she checks out gyms and other cool sports stuff can be found at The Diesel Diva.  Welcome to blogdom darling good to have you with us.

Sadly Lotus Green over at Japonisme has announced that she is closing down her blog.  I've always enjoyed visiting her and being entertained, educated and often astounded by the wonderful wedding of image, word and sound.  She will be missed.

And what could be more Winter than a "Mountain of Lost Mittens" - this fun sculpture was actually made up of mittens that had been left in various places in Ottawa.

So enough of winter now - it is now almost the end of April and spring could make a more permanent appearance if it so desired?????

25 April - 1849: The Governor General of Canada, Lord Elgin, signs the Rebellion Losses Bill, outraging Montreal's English population and triggering the Montreal Riots.

Lunedi Lunacy Italian Style

And the lunacy continues unabated! Da Sodoma a Hollywood is one of the oldest GLBT Film Festivals in Europe. Founded in 1986 as a small and daring "gay themed" event in Torino it is currently celebrating is 27th year.

And I'm sorry but even straight people in Italy would be horrified by this breach of La Bella Figura!

23 April - 1635: The first public school in the United States, Boston Latin School, is founded in Boston, Massachusetts.

Lunedy Lunacy

As I noted last week it was the birthday of our own dear Queen - the 39th Monarch to rule in England since William the Conqueror did his little bit of invading in 1066. Thanks to Shakespeare I've been able to remember all those Tudor kings and Queens and with the Hanover gang all you have to do is think George. But the rest well...

Fortunately the good folks at Horrible Histories came up with this little ditty to help you remember who came after whom, as it were!

Okay everyone: William, William, Henry, Stephen, Henry, Richard, John ....

23 April 1013: Battle of Clontarf: Brian Boru defeats Viking invaders, but is killed in battle.

Lunedi Lunacy

Spring in Ottawa.

March Macabre

The tweets, blogs and sites that deal with the gossip around films were awash this past week with the first photos of Anthony Hopkins as that master of implied horror Alfred Hitchcock. I have to be honest and say I didn't find he look all that much like Hitchcock and he looked even less like Sir Anthony.  Apparently this is all in aid of a movie that's currently being made about making a movie - not just any movie mind you but that 1960s classic of subversive terror Psycho.   This was the film that had an entire generation avoiding taking a shower like..   well death.

It wasn't until I read the entry on Wikipedia that I realized the behind the scenes drama involved in making the film.  The studio bosses felt that the material was just too strong for the sensibilities of the American public and Hitch had to fight to get it made.  Even then he had to finance it himself and in order to cut costs filmed in black and white and utilized the studio team he had working with him on his weekly TV series.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents was part of a legendary Sunday night line-up on CBS in the 1950s - it began with Lassie saving people and ended with Hitchcock bumping them off!  Though he seldom was involved with directing the show, for over ten years he served as a slightly sardonic host for a half-hour - later expanded to an hour - of murder and suspense.  And for ten years we were treated to  introductions that became as classic as many of his films.  As the lumbering first cords of Charles Gounod's March funèbre d'une marionette sounded the camera faded in on a simple eight line caricature - drawn by Hitchcock - of that unmistakable profile followed by Hitchcock himself in silhouette lumbering, like the music, on to the screen and eclipsing the drawing.  Then he'd turn and in that purse-lipped, plummy almost lisping voice wish us a "good evening".  What followed were satirical or mocking jabs at the sponsors, network and general state of the Union as lead-ins to the commercial breaks.  There were times when Hitchcock's brief appearances were more memorable than the episodes themselves.

It was during a discussion on the upcoming film with my colleague Lara that the topic of Gounod's little piano piece - part of a larger unrealized suite - came up and as often happens with our discussions it led to a Google search.  As well as quite a few of those Hitchcock introductions we came across this fun piece of animation.  Created by Eric Fonseca - he scripted it, created the puppets and decor and filmed it - back in 2006, its almost like something out of Edward Gorey as directed by Alfred Hitchcock.  The perfect combination for a March Macabre!

This remarkable piece of animation was the first effort of Eric Fonseca and took him a year to make. He followed it up with The Fall of the House of Usher - a full length stop-animation feature that he completed in 2010.  A preview of what looks like an fascinating take on Poe's tale of terror can be found here.


22 April - 1970:  The first Earth Day is celebrated.

Buon Compleanno Roma

According to the accepted calculation my beloved Roma is 2765 years old today. Though the actual year is much disputed almost all traditions agree that the city was founded on April 21, the day dedicated to Pales, the goddess of shepherds.

Though the music is a bit overblown the images on this slideshow capture so much of what I grew to know and love, though only my own photos could capture what I love most about the city - the people I care about so deeply there.

Happy Birthday Rome - I'm sorry I can't be there for the party but you know I am there in my heart.

21 April - 1926: Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor was born at her maternal grandfather's London house: 17 Bruton Street, Mayfair.

Lunedi Luancy

Back in the Plasticine era - okay maybe not that far back 'cause that would have meant kindergarten - but back while I was in Junior High I developed a passion for Shakespeare. My father had taken me to my first Shakespeare play when I was ten - an adventure in a tempest to see the play of the same name that I really must recount one day (that man was a saint!).  My sister-in-law, always one to encourage an eager young faggot in training mind gave me a worn copy of Tales From Shakespeare by Charles Lamb and his sister Mary.   This rather odd brother and sister team  retold the stories much adapted to the sensibilities of children of their period - no bawds or bawdiness for the Lambs!  It had some interesting Arthur Rackham illustrations and served as a good introduction but I soon graduated to the real stuff.   I plowed my way through the canon from All's Well to Winter's Tale. Now that's not to say I understand a good deal of what I was reading but being in those days a fairly good actor I gave a passable imitation of literary precocity.

By the time I hit the first year of high school, as my fellows were struggling with the authorized for Ontario school's edition of Macbeth, I was trotting around with a copy of the unexpurgated version where the Porter "did bepiss" himself.   My English teacher was not pleased when I asked why we had skipped an entire scene which obviously would have had them rolling in the aisles of the Globe - and sent my classmates snickering.  I had to serve a "library" detention for my youthful  inquisitiveness or perhaps because I was being an obnoxious little show off????

And in that same library there just happened to be a critical study of "The Works" that gave a decidedly different twist to Shakespeare's Tales.  In fact in his introduction to Twisted Tales from Shakespeare Richard Armour promised that:

Shakespeare's best-known plays are presented in a new light, the old light having blown a fuse; together with introductions, questions, appendices, and other critical apparatus intended to contribute to a clearer misunderstanding of the subject.

Some of the humour was sophomoric but as with any good satire it was based on a thorough knowledge of the plays and much of the humour depended on the reader knowing their Shakespeare.

Because of Mr Armour's little book I discovered that there was a wealth of memorable lines beyond the Tomorrow and Tomorrows, the Where For Art Thous and the Quality of Mercies.  I mean where else, other than that original unexpurgated text of the Scottish play, would I have found and remembered:

Aroint thee witch, the rump-fed ronyon cries! 

Which leads me to today's Lunacy.   As well as being pretty handy with blank verse and the odd rhyming couplet Shakespeare was pretty good at the snappy put-down.  Every one of the words or phrases in the lists below are taken from one of "The Works of".

The game's a pretty simple one:  Take one word from each of the three columns below and preface it with "Thou":

The combinations are almost limitless and just think how you will stop friends, foes and families in their tracks.  I mean who could possibly find the appropriate retort to:  Thou pribbling unchin-snouted skainmate?  Damn did that man know how to write!

And if you'd like leave me a comment with your insult of choice.

16 April - 1346: Dušan the Mighty is proclaimed Emperor, with the Serbian Empire occupying much of the Balkans.

MIB*

*Missing In Blogging

I realize that as of late I've been not just remiss but downright negligent in my blogging - posting sporadically over the past few months and then not at all for the past two weeks. The excuses are many and probably spurious so I will dispense with them. The reasons are fewer but of a more personal nature. I can confidently say that one of them is laziness: lately I have been struck by a severe case of indolence - sadly not of a romantic Chekhovian nature but born out of something perhaps a little darker. 

When I look at all the files, photos, brochures, programmes, books and memories from the past few years I realize I have a lifetime of things to write about.  However I am finding that though the ideas are there both the ability and the will to write coherently isn't.   I have approached things with a sense of loss and, dare I say it, regret bordering on avoidance.  A colleague told me it would take a year for me to get over leaving Italy - it appears she was right. I am still regretting my departure - on so many levels - and find I am pining for what was. Perhaps sensibly Laurent returned to Rome for a brief visit last month and has realized that though you may return you can never go back! A lesson it would seem I have yet to learn.

It is not that life here in Ottawa has been without good things. We have reconnected with our oldest and dearest friends and spend high days and holidays with them. We have a lovely apartment overlooking the Rideau Canal and located within walking distance of most things in town. I enjoy going to work in the morning - for the moment I have a good job and work as part of a team in the best sense of the word.  I have the Hounds from Hell - as annoying as they can be - the joy of coming home at the end of the day to a hero's welcome or just sitting quietly with Nora or Nicky - and sometimes both - curled up on my lap.  I have a caring and loving partner who puts up with all my many mood swings.

In the past few months cultural opportunities in Ottawa, though not as rich as what I have experienced in the preceding four years, are very much present.  In a fine season the NAC orchestra  has presented an exceptional reading of Prokofiev's Alexander Nevsky and Angela Hewitt breaking our heart with her Ravel.  The Cantata Singers gave us a lovely welcome to Christmas and along with the St Lawrence Choir soared in the Rachmaninoff Vespers just before Thanksgiving. The theatre season has had its ups and downs.   The ups were memorable: Blood on the Moon - a one-man tour de force by Pierre Brault based on the trail of James Patrick Whalen was an exceptional performance as was Ronnie Burkett's latest puppet show Penny Plain.  Dark and threatening as advertised it was definitely not a show for children but confirmed Burkett's place as a Canadian National Treasure.  Equally dark was the Brecht- Weill Three Penny Opera but in this case Opera de Quatr'sous as it was part of the French theatre seasons.  It had an audacity that as I remarked to Laurent "only a French company could pull off."  The appeal of Marie Chouinard as a choreographer and and her group as dancers was lost on me but coming up this week is the Alvin Ailey troupe doing, amongst other things,  Revelations which I have been wanting to see since my friend David wrote about it last year.  And the coming year is promising good things for music, dance and theatre if sadly nothing in the way of opera.

I found myself at the peak of melancholy Easter weekend and as I enjoyed lunch with one of my oldest friends in Ottawa, and someone who has brought so much to my life, I found I was longing to somehow combine my "family" in Rome with my "family" in Ottawa.  Much like Macheath in the ballad "how happy could I be with either" - though happier with the richness of both.  But deep down I realize that is greedy on my part.  And though I still have my friends and loved ones in Rome it is time to move on, as painful as it may be.

So how do I move on?  With all the good intentions in the world I'm planning to start blogging again - a vow easily made but perhaps less easily kept.  I am hoping that sharing my undiminished passions for what I have seen and loved and see and love will make the closing of a chapter less melancholy and help me understand the good fortune that I have around me.  

April 15 - 1755:  Samuel Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language is published in London.