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| The famed Joan of Arc statue. |
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Term for the Day: Vieux Carré
Where to Shop: The Whisnant Galleries, New Orleans
Punch's Cousin, Chapter 12
“I am.” Robert Halifax smiled. His smile was not like Arthur’s. This was a genuine smile. Still, Julian didn’t trust it. Smiles had a way of hanging in front of both teeming pools of danger and great empty voids. Julian thought of Punch’s smile.
“How do you figure?” Julian asked, fumbling with the ring on his index finger.
“Take that ring, for instance.” Robert pointed to Julian’s hand. “You designed it.”
“Yes.” Julian nodded.
“You were considered the new elite jeweler in Mayfair until last year when you departed.” Robert continued.
“Mr. Halifax, how does that…”
“Please, let me continue.” Robert Halifax held up his hand. “You left London to return to Fallbridge Hall. Officially, the explanation was that you had returned home to be with your family and assist in the preparations for Lady Barbara’s marriage. However, the real reason you left was because you were attacked at Covent Garden.”
Julian stiffened in his chair and looked intently at Robert Halifax.
“After that, you suffered from some…shall we say, issues with your nerves.” Mr. Halifax smiled gently.
“I imagine you have some point.” Julian responded in a deep voice which wasn’t entirely his own.
“I do. You see, Lord Fallbridge. You may not know me, but I know all about you.” Mr. Halifax said.
“I know that you’re on your way to Louisiana in search of your sister, Lady Barbara, who has fled England to escape her intended marriage to the Sixth Baron Marsden. I know that you are uncomfortable with any sort of travel and, in fact, feel quite out-of-sorts anywhere outside of your home. I know that you’re traveling with your valet, Arthur Mowbry, and that you booked your passage at the last minute.”
“These things are common knowledge, Mr. Halifax. You could have learned about that from any of the gossips who entertain themselves with the comings and goings of the people in my class.” Julian replied stiffly. “I think you are presumptuous to state that you ‘know’ me.”
“How could he possibly know me?” Julian thought. “I don’t even know myself.”
“I shall reveal all that I know in time, and I shall explain the reason that I can be so forward as well. Just be patient.”
“I don’t have to BE anything.” Julian rose from the table. “You are impertinent, Mr. Halifax.”
“Maybe so, Lord Fallbridge, but you need me.”
“I most assuredly do not.” Julian squinted, surprised by his forcefulness.
“Really? You intend to grapple with ‘The Elegant Ogress’ on your own?” Mr. Halifax smiled, extending his hand to Julian again in an attempt to get him to sit down.
“Pardon me?”
“Iolanthe Evangeline. They call her, ‘The Elegant Ogress.’ I am correct in my belief that your sister has been in communication with this woman?”
“You are.” Julian raised an eyebrow.
“Do you know who she is?” Robert asked. “Do you know what she is?”
“No.” Julian sat down again.
“She is…shall we say, a woman of ill-repute who runs a house for other such women. In New Orleans, I believe they would call it a ‘bawdy house.’”
“Barbara is going to…” Julian gulped, feeling the fire in his stomach again.
“Yes.”
“So, why is this Evangeline woman called, ‘The Elegant Ogress?’” Julian asked.
“Because she’s a murderess, dear boy, a butcher in the most elegant finery.” Mr. Halifax smiled.
Julian leaned back.
“I can help you.” Robert Halifax nodded.
“Why?” Julian asked. “What do you want in return?”
“I’ve told you enough for one day. We mustn’t overtire you. I’m sure you’re more than a little fatigued from…everything.”
“You can tell me now.” Julian said softly. “What is this all about? Who are…” Julian shut his eyes.
“Who are you to…” Julian opened his eyes again. When he did, Robert Halifax was gone. Julian looked frantically around the room. All he saw through the thick haze of cigar smoke was the door to the deck closing.
Julian rose and followed.
Squinting into the mist on the deck, he saw no one except a group of third-class passengers carousing near the rail.
Julian’s usual low-hum of anxiety once again was heightened to a roar. He staggered away from the rail, fearful of falling in.
Could he find his way back to his cabin?
He walked in what he hoped was the right direction and, for once, wished Arthur would appear.
As he walked he listened to those people by the rail. They were singing. Julian knew the song well. It was a folk song he used to sing to Barbara when she was a girl.
In Scarlet Town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin'
Made every youth cry well-a-day
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jeremy Grove on his deathbed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwellin'.
"You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen,
For death is printed on his face
And o'er his heart is stealin'.
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen."
So slowly, slowly, she came up
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said when there she came,
"Young man, I think you're dyin'."
“Young man, I think, you’re dying…” Julian repeated to himself. “Young man, I think, you’re dying.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-11? If so, yo can read them here. Come back on Monday, August 9, for Chapter 13.
Goal for the Day: Pamper Yourself
Object of the Day: Victorian Manicure Set
As I’ve pointed out, the prevalent mentality of the craftsman during Queen Victoria’s reign was to give as much importance and beauty to everything. Things like vanity items were no exception. Nestled in sprig green silk, silver implements with mother-of-pearl handles flank a pair of dangerously blunt scissors. To be frank, I have no idea how most of these tools would be used. However, after some research, they do appear to be intended to be employed in the upkeep of one’s fingernails. I’ll pass on that.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Haiku Contest Winners Chosen
Many thanks to all of our entries. I think they were all excellent. Your votes are in, and we have a tie. The winners are:
Jason Roush
Dark where no one else
hears what soft music you hear,
light from loss of light.
Solitary stone
at the bottom of the sea,
time never knew you.
And…Darcy
Lazy summer days,
parasols and big straw hats.
Where are they today?
Sand pails and sea shells
children playing in the sun
sunset on the shore.
Congratulations to you both!
Odd Antique Image of the Day: Prince Ernest Louis of Hesse
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| Prince Ernest Louis of Hesse |
Question of the Week: What's Your Dream Goal?
Punch's Cousin, Chapter 11
Julian lay down on the narrow bed and tried to settle his stomach by breathing deeply. He never cared for ocean voyages. He never cared for any sort of voyage. At least Arthur’s quarters were nowhere near his cabin. For once, Julian hoped to enjoy a modicum of privacy. Even when he lived in his townhouse in Belgrave Square, someone was always coming or going.
A knock at the door shattered Julian’s hopes for solitude. Julian grunted and sat up. He’d ordered Arthur to settle into his quarters and insisted he would not need anything for some time to come.
Julian opened the door, expecting to see his valet. Instead he was greeted by a ship’s porter.
“Lord Fallbridge?” The man asked politely.
“Yes.”
“I have a note for you.” The porter offered a silver tray with an envelope which Julian took.
Alone again in his room, Julian sat in the small, wooden-armed chair in the corner of the cabin.
On the envelope, in a florid hand was written, “Julian, Lord Fallbridge.”
“Most likely an apology from the captain for the size of my cabin.” Julian sighed. He let the envelope rest in his lap and twisted the ring on his index finger. “Nothing more, I’m sure.”
That familiar twisting in Julian’s stomach made him lean forward again. He hoped he wouldn’t vomit.
Scratching his thick eyebrows, Julian tried to calm himself, but the perspiration rose on his forehead.
“Julian,” a voice from inside his skull called. “Julian, it’s just a letter.”
“Nothing good can come of letters.” Julian responded to the voice.
Whose voice was it? Not his own.
“Master, open the letter.” The voice said. “Perhaps, it will help you find me.”
“I’m not looking for you, Punch.” Julian answered irritably. “I’m looking for Barbara.”
How did he know it was Punch’s voice?
Julian’s hands shook.
“Mother’s right.” Julian said aloud. “I have gone quite mad.”
With shaking hands, Julian opened the letter.
Dear Lord Fallbridge,
Though we have yet to make one another’s acquaintance, I would like to request the honor of your company this evening in the smoking room. I will be there at eight o’clock. You will find me in the farthest left corner. I feel that I have some information that will assist you in your journey.
Robert Halifax
Julian squinted. He’d had no intention of leaving his cabin that night. Frankly, he’d intended to leave it as infrequently as was possible.
Halifax? Who was this man? Most likely, he was some fortune hunter looking to make a tidy profit by offering false hope that he could assist in finding Barbara. Had the news of Barbara’s flight spread so quickly? Surely his mother had kept it quiet. The Duchess of Fallbridge was never eager for the peerage to think that anything could be amiss in her household.
Julian leaned back in the chair and felt the storm that brewed in his bowels. The clouds in his belly filled his chest and spun into his head. Julian let the blackness wash over him.
The cabin was dark when Julian opened his eyes—so dark that, at first, he was unsure if he had, in fact, opened them.
“Where I am?” Julian thought to himself as he tried to get his bearings. He remembered he was on a ship. Yes, a ship.
Julian stood up and lit a lamp which smoked slightly for a moment, sputtering.
Julian placed the lamp on the vanity and prepared to change his clothes before Arthur could come to offer his assistance. However, when Julian saw his reflection in the glass, he realized he had already changed into a different suit of clothes. When had he done that?
Julian reached for his gold watch which sat on the vanity. Next to it, Punch’s tiny bell glittered atop an open letter. Julian picked the paper up to fold it and tuck it away. However, he quickly realized that it wasn’t the same note from earlier.
Lord Fallbridge,
Thank you for your quick response. I will await you in the smoking room.
Robert Halifax
Julian staggered backward. He reached for the watch again, hoping the coolness of the metal would soothe him.
“Quarter to eight.” Julian mumbled.
And, then, curiously, a power within himself, a command that was not his own, propelled him out the door of the cabin toward the smoking room.
There, in the corner, sat a man who rose and smiled when he saw Julian.
Walking over, he took Julian’s hand and shook it.
“Lord Fallbridge, thank you for meeting me. I worried that you might not.”
Julian nodded.
“Shall we sit down?” The man gestured to the small table in the corner where he’d been sitting.
“Do I know you, Mr. Halifax? You say we haven’t met, but I feel that…”
“No. We have not. However, you’ll be glad that we have. You see, I know everything. I am your champion.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-10? If so, you can read them here.
Goal for the Day: Be a Pioneer
Object of the Day: Mrs. Fry Visiting Newgate Prison by Henrietta Ward, 1893
Mrs. Ward’s marriage fostered her artistic talent. As she raised their eight children (one of whom was Leslie Ward, who under the name “Spy” drew some of the most famous covers of Vanity Fair Magazine), she painted some of the most famous historical paintings in English art history. A favorite of Queen Victoria, Mrs. Ward was commissioned to teach art to the Royal children. Very quickly, she became the most famous female painter in England and enjoyed an induction into the Royal Academy (an unusual distinction for a woman). With the support of her husband and prominent friends such as Charles Dickens, she became a true pioneer.
One of Mrs. Ward’s most celebrated paintings was a historical scene of another female pioneer—prison and social reformer, Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. Her painting of Mrs. Fry Visiting Newgate Prison was heralded for its raw drama and sensitivity. Conditions in prisons such as Newgate were deplorable. Mrs. Fry made considerable strides in bringing attention to the conditions in these prisons where entire families were mistreated. Mrs. Ward’s painting continued Mrs. Fry’s crusade. When an engraving of the painting was displayed at the 1893 Royal Exposition, people were shocked by the cruelty it depicted.
It’s a remarkable piece and it reminds me each day of the bravery of two exceptional women. In a world where such inspiration is in short order, I cherish both the artistry and the message.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Vote for your Favorite Haiku
Recommended Reading: The Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries by Carrie Bebris
Clever, engaging and solidly written, Bebris’ books show Austen’s beloved characters in a new light. If you’re looking for the perfect books to enjoy on a sunny summer afternoon, look no further.
Gem of the Week: The Glorious Garnet
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| Victorian Garnet Earrings from A. Brandt & Son |
While writing The Garnet Red, I traveled with my parents and Bertie to New Orleans to celebrate my thirtieth birthday. While we were browsing the beautiful antique stores in the French Quarter, I came upon a Victorian garnet ring, inscribed with the name “Joe.” Though I’ve never been called, “Joe,” it was close enough. I took that as a sign. I enjoy wearing that ring because it reminds me of that trip and that I am in control of my own destiny. The sense of the everlasting makes for the true beauty of gemstones. The sentimental attractiveness of the garnet is the perfect example of that concept.
Decorating Tip: Find Your Color Inspiration
For example, when painting one particular room in my home, I found inspiration in the colors of the stained glass window that serves as the room’s focal point. I pulled an attractive plum color from the window to use on the walls knowing that the color would make the room feel alive and elegant.
Sherwin Williams now offers an application for the iPhone and the Blackberry that allows you to pick a color from a photograph. Let’s say you are at the grocery store and see a peach that’s the perfect color. Simply take a photo with your phone and the application will match the color for you. Their Web site also features some useful tools to help you select the perfect color for you. In fact, you can even upload a photo of your room and paint it digitally to see how it would look in any color of your choice.
Painting a room in a color that you adore sets a great foundation—not just for your décor, but for your life.
Punch's Cousin, Chapter 10
“Lost, lost, lost, lost, lost.” Julian repeated as drops of sweat fell from his pale brow and darkened his gray trousers in spots along his knees. With shaking hands, Julian smoothed his hair, over and over again.
Arthur skittered about, carrying trunks and bags from the room. Though the footman was moving quickly, Julian perceived his motion through a slow, sticky murkiness—all yellow and hot.
Julian swallowed hard. Beneath his waistcoat and coat, his shirt stuck to his back. His stiff collar and cravat burned his throat where the two bruises from the night before screamed in puce protest. He leaned even farther forward so that his chest touched his knees. He could feel his sternum against his legs. “Lost, lost, lost, lost.” With every beat of his heart—“lost, lost, lost, lost.”
“The carriage is ready, Lord Fallbridge.” Arthur said from somewhere in the room.
Julian sat upright.
“Yes, fine. Thank you, Arthur.”
“Her Grace will be wanting to see you before we depart.” Arthur continued.
“Of course.” Julian drew in a hot breath, taking a handkerchief from his pocket in the futile act of dabbing the flow of perspiration from his brow.
Julian clutched the arms of the chair.
“Shall I inform Her Grace that you’ll be down presently?” Arthur asked, his voice dripping with the bitter honey of his false obsequiousness.
Julian swallowed hard, “Yes.”
When the footman had left the room, Julian rose unsteadily and caught the sight of his own reflection in the shimmering mirror above the mantelpiece.
He felt top-heavy, and gripped the back of the chair to keep himself from toppling over. The room spun. Julian’s reflection gazed back at himself, an ashen specter—the soul of one who had died in utter torment.
“This is the last time that mirror will offer me back my own reflection,” Julian thought.
He looked around the room which swirled around him.
“Lost in the sugar cane.”
“The Duchess is ready to see you, Sir.” Arthur said.
When had he returned? Where was he standing? Julian couldn’t see the man reflected in the glass. When he turned to look at Arthur, the man had already gone.
Julian pressed his left hand against his stomach. The moistness from beneath his arms was cold and stung him.
Julian swallowed hard again. It was no use.
He rushed into his bedroom and vomited in the basin.
Wiping his mouth, Julian moaned. He hated the idea of poor Mary having to clean that up. But, the duchess was waiting for him. Waiting…
Julian walked through his study and out into the passage.
His hands left a wet trail behind them on the thick wood of the banister.
On either side of the Great Hall, his ancestors stared out at him, piercing his skin with the malice in their flat, painted eyes.
He heard a cry. Was it his own?
No. It was the sound of cats fighting, a sound that pricked his ears with the daggers of its terrible sadness.
Julian remembered when his sister had been born. He’d heard the same sound when she took her first breath. It had echoed throughout the house.
The cry rose again from deep within the bowels of the house.
Julian paused outside the morning room door where, invariably, Arthur was waiting for him.
“Whatever was that sound?’ Julian asked.
“What sound, Sir?” Arthur smiled as he opened the door.
His mother sat in her deep-red leather chair. In the cool light of the morning, she was almost beautiful. Were it not for the cruelty in her eyes and the thin crease of hatred on her brow, she’d have looked quite young.
“Come here, Julian.”
He did as instructed. His mother pressed a leather purse of coins into his hand.
“Do try not to lose them.” She grumbled. “And, for Heaven’s sake, don’t manage to kill yourself as you stumble about in that place. That won’t return Barbara to me.”
Julian felt again as though he might unswallow.
“You’re an intelligent man beneath your thin, cowardly skin. At least let your sense guide you. You will one day be the Duke of Fallbridge. Try to remember that.” His mother continued. She looked at him with eyes of coal.
Julian nodded.
“Good Lord,” She spat. “You do disgust me so. Now, be on your way.” She waved a dismissive hand at him.
“Goodbye, Mother.” Julian said for lack of any other thought.
“Yes, yes.” The duchess grunted, looking at her hands.
Julian left the room.
Arthur waited for him in the Great Hall.
“You’re perspiring, Sir.” Arthur said.
“I am.” Julian nodded.
“Are you feverish?” Arthur asked.
“No more so than usual.” Julian answered softly.
Again, the lamentable cry drilled through the floor.
Arthur smiled.
“Lost, lost, lost.” Julian thought.
Arthur took Julian by the elbow and led him out of Fallbridge Hall to the carriage.
Julian reached into his pocket and fingered Punch’s brass bell. It made no sound.
“My head is wax and papier mache,” Julian thought as he stepped into the carriage. “My arms are powered by the fingers of another and my movement is not my own. I have no mind and no heart.”
The carriage door closed.
“And, now, I too, am in a cabinet.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-9. If so, you can read them here.
Term for the Day: Ebonized
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| A plaque from an ebonized Victorian music cabinet. |
Goal for the Day: Look in the Mirror and Like What You See
Today, when you look in the mirror, focus on what you like about yourself. And, when you go out into the world today, you remember that the face you present is a wonderful and beautiful one.
Our reflections are not limited to what we carry on the outside. Each of us is composed of both an interior and an exterior light. Pause to remember the good in your heart and your capacity for kindness. What you’ll see staring back is a remarkable creature capable of incredible acts. Know, with each step you take today, that you are a person of substance.
Object of the Day: Antique Painted Tri-fold Shaving Mirror
However, on closer inspection, you can see that there’s a little brass latch to the right of the painting. Unhook the latch and you reveal a mirror. But, not just a mirror. There’s another painting. This time, we have waves breaking against a rocky shore. Little figures scurry into a typically English cottage nestled into the crags.
But, that isn’t all. Behind that painting is another mirror, and, on its reverse, still another mirror. Opening into a trifold, you now have a three-way mirror to allow the user to see all sides of his face as he shaves.A very clever design, mirrors such as this would have adorned a gentleman’s room and provided a necessary service while hiding away something as commonplace as a shaving mirror. This is an object that speaks volumes about Victorian ingenuity, mastery of design and functionality. Even the simplest of objects were elevated to new levels of artistry.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Painting of the Day: A Sixteenth-Century Flemish Portrait
With his sullen, expectant expression, the subject radiates an adolescent insecurity—the emotions of someone learning a craft during an uncertain time. Still in its original frame, the painting is flanked by leather straps which form a decorative pattern around the canvas. An unusual find, I am fond of this painting because of the raw emotion that it exhibits. Here is proof of the mastery of Flemish painting—the ability to create a fully formed portrait from a limited color palette and loose brush strokes. Term for the Day: Sideboard
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| A late Victorian English sideboard. |
Decorating Tip: Add Dimension to a Room
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| A grouping of objects including an antique crumb catcher. |
Reminder: Haiku Contest
Punch's Cousin, Chapter 9
The other part of Julian peered through the bed curtains. He was accustomed to the sensation of being in two places at once. The weight of his thin, but sturdy body, pulled him deeper into the cushion of feathers beneath him. Perhaps if he could flatten himself enough no one would notice he was still abed. He was almost invisible to himself. Almost.
Julian fluttered his eyelids and let the coverlet droop. He was back inside himself and began to take stock of what he was about to do. Arthur would be in presently—ready to offer the false warmth of a dressing gown, skittering to the grate to stir the fire, grandly extending unneeded assistance in suiting himself for the journey ahead.
He rolled onto his stomach and slipped one hand from beneath the warmth of his nightly shroud. With a quick motion, he grabbed his ring from off the bed stand and slipped it onto his left hand. Julian buried his face into the pillow and stifled a scream. His body vibrated and he imagined that his gut was filled with lightning. Flashes so fierce that they deadened his heart so that it sank like a stone into his bowels.
The door scraped open.
Julian didn’t move. Perhaps if he didn’t move, the footman would go away.
“Sir?”
That was not Arthur’s voice.
Still lying on his stomach, Julian turned his head on its throbbing neck and saw Mary approach him.
“Sir?”
“Mary?” Julian whispered. “What is it?”
“I know I’m wicked.” Mary said quietly. “It’s not fitting that I should be in here.” She stood several feet away and peered at him through the opening in the bed curtains.
Julian said nothing.
“I…” Mary stumbled with her words. “I…oh, it’s too awful, Sir.”
“Come on, girl.” Julian responded flatly. “It’ll be fine. Do tell me.”
“I do know somethin’.” Mary said. “I do know somethin’ I didn’t tell you. And, if Mrs. Foster were to find out…”
“No on need know, Mary.” Julian said to the trembling maid. He knew he should sit up and face her, but he didn’t dare disturb his body. He feared he’d spring apart if he moved.
“Only Lady Barbara, she did go on…” Mary sniffed. “One evenin’ last week, she went on about a woman, some woman in a place far away.”
“Iolanthe Evangeline?” Julian asked.
“Yes, Sir.” Mary nodded.
“Yes. I know that she’s gone to America to see this woman.” Julian replied gently.
“Lady Barbara said that this woman was going to open doors for her.” Mary continued. “And give her a place where she could be with other girls like herself, Sir.”
“Girls like herself? Whatever does that mean?” Julian asked.
“I dunno.” Mary shook her head. “Lady Barbara said that she would have all she ever desired thanks to this woman.”
Julian was silent for a moment. “I can’t imagine…” he said finally.
“There’s more, Sir.” Mary said.
“Yes?”
“Last night, Sir, after Lady Barbara went missing, I coulda sworn I saw somethin’ strange, Sir.”
“Go on.”
“Well, Sir.” Mary’s voice quaked. “I thought I saw Lady Barbara downstairs, Sir. She was in the scullery.”
“How odd. She couldn’t have been.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought, too, Sir. Only I thought I saw her with a bag. A canvas bag. And, in it was something that squirmed, Sir.” Mary whimpered. “Squirmed like it was a puppy or a cat or something. I looked away to see if anyone else coulda seen it, and when I looked back, I didn’t see nothin’. Like she wasn’t there at all.”
“Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you.” Julian said gently. “We’re all worried about Lady Barbara. Our thoughts, sometimes…when we’re preoccupied, they make pictures of things that…” Julian felt queasy. “Do you understand?”
“I dunno, Sir.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Julian answered, still on his stomach. “Is that all?”
“I think so, Sir.” Mary looked nervously over her shoulder. “I’d best get on my way before Arthur comes in. “
“Very well.” Julian smiled.
“Only…”
“I won’t mention to anyone that you were here.” Julian assured the girl.
“It’s not that, Sir. I just want to wish you a safe journey.” Mary said.
“Thank you.” Julian nodded.
With that, the maid scurried out of the room.
Julian shut his eyes.
He lay as still as stone and tried to blot out the intrusion of the light through the partially open bed curtains.
Julian had no idea how much time had passed. He hadn’t even heard the door open again. The sound of the metal rings of the bed curtains sliding all the way open made Julian’s pulse quicken. Yet, he did not open his eyes.
He felt a hand move slowly up his back and settle on his neck—a thick, rough hand with chipped nails that tickled Julian’s hair with a strange, deliberate gentleness.
“Lord Fallbridge?” Arthur oozed. “It’s time.”
Julian’s blood turned to ice.
Did you miss Chapters 1-8? If so, you can read them here.
Goal for the Day: Speak Up
Everyone has a voice and everyone has something wonderful to share. So, use your voice! Speak up. Encourage the people around you. Let someone know that they’re special. Show your gratitude for the little things that people do each day. Most importantly, remind yourself that you’re a valuable human being. Negativity only breeds more negativity. However, if you find something good in every situation and communicate that feeling, you’re allowing positivity to grow.
The steps toward a new Belle Époque are vocal footprints. So, let your voice leave a positive trail behind you. You’ll soon find yourself on a journey to true brilliance.
Object of the Day: A Victorian Papier Mache "Silent Butler"
During the Victorian era, The English had a tool for everything and made sure that each one of them was as attractive as possible. This Papier Mache crumb catcher is testament to that. Also known as a “Silent Butler,” crumb catchers such as this one were staples of fine dining rooms. With an accompanying brush, crumbs would be swiped from a table cloth into this shallow bowl. Constructed of countless layers of Papier Mache, this scalloped receptacle is inlaid with mother-of-pearl and hand-painted with a Chinoiserie scene and abstract decorations. 
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Humanitarian of the Week: Betty White
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| Betty White in one of her first TV appearances. |
With all the hubbub about White this year, one fact is often overlooked. For over forty years, Betty White has enthusiastically worked as an advocate for the health and well-being of animals. Her love of animals and her desire to protect and help them has led her to work with the Los Angeles Zoo Commission, the Morris Animal Foundation (an organization dedicated to advancing animal health and well-being), and Actors & Others for Animals. Named President Emerita of the Morris Animal Foundation in 2009, Miss White’s contributions are not in name only. She gives of her time, her energy, and has donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to ensuring the care of both domestic and wild animals.
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| Betty White today, courtesy JPI Studios |
Those are the moments that define a person—those sweet, personable moments. For that, and for her tremendous work in giving all animals a quality of life, Betty White is our Humanitarian of the Week.
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| To Bertie. Love, Betty White. |
Film of the Week: The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1945
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| Medina's portrait of Dorian |
Oscar Wilde posed this question in his only published novel, 1891’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. We’re all familiar with the novel which tells the tale of the handsome Dorian Gray whose beauty so impresses his friend Basil Hallward, a painter. Upon painting Dorian’s portrait, Basil reluctantly introduces Dorian to a Lord Henry Wotton who, in turn, introduces Dorian to the concept of hedonism. Under Lord Henry’s influence, Dorian’s desire to remain youthful and comely costs him his soul. The portrait that Basil painted will age while Dorian will remain physically uncorrupted. However, Dorian’s soulless and increasingly debauched and depraved behavior shows in the painted flesh of the portrait, and, soon Dorian reaches new depths of corruption as he tries to hide his secret. The novel is a multi-layered masterpiece, rich with meaning—a true work of art.
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| Hatfield and Sanders |
Rounding out the cast was the perennially creepy George Sanders as Lord Henry, and Angela Lansbury (in only her third film role, most notably following her brilliant turn in Gaslight) as music hall singer, Sybil Vane. The picture also features a young Donna Reed and Peter Lawford.
While the script writers took liberties with the original text—toning down some of the references to Dorian’s lifestyle and introducing a very-Hollywood plot device of a mystical Egyptian cat sculpture—the film captures the spirit of Wilde’s novel very nicely.
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| Albright's Dorian |
When you watch it, keep looking at the toy blocks under the table in the upper-story room where Dorian hides the picture. Just a bit of trivia…
Building of the Week: The Lanesborough Hotel, London
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| St. George's Hospital, 1852 |
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| The Lanesborough today. |
Punch's Cousin, Chapter 8
Part of Julian continued to watch his slow, painful journey to the dining room. He was a man on his way to the executioner’s ax. But, instead of his throat on a stone, it would be severed and served on the table with the quail. Julian chuckled at the thought of Jackson removing—with considerable flourish—a great silver cloche to reveal Julian’s glazed, head…white daisies and violets on his eyes, his mouth stuffed with a compote of peaches and apple.
“How delightful. Do tell Mrs. Foster how pleased I am.” His mother would hiss while Jackson carved.
Julian laughed. The portraits laughed with him—those portraits that lined the great hall. Chestnut-haired, wide-eyed ancestors with Julian’s face—his mother’s face—all gazed at him. No, they weren’t laughing. Not those long-dead Dukes and Duchesses of Fallbridge. No, they wouldn’t laugh—not from amusement, at least. No, they were smirking with narrowed, deep eyes. Julian glanced above him to see if he could spot himself watching—some grim spectre, some shade—surveying his own journey. Sadly, he could not. Julian could never see himself watching. He left the watching to others.
“Sugar cane, sugar cane, sugar cane. I am lost in the sugar cane. I am lost.” Julian’s thoughts chanted with the rhythm of each step. “I am lost. I am lost. I am lost.” Click…click…click…
No portraits of Molliners lined the great hall. His father’s family was not in evidence. Though greedy and brash, the Molliners were slightly more agreeable than his mother’s family. Well, slightly more agreeable than his mother. She was the last of the line.
Well, no, Julian was the last of the line. Wasn’t he? And, Barbara. “Sugar cane, sugar cane, sugar cane…”
A bell chimed.
Julian looked for Punch as he turned the corner toward the grand, columned doors to the dining room—deep, dark wood, the color of his mother’s eyes…his own eyes.
But, Punch wasn’t to be found. He was lost. “Lost. Lost. Lost.” Another chime.
The clock…
Arthur opened the door to the dining room as the clock struck its last.
“Oh, well, Lord Fallbridge is punctual for dinner with his poor, sad mother.” The Duchess growled from her chair.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Arthur!” The Duchess spat.
“Your Grace?” Arthur cooed.
“Go prepare Lord Fallbridge’s things for your trip. Then, pack your own.” She commanded.
Arthur looked to Jackson who stood in attention by the sideboard.
“Don’t look to him. I’ve given you an order.”
Jackson nodded.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Arthur bowed his head and retreated from the room.
Julian sat across from his mother—the length of the gleaming mahogany table comfortably separating them. The pendants of the chandelier sparked against the sheen of the wood. Julian was reminded of his diamonds and, for a fleeting second, felt at ease. Only just that fleeting second…
“Julian!” his mother bellowed.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You leave on the Hyperion tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You’ll be accompanied by Arthur who has the unenviable task of seeing that you don’t wander off and drown.” His mother said sharply as signaled for Jackson and William, the Under Footman, to begin serving.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Do stop yes-ing me!” The duchess commanded.
“How you will ever be able to survive amongst the American savages is beyond me.” The duchess sighed. “However, you will return triumphant with Barbara.”
“I will.” Julian said.
“I hear that this New Orleans is a very crowded place.” The Duchess smiled—no, she smirked like the portraits.
“It’ll do you good.” She continued. “You know, they throw madmen into pits of serpents.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Consider yourself thrown, my dear.” The duchess narrowed her eyes.
“Lost, lost, lost, lost, lost.” Julian thought. Or did he?
“What are you mumbling now?” the duchess groaned.
“I wasn’t aware I was mumbling.” Julian replied.
“Well, you were!”
Silence rose up and filled the room like a violet mist. Julian liked it.
Sadly, the duchess’ voice turned the mist to a stinging rain.
“I had a letter from your father today. The fool is still in Paris. Looking for artifacts…” She sighed loudly. “He’s wasting my money.”
Julian nodded.
“You people with Molliner blood and your quests for beauty.” She visibly shuddered. “Such waste.”
Julian watched his mother lift a crystal goblet of wine to her lips—it shimmered in the light like rubies, scarlet against the alabaster of her skin.
She put the goblet on the table.
“You’re gaping again!”
“Only admiring you, Mother.” Julian answered.
“You’re an odd man.” His mother hissed. “You are aware what will happen if you don’t manage to return Barbara home?”
“I have my suspicions.” Julian replied, leaning back in his chair as Jackson placed a serving of swede on his plate. The man smelled of lemons and astringent as though his touch would burn one’s flesh.
“Take your suspicions and magnify them to their utmost worst.” His mother took a forkful of quail. “And, then, perhaps you’ll be a thousandth away from the reality of your fate.”
They continued their dinner in utter silence. Julian forced himself to eat. He was too distracted by the tenuous quiet in the room—almost comfortable, but too dangerous to be so.
When she had finished her meal, the Duchess signaled to Jackson to help her with her chair. She left the room without a word.
Julian sat alone in the enormous dining room—alone save for the staff who cleared up around him.
“Lost, lost, lost, lost…” Julian chanted in his head.
The clock chimed again. Only this time, it sounded like a ship’s bells. The room was awash in fog as Julian bid the staff goodnight.
On his way back to his rooms, he felt the floor sway beneath him. The whole of Fallbridge Hall seemed to creak and groan under his footsteps. The scent of grass and mud scratched at his nose and Julian had the faint sensation of sinking into the earth.
A sharpness stung his head.
Once inside, Julian collapsed into his velvet chair and sobbed. He did not care that Arthur looked on.
Did you miss Chapters 1-7? If so, you can read them here.
Goal for the Day: Exercise Sitting Down
Today, our high temperature will be 105 degrees with a heat index of 110. That’s not very pleasant even if you like the heat. Normally, I’d grab my ten-pound hand weights, put on my new Shape-ups and go out there to roam the streets of my little Victorian town, stalking the Belle Époque. But, not today. Still, I want to get some exercise.
Most of us want to get a little exercise, but are prevented for one reason or another. One of the biggest deterrents in a daily exercise routine is a simple lack of time. By the end of the day, we’re all too exhausted to get out there to do something. Exercise doesn’t necessarily mean you have to go “work-out.”
You can exercise at home, sitting in a chair in front of the TV. The whole point is to get your heart going and to work your muscles. There are a variety of exercises you can do sitting down.
Most of these involve isometrics—the act of pitting the force of your own muscles against each other. Press your hands together in front of your chest and push one hand against the other. Hold this for ten seconds, pause, and do it again as many times as you can do this comfortably. Similarly, press you feet into the floor and repeat that motion. You can extend your legs outward and flex your feet forward and backward in slow repetitive motions to tone your calves. Tighten and relax your stomach muscles a few times.
These simple exercises will make a big difference when repeated just a few minutes every day. No, you won’t look like a body builder, but you’ll feel better. One of the keys to living beautifully is taking a little time to keep your body working beautifully.
Most of us want to get a little exercise, but are prevented for one reason or another. One of the biggest deterrents in a daily exercise routine is a simple lack of time. By the end of the day, we’re all too exhausted to get out there to do something. Exercise doesn’t necessarily mean you have to go “work-out.”
 |
| You can't tell, but Bertie is exercising. |
Most of these involve isometrics—the act of pitting the force of your own muscles against each other. Press your hands together in front of your chest and push one hand against the other. Hold this for ten seconds, pause, and do it again as many times as you can do this comfortably. Similarly, press you feet into the floor and repeat that motion. You can extend your legs outward and flex your feet forward and backward in slow repetitive motions to tone your calves. Tighten and relax your stomach muscles a few times.
These simple exercises will make a big difference when repeated just a few minutes every day. No, you won’t look like a body builder, but you’ll feel better. One of the keys to living beautifully is taking a little time to keep your body working beautifully.
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