Pieter Bruegel the Elder

The painter and the connoisseur
c.1565, self-portrait.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder

1525-1569



Flemish renaissance painter
and printmaker

Hunters in the snow, February, 1565



The census at Bethlehem, 1566
oil on wood panel
Royal Museum of Fine Arts of Belgium



detail

Winter landscape with a bird trap, 1565
Kunsthistrisches Museum, Vienna

detail

The Massacre of the Innocents, 1565-67

J. Joyce, Dubliners

Happy Birthday James !!!

James Joyce

1882 - 1941

Irish novelist & poet

‘’There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke’

                                                                                              The Sisters

‘’It was Joe Dillon who introduced the Wild West to us’

                                                                                              An Encounter

‘’North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except

at the hour when the Christian Brothers’ School set the boys free’

                                                                                                          Araby

‘’She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue’

                                                                                                         Eveline

‘’The cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like

pellets in the groove of the

Naas Road’

                                       After the Race

‘’The grey warm evening of August had descended upon the city

and a mild warm air, a memory of summer, circulated in the streets’

                                                                                                          Two Gallants

‘’Mrs Mooney was a butcher’s daughter’

                                                                       The Boarding House

‘’Eight years before he had seen his friend off at the North Wall

and wished him godspeed’

                                               A Little Cloud

‘’The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker went to the tube,

a furious voice called out in a piercing North of Ireland accent:

- Send Farrington here!’’

                                               Counteparts

‘’The matron had given her leave to go out as soon as the women’s

tea was over and Maria looked forward to her evening out’

                                                                                                     Clay

‘’Mr James Duffy lived in Chapelizod because he wished to live as far

as possible from the city of which he was a citizen and because he

found all the other suburbs of Dublin mean, modern and pretentious’

                                                                                                          A Painful Case

‘’Old Jack raked the cinders together with a piece of cardboard and

spread them judiciously over the whitening dome of coals’’

                                                                                  Ivy Day in the Committee Room

‘’Mr Holohan, assistant secretary of the Eire Abu Society, had been

walking up and down Dublin for nearly a month, with his hands and

pockets full of dirty pieces of paper, arranging about the series of

concerts’

                                 A Mother

‘’Two gentlemen who were in the lavatory at the time tried to lift him up:

but he was quite helpless’

                                                      Grace

‘’Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet’

                                                                                                                       The Dead

The Black Cat, E.A. Poe (I)

(I)

For the most wild yet most homely narrative

which I am about to pen,

I neither expect nor solicit belief.

Mad indeed would I be to expect it,

in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence.

Yet, mad am I not –

and very surely do I not dream.

But

to-morrow I die,

and today I would unburden my soul…

From my infancy

I was noted for the docility and humanity

of my disposition…

I was especially fond of animals…

I married early,

and was happy to find in my wife a disposition

not uncongenial with my own…

We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog,

rabbits, a small monkey,

and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal,

 entirely black,

and sagacious to an astonishing degree…

in speaking of his intelligence,

my wife…

made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion

which regarded all black cats as

witches in disguise…

Pluto

– this was the cat’s name –

was my favourite pet and playmate

I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever

I went about the house.

It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him

from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner,

for several years,

during which my general temperament and character

– though the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance  -

had (I blush to confess it) experienced

a radical alteration for the worse.

I grew,

day by day,

more moody,

more irritable,

more regardless of the feelings of others.

I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife.

At length, I even offered her personal violence.

My pets, of course, were made to feel

the change in my disposition…

For Pluto,

however,

I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me

from maltreating him…

But

my disease grew upon me

– for what disease is like  Alcohol! –

and at length… even Pluto began to experience

the effects of my ill temper…



The Black Cat, E.A. Poe (II)

           

(II)

One night, returning home,

much intoxicated…

I fancied … the cat avoided my presence.

I seized him, when…

he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth.

My original soul seemed,

at once,

to take its flight from my body…

I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife,

opened it,

grasped the poor beast by the throat,

and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket!

I blush,

I burn,

I shudder,

while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning…

I experienced a sentiment half of horror,

half of remorse,

for the crime of which I had been guilty;

but it was, at best,

a feeble and equivocal feeling,

and the soul remained

untouched.

I again plunged into excess,

and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed...

… and then  came,

as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow,

the spirit of PERVERSENESS.

Of this spirit

philosophy takes no account.

Yet

I am not more sure

that my soul lives,

than I am

that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses

of the human heart –

one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments,

which give direction to

the character of Man.

It was this unfathomable longing of the soul

to vex itself

-         to offer violence to its own nature –

-         to do wrong for the wrong’s sake only –

that urged me to continue and finally

to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon

the unoffending brute.

One morning,

in cold blood,

I slipped a noose about its neck and

hung it

to the limb of a tree;

-         hung it

with the tears streaming from my eyes,

and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; -

hung it

because I knew that it had loved me,

and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; -

hung it

because I knew that in so doing I was committing…

a deadly sin that would so

jeopardize my immortal soul…

On the night… this most cruel deed was done…

the whole house was blazing…

the destruction was complete…

The walls, with one exception, had fallen in.

This exception was…

a compartment wall…

I approached and saw,

as if graven in bas-relief upon the white surface,

the figure of a gigantic

cat…

… there was a rope about the animal’s neck…



The Black Cat, E.A. Poe (III)

            

(III)

For months I could not rid myself

of the phantasm of the cat; and…

there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed,

but was not,

remorse.

I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal,

and to look about me…

for another pet of the same species…

One night as I sat,

half-stupefied,

in a den of more than infamy,

my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object…

… it was a black cat

-         a very large one –

fully as large as Pluto,

and closely resembling him in every respect

but one…

this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white,

covering nearly the whole region of the breast.

He… appeared delighted with my notice.

This, then

was the creature of which I was in search…

when it reached the house

it domesticated itself at once,

and became immediately a great favourite

with my wife.

For my own part,

I soon found a dislike to it arising within me…

… its evident fondness for myself

rather disgusted and annoyed me…

I avoided the creature…

what added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast,

was the discovery… that,

like Pluto,

it had also been deprived of one of its eyes.

With my aversion to this cat, however,

its partiality for myself seemed to increase…

I am almost ashamed to own…

that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me,

had been heightened by …

the character of the mark of the white hair…

this mark…

… had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness

of outline…

it was now the representation of an object

that I shudder to name…

the image

of a hideous -

of a ghastly thing –

of the GALLOWS ! –

oh, mournful and terrible engine

of Horror and of Crime –

of Agony and of Death!



The Black Cat, E.A. Poe (IV)



(IV)

Alas! Neither by day nor by night

knew I the blessing of rest any more!

During the former the creature left me no moment alone,

and in the latter I started

hourly from dreams of unutterable fear

to find the hot breath of

the thing upon my face…

… an incarnate nightmare…

… incumbent eternally upon my heart!

… the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed…

The moodiness of my usual temper increased

to hatred of all things and of all mankind…

… my uncomplaining wife… was the most usual

and the most patient of sufferers.

One day…

I aimed a blow at the animal…

… but this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife.

Goaded by the interference into a rage

more than demoniacal,

I withdrew my arm from her grasp

and buried the axe in her brain.

She fell dead upon the spot without a groan.

This hideous murder accomplished,

I set myself forthwith…

to the task of concealing the body.

Many projects entered my mind…

… I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments

and destroying them by fire…

… I resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar…

… I deliberated about casting it in a well in the yard…

… about packing it in a box… and…

… getting a porter to take it from the house…

Finally I determined to wall it up in the cellar,

as the monks of the Middle Ages

are recorded to have walled up their victims…

By means of a crowbar I easily dislodged the bricks,

and,

having carefully deposited the body against the inner wall…

I relaid the whole structure as it originally stood.

When I had finished,

I felt satisfied that all was right…

My next step was to look for the beast which had been

the cause of so much wretchedness,

for I had, at length,

firmly resolved to put it to death…

… it did not make its appearance during the night;

and thus for one night, at least,

since its introduction into the house,

I soundly and tranquilly slept;

aye,

slept

even with the burden of murder upon my soul.

The second and the third day passed,

and still my tormentor came not.

Once again I breathed like a freeman.

The monster,

in terror,

had fled the premises for ever!

My happiness was supreme!

The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little.

Some few inquiries had been made,

but

these had been readily answered.

Even a search had been instituted –

but

of course nothing was to be discovered.