John Everett Millais, 1829 - 1896Ophelia, 1852
Tate Gallery London
.
Note: The novel from the start can be found by clicking on Lets Write a Novel , my associated blog. Some corrections and changes appear there as well as some notes and questions I need to address. As you have no doubt noticed, writing a novel is, at least for me, a bit ragged. This little bit cost me a lot of grief as it introduces the heroine, if only her name.
.
101 North Washington Street
.
Chapter 3, Conclusion
.
Chapter 3, Conclusion
¶7
Today, in 2007, Starke Center’s finest knows how many pickles Peter Piper picked, however knowing what a peck actually is proves more elusive. In 1907 Starke Center’s finest not only knew how many pickles were picked, but even what a peck was. More impressively they knew a little about Plutarch, Petrarch, Plato, Pliny, Pindar, and perhaps (the perverse) even knew Petronius. There is a cultural gulf or chasm between us and them, difficult for us to fathom. Then Chautaqua was all the rage. Especially in rural communities there was a hunger for learning and culture. Classics and Great Books with 10-year study guides were marketed to the Lady’s (even some men’s) Reading Societies. Concerts and lectures were widely appreciated and attended. So it was considered agreeable, even good, that Mr. Fritz Leiber did a bit of lecturing to supplement the acting. It made the scenes that much more enjoyable. Fritz did 3 different takes on “Alas, poor Yorick!” with Hamlet growing more mad each rendition. So the audience’s expectations were trebly gratified.
¶8
Mr. Leiber and Miss Drew cleverly adapted Queen Gertrude’s description of Ophelia’s drowning. Ethel, as Ophelia, danced gracefully onto the stage. Ophelia’s impossibly long and curly blond tresses were a Pre-Raphaelite daydream. Cascades of flowers and ivies were entwined in her hair and trailed down her beautifully full (10 yards of seeded batiste), luxuriant nightgown. Leiber, still attired as Hamlet, stood just on stage and in melodious voice began,
“There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples….”
Onstage was a simple set. A willow with flowering vine overhanging a mirrored brook. Ophelia stretched over the brook grasping the slim willow bough as the voice continued…
“There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide..”
The audience gasped in sympathy as poor Ophelia fell into the clutches of the brook. Her hair spread gloriously over the mirror as she the began to quietly sing bits of folk songs.
“And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.”
It might be stated with some hyperbole that, “there wasn’t a dry eye in the house”. In any case, Sara Weiss was quite touched, as we shall soon see.
¶9
Later that evening, upstairs at 101 North Washington Street as Mr. And Mrs. Weiss prepared for bed, Sara jolted poor unsuspecting Abraham as she quietly said, “If it’s a girl, I shall name her Ophelia.” And that, my dear reader, is how my poor mother, received her rather sad name.
Today, in 2007, Starke Center’s finest knows how many pickles Peter Piper picked, however knowing what a peck actually is proves more elusive. In 1907 Starke Center’s finest not only knew how many pickles were picked, but even what a peck was. More impressively they knew a little about Plutarch, Petrarch, Plato, Pliny, Pindar, and perhaps (the perverse) even knew Petronius. There is a cultural gulf or chasm between us and them, difficult for us to fathom. Then Chautaqua was all the rage. Especially in rural communities there was a hunger for learning and culture. Classics and Great Books with 10-year study guides were marketed to the Lady’s (even some men’s) Reading Societies. Concerts and lectures were widely appreciated and attended. So it was considered agreeable, even good, that Mr. Fritz Leiber did a bit of lecturing to supplement the acting. It made the scenes that much more enjoyable. Fritz did 3 different takes on “Alas, poor Yorick!” with Hamlet growing more mad each rendition. So the audience’s expectations were trebly gratified.
¶8
Mr. Leiber and Miss Drew cleverly adapted Queen Gertrude’s description of Ophelia’s drowning. Ethel, as Ophelia, danced gracefully onto the stage. Ophelia’s impossibly long and curly blond tresses were a Pre-Raphaelite daydream. Cascades of flowers and ivies were entwined in her hair and trailed down her beautifully full (10 yards of seeded batiste), luxuriant nightgown. Leiber, still attired as Hamlet, stood just on stage and in melodious voice began,
“There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples….”
Onstage was a simple set. A willow with flowering vine overhanging a mirrored brook. Ophelia stretched over the brook grasping the slim willow bough as the voice continued…
“There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide..”
The audience gasped in sympathy as poor Ophelia fell into the clutches of the brook. Her hair spread gloriously over the mirror as she the began to quietly sing bits of folk songs.
“And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.”
It might be stated with some hyperbole that, “there wasn’t a dry eye in the house”. In any case, Sara Weiss was quite touched, as we shall soon see.
¶9
Later that evening, upstairs at 101 North Washington Street as Mr. And Mrs. Weiss prepared for bed, Sara jolted poor unsuspecting Abraham as she quietly said, “If it’s a girl, I shall name her Ophelia.” And that, my dear reader, is how my poor mother, received her rather sad name.
No comments:
Post a Comment