De Franse schrijver Savinien Cyrano de Bergerac werd geboren op 6 maart 1619 in Parijs. Zie ook alle tags voor Cyrano de Bergerac op dit blog.
Uit: Voyage dans la lune
“L’épouvantable horreur dont je fus consterné ne renversa point tellement les facultés de mon âme, que je ne me sois souvenu depuis de tout ce qui m’arriva dans cet instant. Vous saurez donc que la flamme ayant dévoré un rang de fusées (car on les avait disposées six à six, par le moyen d’une amorce qui bordait chaque demi-douzaine) un autre étage s’embrasait, puis un autre, en sorte que le salpêtre embrasé éloignait le péril en le croissant. La matière toutefois étant usée fit que l’artifice manqua ; et lorsque je ne songeais plus qu’à laisser ma tête sur celle de quelque montagne, je sentis (sans que je remuasse aucunement) mon élévation continuer, et ma machine prenant congé de moi, je la vis retomber vers la terre. Cette aventure extraordinaire me gonfla d’une joie si peu commune que, ravi de me voir délivré d’un danger assuré, j’eus l’impudence de philosopher dessus. Comme donc je cherchais des yeux et de la pensée ce qui pouvait être la cause de ce miracle, j’aperçus ma chair boursouflée, et grasse encore de la moelle dont je m’étais enduit pour les meurtrissures de mon trébuchement ; je connus qu’étant alors en décours, et la lune pendant ce quartier ayant accoutumé de sucer la moelle des animaux, elle buvait celle dont je m’étais enduit avec d’autant plus de force que son globe était plus proche de moi, et que l’interposition des nuées n’en affaiblissait point la vigueur.”
Cyrano de Bergerac (6 maart 1619 – 28 juli 1655)
Standbeeld in Bergerac
De Duitse schrijfster Elisabeth Castonier werd geboren op 6 maart 1894 in Dresden. Zie ook alle tags voor Elisabeth Castinier op dit blog.
Uit: Exil im Nebelland. Briefe an Mary Tucholsky
“Great Bedwyn
Wiltshire 23.2.1959
Liebe Tucholska,
ich hoffe, Sie sind noch immer so krägel, wie ich Sie zuletzt sah – mit Bersaglieri-Hütchen und überhaupts. Bald bekommen Sie mein neues Buch – und im Rundfunk können Sie mancherlei von mir hören, falls Sie jemals aufdrehen sollten. Bildet man in Rottach schon wieder Nazi-Standarten? Es geht ja wieder zu wie einst im Appprill, warum auch nicht, warum sollte sich was ändern? Ich hoffe Sie sind dann nicht etwa Führerin der Ortsgruppe, denn dann esse ich keine Würstchen niemals nie nicht mehr mit Ihnen ! ! ! ! Das dürfte Sie abschrecken.
Ich, bin noch immer im Metallgestell eingespannt, ad infinitum, kann mich absolut nicht erholen. Muss eine strenge Entfettungskur machen, tu es auch, aber die Waage nimmt keine Notiz davon. – Wir sitzen im Nebel, Macmillan macht Unsinn in Moskau, die Königin niest in einem fort, weil sie’s wie alle Königlichen auf dem Beuschel hat, der fette zukünftige König bricht sich teils d’Füass, teils liegt er danieder und Philipp amüsiert sich im Osten, der Schlimme. Soweit von der Politik.
Ich habe statt dessen einen abessynischen Kater und wer das nicht kennt, ahnt nicht, wie süss es ist. – Meine älteste Katze Nana rollt sich nach dem Kater, obzwar sie längst kastriert ist, unsere Hündin trägt jetzt N ylonhöschen im Haus, die Tauben tanzen wie närrisch, die alten Hühner tun es mit Rigoletto, dem Hahn, die Schneeglöckchen blühen seit 2 Wochen und eine Rose versuchte neulich mal zu blühen, tat ihr aber leid – soviel vom F riehlink auf Nebelland.
Meine Freundin ist eifrig bemüht, viele Erdbeeren zu züchten, der Garten wird wieder eine preisgekrönte Herrlichkeit sein. Und hier ist eine kleine Leseprobe aus dem 2. Band, der 1960 erscheint. Der erste, den Sie bald kriegen, erscheint zu meinem ich sage es unverholen. Dasallein ist schon traurig. Man muss versuchen, drüber zu lachen. Und somit, wie stets
Ihre EC.}
Elisabeth Castonier (6 maart 1894 – 24 september 1975)
De Noorse schrijver Johan Bojer werd geboren op 6 maart 1872 in Orkdal. Zie ook alle tags voor Johan Bojer op dit blog.
Uit: The Last of the Vikings (Vertaald door Jessie Muir)
“Such things happen every year in the north of Norway, and for a day or two afterward the men talk about it; and then they go out on the same sea and begin fishing again.
The shop was full of men, all talking at once. Some of them had been on their way landward when the storm broke, and had got in safely; others had been brought in by the lifeboat, but some had only just come in after having been out in the storm all night.
One small, fair man in a yellow sou’wester was talking louder than all the others, and people were looking at him in surprise. Quite by chance he had been on shore the day before, and the boat he belonged to had gone down with all hands on board. It was evident that it had been so ordained, and that he was not meant to be with them that day. God’s ways were wonderful!
It was calm to-day, but cold. Men were standing out on the islands watching for boats that had not yet come in. The chief inspector had sent steamers out to look for any that had capsized. A great number of boats from fishing-stations many miles away had come in during the night, and they were now setting sail for their own stations in good weather.
Later in the day a steamer had come across a strange boat in the middle of the West Fiord. It was a Nordland boat, and her sail was closereeled, although there was little wind.
The steamer hove to, and found that the head-man at the helm was half dead, and that the other three men, who were sitting and holding on to the thwart, were frozen to death.
Spray had turned to ice in their hair and beards and upon their clothes, and they were staring straight before them with wide-open, glassy eyes.
Peter Suzansa that night had come safely in to Hammaroy, and it was with a heavy heart that he now sailed back across the West Fiord. He did not know how many men he knew might have been drowned, and he could not bear to think of Kristéver Myran and his men.”
Johan Bojer (6 maart 1872 – 3 juli 1959)
De Poolse dichter en aforist Stanisław Jerzy Lec werd geboren op 6 maart 1909 in Lemberg. Zie ook alle tags voor Stanislaw Jerzy Lec op dit blog.
Uit: Unkempt Thoughts (Vertaald door Jacek Galazka)
“All is in the hands of Man. Therefore you should wash them often.”
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“Do not ask God the way to heaven; he will show you the hardest one.“
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„Thoughts, like fleas, jump from man to man, but they don’t bite everybody.”
Stanisław Jerzy Lec (6 maart 1909 – 7 mei 1966)
De Zweedese schrijfster Victoria Maria Benedictsson werd geboren op 6 maart 1850 in Schonen. Zie ook alle tags voor Victoria Benedictsson op dit blog.
Uit: The Big Book (Vertaald door Verne Moberg)
“The rigid look of horror on her face gripped me so, I trembled deep in my soul. I had never before seen how repulsive and hideous this was.
I saw it now in this young face with its composed seriousness, its heavy sorrow, its tearless gaze. She looked as if life’s happiness had passed her by and was now going far, far away, never to return. Only when I saw this warm, young full-blooded woman shrink back in the presence of this thing did I realize to my horror what it was: to drag one’s best, most human feelings through the mud and then offer them up to the one person who has kept her own living clean. He had turned away from this wholesome young woman, for whom his feeling had begun to waken, and had gone to the sad gray sirens of the streets; he had touched them with his hands, and now he reached out these same hands to my child, for her to put her whole life into them, her whole world of feeling. And people don’t call this arrogance! For me it was upsetting, frighteningly hideous. I asked if she would still think of him with the same feeling.
Yes, She couldn’t feel anything but cold disgust.
Was it over Anna Whitlock or the other?
It was the other. She could not understand how — after he’d already begun showing her attention — it had been possible for him to go to the others. It was so disgusting.
I was afraid. A whole spider’s nest of self-reproach was overturned upon me. Of course, I had known or at least surmised about his life, and not thought it was anything special: he’d lived like the others, and I hadn’t felt repulsed by that, I could have kept them from getting together but had not done so.
I said that if she felt indifferent to him now, then she shouldn’t keep from putting an end to it because of what people would say.”
Victoria Benedictsson (6 maart 1850 – 21 juni 1888)
Cover
De Italiaanse dichter Luigi Alamanni werd geboren op 6 maart 1495 in Florence. Zie ook alle tags voor Luigi Alamanni op dit blog.
Petrarca’s Retreat
Vaucluse, ye hills and glades and shady vale,
So long the noble Tuscan bard’s retreat,
When warm his heart for cruel Laura beat,
As lone he wandered in thy beauteous dale !
Ye flowers, which heard him oft his pains bewail
In tones of love and sorrow, sad, but sweet !
Ye dells and rocks, whose hollow sides repeat,
Even yet, his ancient passion’s moving tale !
Fountain, which pourcst out thy waters green
In ever-flowing streams the Sorgue to fill,
Whose charms the lovely Arno’s emulate !
How deeply I revere your holy scene,
Which breathes throughout the immortal poet still,
Whom I, perchance all vainly, imitate !
Vertaald door Sara Agnes Ryan
Luigi Alamanni (6 maart 1495 – 18 april 1556)