De Deense schrijver Herman Bang werd geboren op 20 april 1857 in Asserballe. Zie ook alle tags voor Herman Bang op dit blog.
Uit: Tine (Vertaald door Ingeborg en Aldo Keel)
“Noch immer lief Tine weinend neben dem Wagen her, während Frau Berg die letzten Worte laut in die Dunkelheit und den Wind hinausrief:
«Dann bringen Sie noch alles in Ordnung – in der blauen Kammer – heute Abend … heute Abend noch.»
«Ja – ja», antwortete Tine und konnte vor Tränen nicht sprechen.
«Und grüßen Sie mir – und grüßen Sie!», rief Frau Berg schluchzend, der Wind verschluckte ihre Worte.
Noch ein letztes Mal sprang Tine heran und griff nach ihrer ausgestreckten Hand, bekam sie aber nicht mehr zu fassen. Dann blieb sie stehen; und wie ein großer Schatten glitt der Wagen schnell ins Dunkel hinein, und schon war er nicht mehr zu hören.
Tine ging durch die Allee und über den Hof, wo die Jagdhunde leise winselten, zur Forstmeisterei zurück. Sie öffnete die Tür zum Flur, der so leer wirkte mit den kahlen Kleiderhaken, und auch Herlufs Spielzeugecke war ausgeräumt. Sie ging in die Küche, wo das Talglicht zwischen den Resten vom Teetisch glomm.
In der Gesindestube saßen die Leute schweigend am Tisch, Lars am oberen Ende.
«Ich soll grüßen», sagte Tine mit erstickter Stimme, und wieder wurde es still. Nur Maren, die mit der Schürze über dem Kopf, einem wiegenden Bündel gleich, am Ofen saß, heulte klagend auf.“
Herman Bang (20 april 1857 – 19 januari 1912)
De Amerikaanse dichter, schrijver, essayist en criticus Henry Theodore Tuckerman werd geboren op 20 april 1813 in Boston, Massachusetts. Zie ook alle tags voor Henry Tuckerman op dit blog.
Uit: Artist-life: Or, Sketches of American Painters (Gilbert Stuart)
“Stuart’s genius was eminently practical. There are two very distinct processes by which superior abilities manifest themselves: that of intelligence and that of impulse. As great military achievements are realized equally through self-possession and daring, skill and bravery, foresight and enthusiasm, the calmness of a Washington and the impetuosity of a Murat, literary and artistic results owe their efficiency to a like diversity of means. The basis of Allston’s power was a love of beauty, that of Stuart’s, acuteness; the one possessed delicate, the other strong perception; one was inspired by ideality, and the other by sense. Hence Stuart has been justly called a philosopher in his art. He seized upon the essential, and scorned the adventitious. He was impressed with the conviction that as a portrait painter it was his business to deal frankly with nature, and not suffer her temporary relations to interfere with his aim. Hence his well known pertinacity in seeking absolute expression, and giving bold general effects?authentic hints rather than exquisitely-wrought details. Hence, too, his amusing impatienceat every thing factitious and irrelevant. A young physician whom he desired to paint in remuneration for professional services, made a studied toilet, and with a deep sense of the importance of the occasion, appeared punctually at the hour designated. Stuart was prepared to receive him, canvas, throne and palette all arranged. To his visitor’s surprise, however, after surveying him a moment, he deliberately seated himself and commenced a series of those interesting narrations for which he was celebrated. Time flew by and the annoyed Esculapius heard the hour chimed when he should be with his expectant patients.“
Henry Tuckerman (20 april 1813 – 17 december 1871)
Zelfportret van Gilbert Stuart, 1778
De Franse dichter Aloysius Bertrand werd geboren op 20 april 1807 in Ceva, Piemont, Italië. Zie ook alle tags voor Aloysius Bertrand op dit blog.
Les deux anges
-” Planons, lui disais-je, sur les bois que parfument
les roses ; jouons-nous dans la lumière et l’azur des
cieux, oiseaux de l’air, et accompagnons le printemps
voyageur. “
La mort me la ravit échevelée et livrée au sommeil d’un
évanouissement, tandis que, retombé dans la vie, je
tendais en vain les bras à l’ange qui s’envolait.
Oh ! si la mort eût tinté sur notre couche les noces du
cercueil, cette sueur des anges m’eût fait monter aux
cieux avec elle, ou je l’eusse entraînée avec moi aux
enfers !
Délirantes joies du départ pour l’ineffable bonheur de
deux âmes qui, heureuses et s’oubliant par-tout où elles
ne sont plus ensemble, ne songent plus au retour.
Mystérieux voyage de deux anges qu’on eût vus, au point
du jour, traverser les espaces et recevoir sur leurs
blanches ailes la fraîche rosée du matin !
Et dans le vallon, triste de notre absence, notre couche
fût demeurée vide au mois des fleurs, nid abandonné sous
le feuillage.
Aloysius Bertrand (20 april 1807 – 29 april 1841)
Zelfportret
De Italiaanse schrijver Pietro Aretino werd geboren in Arezzo op 20 april 1492. Zie ook alle tags voor Pietro Aretino op dit blog.
Uit: Dialogues
« ANTONIA What did you see? Tell me, please!
NANNA In the cell I saw four sisters, the General, and the three milky-white and ruby-red young friars, who were taking off the reverend father’s cassock and garbing him in a big velvet coat. Then hid his tonsure under a small golden skullcap, over which they placed a velvet cap ornamented with crystal droplets and surmounted by a white plume. Then, having buckled his sword at his side, the blissful General, to speak frankly, started strutting back and forth with the big-balled stride of a Bartolomeo Colleoni. In the meantime the sisters removed their habits and the friars took off their tunics. The latter put on the sisters` robes and the sisters that is, three of them put on the friars`. The fourth nun rolled herself up in General’s cassock, seated herself pontifically, and began to imitate a superior laying down the law for the convent.
ANTONIA What pretty pranks!
NANNA Now it becomes prettier.”
Pietro Aretino (20 april 1492 – 21 oktober 1556)br> Portret door Marcantonio Raimondi, 1517–20 or 1524–25
De Engelse dichteres en schrijfster Dinah Maria Craik werd geboren op 20 april 1826 in Stoke-on-Trent. Zie ook alle tags voor Dinah Craik op dit blog.
Passion Past
Were I a boy, with a boy’s heart-beat
At glimpse of her passing adown the street,
Of a room where she had entered and gone,
Or a page her hand had written on,–
Would all be with me as it was before?
O no, never! no, no, never!
Never any more.
Were I a man, with a man’s pulse-throb,
Breath hard and fierce, held down like a sob,
Dumb, yet hearing her lightest word,
Blind, until only her garment stirred:
Would I pour my life like wine on her floor?
No, no, never: never, never!
Never any more.
Gray and withered, wrinkled and marred,
I have gone through the fire and come out unscarred,
With the image of manhood upon me yet,
No shame to remember, no wish to forget:
But could she rekindle the pangs I bore?–
O no, never! thank God, never!
Never any more.
Old and wrinkled, withered and gray,–
And yet if her light step passed to-day,
I should see her face all faces among,
And say,–‘Heaven love thee, whom I loved long!
Thou hast lost the key of my heart’s door,
Lost it ever, and forever,
Ay, forevermore.’
Dinah Craik (20 april 1826 – 12 oktober 1887)
Portret door Sir Hubert von Herkomer, z.j.