Books – Page 12 – derrickjknight

The Treasure Of Franchard

Knowing we were to expect gale force winds today, Jackie laid down garden chairs and Flo furled the parasols yesterday, but, because they have such heavy bases did not lay them down.

The gusts did it for us. 75 mph winds came through The Needles, just about 5 miles from us as the crow flies. They will continue throughout the night and most of tomorrow.

It is a measure of some improvement in my cold that I did venture out, if only briefly, onto the patio for these photographs, but no further.

On another afternoon of reading I enjoyed “The Treasure of Franchard”, a moral tale of the potential problems of riches. This short narrative of 8 chapters in my Folio Society collection of Robert Louis Stevenson’s stories contains delightfully descriptive bucolic prose, and penetrative insights into humanity.

Through the developing relationship of a loquacious doctor and a taciturn, yet questioning, boy the work is more obviously philosophical than some of the other stories. Ultimately it is the boy who emerges as the tutor.

Michael Foreman’s illustration features the pivotal finding of the treasure which is the vehicle for the lessons for the various protagonists.

This evening we all dined on Subway sandwiches produced by Flo and Dillon with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Séguret Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021

The Rajah’s Diamond

With my cold reaching its peak and today’s weather pattern repeating that of yesterday I spent the day seated indoors.

First I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between England and Japan, then read “The Rajah’s Diamond” story from the Folio selection of Robert Louis Stevenson’s tales.

In a four part story, with humour and mystery the author traces the passage of an item of great wealth and its effect on the lives of a number of people with whom it comes into contact. We see that it is an object that tempts into crime and deception bringing no happiness.

Once again Michael Foreman’s illustrations capture the essence of Stevenson’s characters and events created in the author’s usual flowing prose.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s cottage pie and beef pie with boiled new potatoes; firm broccoli and cauliflower, crunchy carrots, and meaty gravy with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the GSM.

The Suicide Club

Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between France and Uruguay, which was more of a contest than had been predicted.

Later Jackie drove me to and collected me afterwards from my friend Giles’s house so we could enjoy a conversation.

In the meantime, realising that our Modus is becoming too frail to carry us around any more, Mrs Knight visited the Hyundai garage at Everton where she chose a replacement younger model which we secured with a deposit this afternoon.

Afterwards I photographed a spider that I am holding back for Denzil’s upcoming Nature Challenge.

I then finished reading “The Suicide Club” by Robert Louis Stevenson, being the third in The Folio Society’s collection.

This is really the tale of a deviously scheming serial killer who inveigles victims into sham situations encouraging them to dice with death. We have intriguing mystery; fearful dread; fanciful locations, and gullible prey in what is a three part detective story. Stevenson uses light and shade to evoke the atmosphere of the developing murder mystery. He describes the settings in detail, using fairly lengthy yet flowing prose, with a keen ear for conversation and other sounds.

As usual, Michael Foreman’s watercolour illustrations picture the author’s work admirably.

I hope the prose samples alongside these examples do not give too much away.

This evening we all dined on more of Jackie’s chicken Jalfrezi meal with the addition of tandoori paneer; with which we each finished our respective beverages.

The Sire De Malétroit’s Door

This, the second story in The Folio Society’s Robert Louis Stevenson’s collection, again spans one night in mediaeval France.

Again turbulent weather plays a significant part, as does the darkness of the night. A “piping wind, laden with showers,…. and the dead leaves ran riot along the streets” and “the night was as black as the grave; not a star, nor a glimmer of moonshine, slipped through the canopy of cloud” are just a couple of examples of the author’s beautifully engaging prose descriptions, setting the scene for what becomes a horror story

in which the eponymous door functions as an enticing refuge quickly transformed into a firm trap.

There follows a threatening conversation; an enticing meeting; an impossible proposition. Questions of love and honour are in conflict, culminating in one of resolution at the break of day. The timing of dream sequences is measured by the ticking of a clock beating in sympathy with hiccoughing sobs

A Lodging For The Night

Because of the quality of the writing of arguably our greatest ever story writer as exemplified in this collection on which I embarked upon today I will feature each tale in a separate post as I work my way through the book.

Claire Harmon’s introduction is as insightful and poetically written as Stevenson’s own work, and Michael Foreman’s sensitive full colour illustrations a suitable match.

The front board features an image by the artist.

The post title story, opening, as it does with a lyrical description of falling snow reminiscent of François Villon’s famous line “Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?” (“But where are the snows of yesteryear?”) reveals the depth of our author’s knowledge of this talented poet and criminal rogue of late Mediaeval Paris.

The snow itself as it falls to cover then ceases to to reveal the footprints of Villon as he finds himself fleeing his guilt over an action of which he is innocent, is in fact a character in itself.

Stevenson’s delightfully descriptive yet simple prose engages all our senses. We are transported in the snow and involved in the conversation Villon has as he debates with the man who gave him shelter. As will be seen he has been robbed and intended to do the same.

The 19th century author confronts poverty and exposure to the elements with lack of adequate protection.

As usual, I hope to convey the essence of the story without giving it away.

Culloden

Today I finished reading

This is the second of John Prebble’s two histories of the demise of the way of life of the Scottish Highlands.

The author’s exemplary research and lively prose gives plentiful detail of the decisive battle of Culloden and its aftermath.

The picture is well amplified by the characterful wood engravings of Harry Brockway, the first of which features Alexander MacDonald of Keppel, an early clan leader casualty as the frontispiece.

Beginning with the organised march from Nairn to Culloden of the Royalist army and the gathering of the tired and hungry clans, in the harshest highland weather, we learn exactly what it was like for ordinary soldiers in particular preparing for battle in all kinds of freezing precipitation across boggy, rocky terrain. The reality of battle was even more dreadful.

Drummers woke and led the Redcoat soldiers,

while pipers like Ian Beg spurred the Rebel army

We are told of the Lowlanders and some Clansmen with axes to grind against the Highlanders; and Highlanders, like

Charles Stewart of Ardshiel, drawn into the conflict because of scores to settle with Royalist adherents, such as the Campbells.

Gilles MacBean was one of many who, fatally wounded, crawled away to die in the harsh undergrowth.

Although it was William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland who enjoyed the fame, and epithet “Butcher”, the hands-on commander responsible for the dreadful aftermath, details of which his own leader seemed content not to know too much about, was

Major General Henry Hawley.

The Highland capital of Inverness was occupied by the Redcoat army, from where they they searched the highlands for fleeing Rebels, laid waste the terrain, looted, destroyed and burnt highlanders homes, until a line of soldiers formed along the shore of Loch Ness carved a cleft across the north. The remaining clansmen rooted out were imprisoned in appalling circumstances, including the holds of ships which transported many to America and the West Indies.

Anne McKay, despite days of torture, refused to betray a group of Jacobites.

Murdoch McRaw was the last man hanged for alleged spying.

Samuel Kelsell received 2,000 lashes of the Cat o’ Nine Tails spread over 10 sessions for stealing 15 sheep.

Stewart Carmichael of Bonnyhaugh was the only man to escape from the Tilbury transports.

Cumberland was fêted in England on his return.

Glencoe

Watching the TV series “Outlander” has prompted me to revisit my Folio Society set of John Prebble’s histories of Glencoe and Culloden, starting with

which details the history of deception, deceit, age-old clan rivalry, betrayal, Royal prevarication, and “Murder under trust”

We learn of the mutual disloyalty of neighbours, their leaders prepared, in their own personal interest, to change allegiance according to which King of England seemed worthy of their support, depending on the way the wind blew. Clansmen were accordingly prepared to don the Redcoats uniforms and fight against their own kind.

This, however, was not a fight. It was the slaughter of unarmed men, their wives, and their children, dragged from their beds by soldiers armed with muskets and bayonets.

King William ignored what was to happen, and King James II prevaricated through indecision. The Lairds who were responsible for the decision passed this down the line and ultimately denied responsibility. The action for which the troops were gathering was kept from them until the last minute.

Fundamentally this could also be seen as a day of reckoning between the Campbells and the MacDonalds. It also fuelled the fire for the Jacobite rebellion of 1745.

Prebble’s research is thorough; his detailed prose readable, with an ability to convey the life, the, action, and the atmosphere of the time. We feel the horror, and the anger at how it has come about.

Helpful appendices, including Principle Characters and Chronologies help us keep track, especially as I, for example, couldn’t hope to retain all the names, in their various versions, as in the earlier histories.

The author’s own introduction puts all in perspective.

Harry Brockway’s engravings capture the essential characteristics of the various personnel.

The frontispiece features Alasdair Og and John MacDonald, sons of MacIain.

Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon is next;

then Sir John Dalrymple, Master of Stair;

Archibald Campbell, 10th Earl, 1st Duke of Argyll;

Captain John Hill, Governor of Fort William;

Sir John Campbell, 11th Laird of Glenorchy, 1st Earl of Breadalbane;

James II;

Alasdair MacDonald, 12th Chief of Glencoe;

William III.

Bean Nighe, a supernatural washerwoman, who foretold death, was seen on the eve.

Duncan Rankin was the first man killed, swimming to escape.

Murdoch Matheson, after listening to the action, wrote a well remembered lament.

A two year old boy who survived with the loss of a little finger, grew to lead members of his clan at Culloden.

Doctor Zhivago

This book having been banned in the author’s homeland for decades was apparently brought to widespread publication with the aid of https://lithub.com/the-cia-scheme-that-brought-doctor-zhivago-to-the-world/

It was Merril who alerted me to the scheme, concerning which this article puts the work in perspective.

The immediate popularity of this courageous novel on its 1958 publication by the Italian publisher, Feltrinelli is suggested by the fact that my copy is the 8th impression during the months of September to November of that same year produce by Collins and Harvill Press. I am not sure how long my second-hand book, bearing the pencilled price of £1 has languished on my bookshelves while waiting for my fingers to turn the pages.

Pasternak demonstrates how the destructive turmoils of the formative decades of the Communist regime affected the lives of humanity; the sacrifice of community to the all-powerful state; how the individual has been lost to the ideology; and yet the inevitable confused chaos until the rise of rule by fear. His observations on the power of the lie to influence political over personal beliefs have, to this day, never left these lands, as we see in the continued warfare devastating them today.

The eponymous main protagonist in the story, in his thoughts, in his conversations, in his diary extracts, and in his posthumously published poetry carries the voice of Pasternak’s philosophy of life, of nature, and of history. Despite how well known the tale is, particularly from its screen interpretations, I will try to continue my practice of revealing as little detail as possible.

The ultimate tragedy of this period seems to be the frequent separation of lovers and family members caused by the enforced geographical upheavals. Just as we still see today, families, sometimes never to be reunited, are dispersed across the globe, and freedom is an elusive dream. Parted protagonists spend decades trying to find each other, often to no avail or too late.

This is a lengthy novel, yet the prose is so fast-paced as to facilitate easy reading. The author’s descriptive passages of events, locations, and personalities are packed with simile, and to some extent metaphor, adding a lively richness. He handles conversation and the complexity of relationships with considerable insight. Some of his pastoral passages are delightful. He evokes the settings with simple sentences suggesting surroundings, like hens crossing the ground; and uses the weather to indicate mood or conditions. Sunlight can be as telling as Siberia’s snow and bitter cold.

When humanity is not sacrificed to blind adherence to policies there are struggles over guilt, particularly in extramarital liaisons.

Although I know no Russian it seems to me that the translators, Max Hayward and Manya Harari have produced a worthy version, especially as they acknowledge their limitations in translating Zhivago’s poems which form the last sections of the book.

I spent much of the day finishing my reading of the book and drafting this post.

This evening we dined at The Red Lion in Boldre, where Jackie enjoyed her meaty burger meal with extra onion rings, and Peroni; and I did the same with my beer battered haddock, chips and peas, with a Chilean Merlot.

Quinx

As we enter the second week of August the skies throughout the day have been overcast; the temperature over cold; the breeze underwhelming; so I donned a jacket, remained inside, and spent the day finishing my reading of the final volume of Lawrence Durrell’s Avignon Quintet,

the book jacket of which is illustrated by David Gentleman.

As the characters from the five works gather for the last time the narrator, Blanford, considers that he is now in a position to write the book that they have been helping him put together. These volumes are of course it.

We are now experiencing the aftermath of the Second World War with its reprisals, its War Crimes trials, and the beginnings of the consequential population readjustments and migrations.

Themes of sexuality, love, lust, and the nature and power of orgasm continue; triangular relationships, incest, and orientation are underlying – this is managed with non-pornographic eroticism. The search for the mythical treasure of the Templars remains a thread which seems about to be snapped.

Whilst I would agree with the blurb-writer’s observation of Durrell’s magical descriptive writing, I think the best of this is contained in the earlier chapter concerning the converging of the European gypsy tribes where, long before the writer used the phrase “human tide”, his fluent prose described just that ebb and flow, managing the varying lengths of his superb sentences to evoke the essence of the gathering stream.

Particularly in the first chapter and the notebook section, the author enjoys amusing wordplay like puns (in either English or French) and misquotations, all of which exemplify his apparent ease with language.

This evening we all dined on further helpings of yesterday’s Monday pie with fresh vegetables and the same beverages, followed by Berry Strudel

The Trial Of The Templars

The frontispiece shows Templars before Pope Clement V and King Philip IV of France.

Much detailed research during a period of the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries scarce in reliable sources has been undertaken by Malcolm Barber in his history – first published by Cambridge University Press in 1978 – of “The Trial Of The Templars” which took place against the background of the widespread belief in magic and superstition of the powers of the dead; the influence of the Devil; and condemnation of the sin of heresy, for which people were still being burnt to death in Tudor England.

Barber explains the rise of this militant religious order through the Christian crusades against Islam, the fervour following the capture of Jerusalem in 1099 and decline after the loss of Acre in 1291.

Front boards of The Trial of The Templars

During their rise, the author shows that the Order of the Temple possessed many Houses and Fortresses throughout Europe, especially concentrated in France where they were seen as a threat by King Philip IV, who vied with Pope Clement V for control over their future.

King and Pope were in scarcely veiled conflict as their devious machinations battled over the accusations facing the Templars. Philip wished to eliminate the Order by means of condemning their members and leadership for offences dreamt up and promulgated by rumour and gullibility of the European populace at the time.

The French king was determined to try and punish the members as quickly as possible, without the intervention of the pontiff. This he set about doing virtually overnight with the wholesale arrests in France of October 1307. The consequent trials forced the pope to act, manoeuvring the system of conducting the trials in the Church, handing the guilty to the Sate to administer punishment. This span the process out over five years.

Members of the Order were not all knights; not all were priests; the majority were servants running the establishments.

Torture was an accepted norm in the legal systems, and even sanctioned by the pope. This is how “the truth” of such fabricated offences was established. It was carried out by the Inquisitors, both of Church and State. Barber makes it clear that the results could not be accounted credible. Eventually the Order was suppressed by the pope because of the widespread loss of trust in the organisation believed to have engaged in denying Christ; in idolatry; in obscene practices; and in homosexuality; and in orgiastic rituals – yet without acknowledging the veracity of all this.

To my mind the author writes for professional historians; he establishes as much evidence as possible for his conclusions. As a layman interested in history (I passed A Level GCE in 1960) I appreciated the evidence but found the frequent repetition of the same facts from different witnesses rather tedious – especially as many victims subsequently retracted confessions made under torture or the threat of it. The details of the tortures, sometimes resulting in death, are not for the faint hearted; and the details of the accused behaviour incredible to modern eyes.

Slipped inside my Folio Society edition of 2003 is an article I cut from The Times of the following year by Ruth Gledhill about a movement seeking an apology from the then current Pope. This rather impractical wish was apparently abandoned in 2016.

My book is lavishly illustrated by contemporary artwork.

I have included a selection where I think the captions, when enlarged in the gallery, will help the story