Prologue -
Chapter 1 -
Chapter 2 -
Chapter 3 -
Chapter 4 -
Chapter 5 -
Chapter 6 -
Chapter 7 -
Chapter 8 -
Chapter 9 -
Chapter 10 -
Chapter 11 -
Chapter 12 -
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Chapter 17 -
Chapter 18 -
Chapter 19 -
Chapter 20 -
Chapter 21 -
Chapter 22 -
Chapter 23 -
Chapter 24 -
Chapter 25 -
Chapter 26 -
Chapter 27 -
Chapter 28 -
Chapter 29 -
Chapter 30 -
Chapter 31 -
Chapter 32 -
Chapter 33 -
Chapter 34 -
Chapter 35 -
Chapter 36 -
Chapter 37 -
Chapter 38 -
Chapter 39
| Aan E. H. v. W.
"J'ai souvent entendu plaindre les femmes de poëte, et sans doute, pour tenir dignement dans la vie ce difficile emploi, aucune qualité n'est de trop. Le plus rare ensemble de mérites n'est que le strict nécessaire, et ne suffit même pas toujours au commun bonheur. Voir sans cesse la muse en tiers dans vos plus familiers entretiens, - recueiller dans ses bras et soigner ce poëte qui est votre mari, quand il vous revient meurtri par les déceptions de sa tâche; - ou bien le voir s'envoler à la poursuite de sa chimère ... voilà l'ordinaire de l'existence pour une femme de poëte. Oui, mais aussi il y a le chapître des compensations, l'heure des lauriers qu'il a gagnés à la sueur de son génie, et qu'il dépose pieusement aux pieds de la femme légitimement aimée, aux genoux de l'Antigone qui sert de guide en ce monde à cet "aveugle errant;" Car, ne vous-y-trompez pas: presque tous les petits-fils d'Homère sont plus ou moins aveugles à leur façon;--ils voient ce que nous ne voyons pas; leurs regards pénètrent plus haut et plus au fond que les nôtres; mais ils ne savent pas voir droit devant eux leur petit bonhomme de chemin, et ils seraient capables de trébucher et de se casser le nez sur le moindre caillou, s'il leur fallait cheminer sans soutien, dans ces vallées de prose où demeure la vie." (HENRY DE PÈNE) |
To Everdine Huberta van Wijnbergen I often heard complaints from a poet's wife, and without doubt, to continue this difficult task in life in a worthy way, no quality is too much. The rarest combination of merits is just the bare necessity, and is not really sufficient for common luck. Seeing continuously the muse as the third person in your most private moments - taking in your arms and caring for the poet who is your husband, when he comes back to you, hurt by the disappointments of his task; - or seeing him flying when he chases his illusion - that's what it is to be the a poet's wife. Yes, but there is also the chapter of compensations, the time of laurels which he has deserved in the sweat of his genius, which he lays with devotion at the feet of his wife whom he loves legally, on the knees of the Antigone who is his guide in this world of the "erring blind". But be not mistaken: almost all of Homer's grandsons were more or less blind in their way; - they saw what we do not see; their looks penetrate higher and deeper than ours; but they cannot see the little man of the road straight ahead, and they will be able to trip over the smallest pebble and break their noses, if they will walk without support, in these valleys of prose where life lives. (HENRY DE PÈNE) |
POLICE OFFICER. Mr Judge, this is the man who murdered Barbertje.
JUDGE. That man shall be hanged. How did he do it?
POLICE OFFICER. He cut her into small pieces, and he pickled her.
JUDGE. He did a great wrong. He shall hang.
LOTHARIO. Judge, I did not kill Barbertje! I fed her, I clothed her, I cared for her. There are witnesses to testify that I am a good man, not a murderer.
JUDGE. Man, thou shalt hang! Thou makest thy crime worse by self-satisfaction. It isn’t proper for one who stands accused of something, to call himself a good man.
LOTHARIO. But, judge, there are witnesses who will confirm it. And while I am accused of murder ...
JUDGE. Thou shalt hang! Thou hast cut Barbertje into pieces, thou pickled her, and thou art satisfied with thyself … three capital crimes! … Who art thou, lady?
LADY. I am Barbertje.
LOTHARIO. Thank God! Judge, thou seest that I did not kill her!
JUDGE. Hm ... yes ... so! But the pickling?
BARBERTJE. No judge, he did not pickle me. Instead, he hath been very good to me. He is a really righteous man!
LOTHARIO. Thou hearest, judge, she sayth that I am a good man.
JUDGE. Hm ... so the third crime still stands. Police officer, take this man away, he shall hang. He is guilty of self-satisfaction. Clerk, quote in the premises the jurisprudence of Lessing's patriarch.
(Unissued stage play)