Morning Read:
Dentistical
¶ Lord Chesterfield advises his son, “Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is.”
¶ In Moby-Dick, three didactic chapters on whales in art, sculpture, astronomy, &c, with vigorous protestation of their general inaccuracy. Chapter 57, the last of these, is redeemed by the use of the words “dentistical” and “amphitheatrical.” Not.
¶ In Don Quixote, the protracted scene at the inn, with its two interpolated “exemplary novels”, has been going on for about eleven chapters. Now, the long-lost narrator of the second novel, Ruy, is abashed by the arrival of his brother and niece at the inn. The niece, of course, is a great, one might say, heroic, beauty.
He held the hand of a maiden, approximately sixteen years old, who wore a traveling costume and was so elegant, beautiful, and charming that everyone marveled at the sight of her, and if they had not already seen Dorotea and Luscinda and Zoraida at the inn, they would would have thought that beauty comparable to hers would be difficult to find.
And then we have the recognition scene, with its streaming tears and incredulous embraces; it’s as though Cervantes were writing a manual on the composition of comic operas.
¶ In Squillions, Noël Coward is detached to Hollywood by Bill Stephenson, but for what purpose, I can’t begin to say. Barry Day’s cavalier manner with chronology makes the going impenetrable as well as dull. In letters, Coward keeps referring to a “shindig” in the House of Commons.
I want you to do the following: first of all, send me a copy of Hansard with a verbatim account of the debate in it, then check up through dear herrings on the histories of the gentlemen saying those unpleasant things about me. There will come a day when the pen will prove to be a great deal mightier than the sword.
Or the seat in the House, presumably. All too presumably.