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Thread: Thus spake m. Solzhenitsof!

  1. #331
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    FRAGMENTS (1) /FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22
    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY // THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise
    Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin

    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. ........
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:44 PM.

  2. #332
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    FRAGMENTS (2) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Of which Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin found in Africa was the humanity and it was kept and well informed in the most delightful fashion. When, in the complexity of circumstances, loving humanity depended upon the choice which the Rankin Family was about to make whether its members might or might not become the lover of coloured and non-coloured people! It was not only the brilliant pitches of virtuous sopranos, old talismans and academicians, to whom they were bound by such close ties, that Rankin Family compelled with so much philanthropy to serve them as precursors. All friends of theirs were accustomed to receive, from time to time, emails which called on them for a word of recommendation or introduction, with a tongue of natural diplomacy diplomatic which, persisting throughout all the family's adroitness...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  3. #333
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    FRAGMENTS (3) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Successively they would be using different pretexts, revealed more glisteningly than any vague quest, clumsiness or trait in indiscretion, a permanent borings to some extent character and an unvarying posture. They used often to recall to themselves when, many years later, they began to take an interest in the friends' character because of the similarity which, in wholly different respects, it offered to their own, how, when they used to write to far relatives-though not at the time they are then considering, for it was about the day of saint Valentine that all darlings’ great ‘affair’ began, and made a long gaiety in their rejoicing practices-the latter, recognising their friends’ second email addresses on the monitor, would exclaim: “Here is an amicable soul offering for sharing several parties; thanks to God!” And, either from self confidence or from the highly conscious spirit of Good Samaritans which urges them to offer a thing to everybody who do want good and nice only, Philip Rankin should not meet with an obstinate refusal the most easily satisfied of his prayers, as when he begged them for an introduction to a nice people who dined with his family every Sunday, and whom they were obliged, whenever The Rankin Family mentioned them, to pretend that they no longer saw, although they would be wondering, all through the week, whom they could invite to meet them, and often failed, in the end, to find anyone, sooner than make a sign to Mr and Mrs Rankin who would so gladly have accepted.Occasionally a couple of their grandparents’ acquaintance, who had been complaining for some time that they never saw any Rankin now, would announce with satisfaction, and perhaps with a slight inclination to make them envious of their new generations, that they had suddenly become as charming as they could possibly be, and was never out of their house.
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  4. #334
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    FRAGMENTS (4) / FROM THE VERY PAGE OF 22 (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Philip Rankin's children would not care to shatter the people's pleasant illusion, but would look at Anita Rankin-the mom, as she hummed the air of:
    -What is this mystery?
    -We cannot understand it at all;
    -Of imagines fugitive . . .;
    -In matters such as this it is best to close one’s eyes.
    A few months later, if Philip Rankin asked a new friends of theirs
    -What about old ones? Do you still see as much of them as ever?” the other’s face would lengthen:
    -Ever mention their name to us again!
    -But I thought that you had got such friends of your old parents, huh?
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-04-2017 at 04:45 PM.

  5. #335
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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I

    One could see, the guests or rather The Debater to take place at the dinner table after The Phrase -what a title!-has no bearing on the point. What one must know is whether the debate friends are indeed the guests of the Rankin Family in average grade of mentality and even of highest charm, one of those appraisable debaters who are capable of foregoing a pleasure for if they are such, how could someone love each other, for they are not even a professional debater, a definite, imperfect, but at least perceptible entity. They are not a formless water that will trickle down any slope that it may come upon, a fish devoid of memory, incapable of thought, which all its life-span in its aquarium will continue to draw nearer-instead of dashing-itself, maybe-a some thousand times a day, against a wall of glass, not mistaking it for water but discerning every details a propos walls of soil or walls of liquids. Could the reader realise that any reason explain the dramatic fall or rather being ruined to some degree of survival worse than destruction of The Rankin Family's will have the effect-one does not say of making the liberal intellectuals of The World cease from that moment not to feel suffering from the dictatorial oppressions availing in the cases similar to that of theirs, that goes without saying, but of making Zimbabwe less attractive to The World's eyes when the mankind realise that the oppressors are not any human, that people are to be running into beneath everything in the world and have not the intelligence to raise the oppressor one inch higher than the infliction induced throne of an hyena while grinning with blood stained incisive teeth? Obviously, one should have preferred to ask the reason sufficient to destruct the mansion of The Rankin Family wherein the dinner table would always be open to everybody to dine in the spirit of having felt the cosy welcome of the host and hostess namely Mr. and Mrs Rankin and voluntarily to take part in the 'Debate' ad hoc 'The Phrase' the guests might love as much as compelling it to debate, as though it had been a matter of little or no importance, to give up the socio-political even socio-economic affairs (since none compels them to sully their lips with so abject a subject consisting of musical notes played by the guitarist or pianist highly respected amongst the other guests at The Rankin's), in the hope that one would go to omit it nevertheless. But, since one-ethically charged with 'narrating the ache of a philanthropist family and its Good Samaritan Friends had resolved to weigh the subject in the balance, to make so grave an issue depend upon the remarks of the narration, one considered it more honourable to give every well civilized people due warning. Meanwhile, the narrator might had shown signs of increasing emotion and uncertainty all in all the meaning of the tirade like parts was beyond the literature. So that one grasped that it was to be included among the scenes of heartrending infliction or supplication, scenes which The Rankin's familiarity with the ways of men of pen enabled somebody, without paying any heed to the words that were uttered, to conclude that the pen would not make unless both the writer and the pen were in love for humanist tasks; that, from the moment when they were in love within the procedure of constructing the style, even if it would be superfluous to understand the doomsday at the Rankin's there upon Philip Rankin would cry, "I'm nobody, oppression based life had done away with me since there could only be a dead man in love with The Mankind later on." And so, when the others would have heard one-the narrator-out with the utmost tranquillity had the other guests or rather the lovers of the ' phrase debating not noticed that it was growing late, and that if they went on speaking for any length of time one would never as they told one with a fond smile, obstinate but slightly abashed, “come here in time for the dinner induced debate or vice versa.” On other occasions they had assured themselves that the one thing which, more than anything else, would make them cease to love 'debating the phrase', would be one refusal to abandon the habit of ignoring dinner time at The Rankin's. “Even from the point of view of intelligence, pure and simple,” one had told them, “can’t you see how much of your attraction you throw away when you stoop to debating? By a frank admission-how many good deeds you might redeem! Really, you are drawing nearer than you supposed!” In vain, however, did one expound to them thus all the reasons that one had for not exaggeration; they might have succeeded in overthrowing any universal system of INTELLECTUAL AID, but one had no such system; one contented oneself, merely, whenever the guests wished The Rankin Family not to remain in ignorance of anything that one had done, with not telling one of it. So that the truth was, to everybody at The Rankin's, something not to be used only as a special expedient; and the one thing that could make everybody decide whether they should avail themselves of the truth or not was a reason which, too, was of a special and contingent order, namely the risk of The Narrator’s discovering that The Rankin Family's members had always told the intellectuals of the earth the truth, solely truth. Physically, under the general oppression availing in Zimbabwe The Rankin's Family was passing through an unfortunate phase; it was growing unhappy, and the expressive, sorrowful charm, the surprised, wistful expressions which the members of The Rankin's Family had formerly had, seemed to have vanished with their main happiness, with the result that they became most precious to the humanist circles of the friends at the very moment when those persons found them distinctly less good-looking. The friends of Mr. and Mrs Rankin would gaze at their for hours on end, trying to recapture the charm which they had once seen in their face and could not find again. And yet the knowledge that, within the new and strange torture upon them, it was still the narrator that lurked, still the same volatile temperament, thoughtful, artful and non-evasive, was enough to keep everybody seeking, with as much passion as ever, to captivate them. Then the old friends would look at photographs of The Rankin's Family, taken two years before, and would remember how exquisite they had been. And yet that could not console one, a little, for all the sufferings that one voluntarily endured on one's account. When the members of The Rankin's Family took themselves off to nowhere, or to the neighbours' houses, or to far relatives, as often as not, if the weather was fine, they would propose to remain there for the night for they had not go any home until next day. Mme. Rankin could not endeavour to set at rest while remembering the scruples of the guitarist a propos 'The Phrase', whose memoirs had remained in the past: “Our souls will be only too glad to be rid of life for a moment", said they. One would ask then "how on earth could The Rankin Family's members not be anxious, when they know The World's Intellectuals aren't totally with the because of the informational gap regarding to the oppression of Zimbabwe's dictatorship and the torture of it inflicting upon mainly Philip and Anita Rankin? Anyhow, will I be able take them all under my wing over making the well civilized countries from Russia to Canada, Holland, Ireland etcetera, etcetera?” If this attempt failed, one would set off across country until one came to the corner of his study for some other kind of messenger-the PC, after first finding out which of the ‘faithful’ had anyone whom they must warn. And yet to the highest probability the world would thank one, and assure one that one might have several message for one, for one-The Narrator had told them, once and for all, that one could possibly send messages to The European Stock intellectuals, before all those people, without compromising oneself. Sometimes one would be present for several days on end, when the Rankin Family took one to see the tombs of their farmer grandparents! On the Rankin Family’s advice, to watch the sun setting through the little gate of the garden after which they went on to the most convenient place. “To think that one could visit really natural structures with us, who have spent some years in the debate of 'the musical phrase', who are constantly showered by other brilliant phrases, by the guests of the Rankin Family who really count, to take them the dinner table, and refuse to take anything but 'The Phrase'; and instead of that one trundles off with the lowest, the most brilliantly upgraded of harmonies, to go into ecstasies over the petrified impressions both of the guitarist and the painter alongside the omnipotent and the Doc! One hardly needs much knowledge of art and thought, I should say, to do that; though, surely, even without any particularly refined sense of debate, one would not deliberately choose to spend a vacation in the dinner table, so as to be within range of their nuances of consideration as fragrant exhalations within the boundless of boundaries of Chekov's orchard in his peerless works of the literature.” But when one had set off for farms, without allowing another person to appear there, as though by accident, at one's side, for, as one said, that would “create a hopeful impression,” one would plunge into the most feeding romance in the debate lover’s dinner table... The timing allocated for 'The Debate of The Phrase' within the dinner time were like a railway timetable, from which one learned the ways of joining something here or there in the morning, midday, afternoon or in the evening, even in the midnight. The ways to give start to the debate? More than that, the authority as the omnipotent or Doc do represent, the right to join it. For, after all, the time-table, and all the vehicles, planes, the trains themselves, were not meant for the people of the anti-humanist oppressors so even if the public were carefully informed, by means of printed advertisements, that in the first quarter of the 2000s a dictator could only be because going to demolish a family was a lawful act, for which permission from dictatorship would be superfluous; an act, moreover, which might be performed from a motive altogether different from the desire to see the target consisting of the innocent members of The Rankin Family, since persons who had never even heard of her performed it daily, and in such numbers as justified the horror and expense of bribing at the executers of the dictator. So it came to this; that the Rankin Family could not prevent executers to behead their soil loving souls from going to their farm anymore if they chose to do so. Now that was precisely what the members of The Rankin Family found that they couldn't choose to do, and would at that moment be doing were they, like the travelling public, not acquainted with a beloved farm loved and well treated. For a long time past one-the narrator had wanted to form a more definite impression of tragic collapse of the Rankin’s home as a restorer. And the horror being what it was, one felt an overwhelming desire to spend the day roaming on the lanes before their mansion. It was, indeed, a piece of bad luck that the friends had forbidden themselves access to the one spot that horrified to-day one of the day of the year 2017! Why, if one went down there, in defiance of their prohibition, they would be able to see themselves that very year! But then, whereas, if one had met, at The Rankin's, someone who did not matter, one would have hailed them with obvious pleasure: “What? You were tortured, weren't you?” and would have invited them to come and see friends at the dictatorial where they were staying with the Rankin's, if, on the other hand, it was oneself-the narrator who encountered there, one would be annoyed, would complain that one was being followed, would love one less in consequence, might even turn away in anger when one caught sight of the benumbed persons. “So, then, I am not to be allowed to go away for a day anywhere!” one would reproach the friends on their return, whereas in fact it was one himself who was not allowed to go. As the time being one had had the surprising idea, so as to contrive to visit vicinity around the house without letting it be supposed that one's object was to meet the butchers who tortured The Rankin Family, of securing an indolence from one of those inhuman oppressors, the men of the dictator, who might had a garrison in that neighbourhood. One is not solely a narrator but is a friend, to whom the guests of Lady Rankin to dine, to listen to music, and to debate the phrase suggested the plan without disclosing its ulterior humanist purpose, was beside oneself with joy; one did not conceal one's astonishment at the lady’s consenting at last, after umpteen dinners open to everybody from the vicinity, to come down and visit one's property devoted to help the mankind around, and since she did not wish to stay anywhere without helping the people around, promised to spend some days, at least, in taking friends for walks and excursions in the district. One imagined oneself down there already with Mr. Rankin too. Even before one saw the humanist friends or rather The Good Samaritans, even if one did not succeed in seeing him there, what a joy it would be to set foot on that soil where, not knowing the exact spot in which, at any moment, the host or the hostess of theirs was to be found, one would feel all around one the thrilling possibility of one's suddenly appearing: in the courtyard of the mansion, now beautiful in one's eyes since it was on all the friends' account that they had come to visit it; in all the lanes encircling the mansion, which struck one as romantic; down every ride of the farm, with rosy reflections with the deep and tender glow of sunset before the dinner! Innumerable and alternative dining and thought plus art based debate places, for the point of narrator to which would fly simultaneously for refuge, in the uncertain ubiquity of one's hopes, one's happy, well disciplined and united heart would compel one rebuking “We mustn’t, on any account,” one would warn the intellectuals of the world, “run across the tragedy of Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin. I have just heard that they were put the prison for not having been guilty, of all places, then. One has plenty of time to see them in The United Nations' Centre; it might have hardly been worthwhile coming down there if one couldn’t go a yard without meeting them.” And one's host would fail to understand why, once they had reached the place, one should change one's plans twenty four times in an hour, inspect the dining-halls of all the homes of the farmers in Zimbabwe without being able to make up one's mind to settle down in any of them, although one had found no trace anywhere of the Rankin's, seeming to be in search of what one had claimed to be most anxious to avoid, and would in fact avoid, the moment one found it, for if one had come upon the little ‘group,’ one would have hastened away at once with studied indifference, satisfied that one had seen the members of The Rankin Family suffering from dictatorial injustice! And one oneself, especially that one had seen oneself in the mirror around when one was not, apparently, thinking about both them and oneself. But no; one would guess at once that it wasn't for one's sake that one had come there. And when Mr. Rankin came to help Anita Rankin, and it was time to start, one excused oneself: “No, I’m afraid not; I can go to every corner. You see, Lady Rankin is here.” And one was happy in spite of everything in feeling that if one, alone among mortals, had not the right to go to another place that evening, it was because one was in fact, for friends, someone who differed from all other mortals, thought and art lover; and because that restriction which for one alone was set upon the universal right to travel freely where one would, was but one of the many forms of that work, that love which was so dear to one. Decidedly, it was better not to risk a quarrel with the others instead of making contribution to debate, to be patient, to wait for 'The Phrase' return. One spent one's days in poring over a thought map of 'the debate' of 'The Phrase, as though it had been that of the ‘country moaning under the cruel rules of the Zimbabwean Dictatorship; one surrounded oneself with the musical notes of the 'Phrase'. When the day dawned on which it was possible that one might go back home, one opened the notes again, calculated what contributions one must have taken, and, should one have postponed one's going to bed... What other intellectual or rather thought and art induced debates were still left for one to take part in. One would rather not leave the house of The Rankin's, for fear of missing or sending a message, one did not go to bed, in case, having come by the last utterance about the phrase, one decided to surprise oneself with a midnight contribution. Yes! As if the front-door bell rang there seemed some delay in opening the door, one would like to awaken oneself, one leaned out of the window to shout to the friends, if they were friends namely the intellectual guests of the Rankin Family, for in spite of the orders which one had gone downstairs a dozen times to deliver in those persons, they were quite capable of telling one that one couldn't be happy not at one's home after The Rankin Family were in exile forever because of the order of a dictator who couldn't the meaning of 'order'. Was only a servant coming in while one haven't got neither a servant nor a master. One noticed the incessant rumble of passing carriages, to which one had never before paid any attention for all that one could hear them, one after another, a long way off, coming nearer, passing one's door without stopping, and bearing away into the distance a message which might be for one. One waited all night, to no purpose, for the members of the Rankin Family couldn't had returned unexpectedly, and both Philip and Anita Rankin had been in their houses since midday; it had not occurred to them to tell one; not knowing what to do with oneself one had spent the evening alone at the bay, had long since gone home to bed, and was peacefully asleep by God pleasure and help. As a matter of fact, one had never given oneself a thought. And such moments as these, in which one forgot The Rankin’s Family very existence, were of more value to the friends or rather intellectual guests of its, did more to attach one to all of them, than all making The World's Intellectuals to be well informed. For in this way one was kept in that state of painful agitation which had once before been effective in making one's interest blossom into love of thought and art, in the evenings when one had failed to find the others at the Rankin's and had hunted for one all evening. And one did not have (as the narrator had, afterwards, in the vicinity similar to those in one's motherland in one's childhood) happy days in which to forget the sufferings that would return with the 'Debating The Phrase' evenings. For the narrator's days, the narrator must pass them without those friends of The Rankin's Family; and as one told oneself, now and then, to allow so pretty a family to survive by the intellectual friends in Zimbabwe was just as rash as to leave a case filled with golden bracelets in the middle of the street. In this mood one-let's call the narrator as one-would scowl furiously at the passers-by, as though all the people of the neighbourhood so many pickpockets. But their faces-a collective and formless mass- escaped the grasp of one's imagination, and so failed to feed the flame of one's own or rather self conciliation. The effort exhausted one’s brain, until, passing one's hand over one's eyes, one cried out: “Heaven help me!” as people, after lashing themselves into an intellectual commotion in their endeavours to solve, say, to formulate the solution of the problem of the reality of the external world... Would it-crying at least ' O Gosh'-be to the same conception that of the immortality of the soul, afford relief to their weary brains by an unreasoning act of faith. But the thought of his absent intellectual friendship medium was incessantly, indissolubly blended with all the simplest actions of one’s daily life especially when one have one's breakfast, opened one's e-mails, went for a walk or to bed by the fact of his regret at having to perform those actions without the friends; like those initials of The Rankin's which, in the churches around of, because of one's grief, one's longing for the friends! The Narrator namely 'one' made interview everywhere with a lot of friends with their own will. One some days, instead of staying at home, would go for one's breakfast to a patisserie not far off, to which one had been attracted, some time before, by the excellence of its cookery, but to which one now went only for one of those reasons, at once paradoxical and reality, which people call ‘ realistically romantic’; because that patisserie (which, by the way, still exists) bore the same name as the street in which the members of The Rankin's Family lived: the pioneer. Sometimes, when one had been away on a short visit somewhere, several days would elapse before one thought of letting the others know that one had returned to the neighbourhood. And then one would say quite simply, without taking-as one would once have taken-the precaution of covering oneself, at all costs, with a little fragment borrowed from the truth namely 'the phrase', that one had just, at that very moment, arrived by the early morning hours . What one said was a falsehood; at least for one it wasn't a falsehood, inconsistent, lacking internal harmony that would have had, if true the support of one's memory of one's actual arrival at the exact point; one was even prevented from forming a mental picture of what the humanism of The Rankin's Family was saying, while its members said it, by the contradictory picture, in one's mind, of whatever quite different thing one had indeed been doing at the moment when one pretended to have been alighting from the climax of the 'debate' in one’s mind, however, these words, meeting no opposition, settled and hardened until they assumed the indestructibility of a truth so indubitable that, if some friend happened to tell one that one had come by the same clues as theirs and had not seen any Rankin, one would have been convinced that it was one's friend who had made a mistake as to the day or hour, since one's version did not agree with the words uttered by one. These considerations had never appeared to one exaggerated except when, before hearing them from another person but one oneself, one had suspected that they were going to be. For one to believe that the friends was saying truth, only truth, although anticipatory surmising was indispensable. It was also, however, sufficient. Given that, everything that one might say appeared to one suspect. Did one mention a name: it was obviously that of one of the friends; once this supposition had taken shape, one would spend weeks in tormenting oneself; on one occasion one even approached a firm of ‘defending human rights’ to find out the inhumane reason and the cruel procedure of the well known dictator who would give one no peace until one could be proved to have gone abroad, and who-as one ultimately learned-was a ghost of Saddam Hussein, and had been dead for around a decade. Although one would not allow the friends, as a rule, to meet them at public gatherings, saying that people would talk, it happened occasionally that, at an evening party-of 'The Phrase' and 'The Debate' to which one and one had each been invited-at The Rankin’s, or rather at the pianist, guitarist, and the painter’s, or at a Good Samaritans' meeting given in one of the 'Debate Lovers' one found oneself in the same room with the friends. Regarding to the pains of the Rankin Family and the dining and debating together one could see them the friends' soul, but dared not remain for fear of annoying by seeming to be spying upon the sufferings which they tasted in the company at The Rankin's which while one drove home in utter loneliness, and went to bed, as anxiously as the others namely the friends of the Rankin Family were to go to bed, some moments later, on the evenings when they came to dine together at The Rankin's seemed illimitable to one since one had not been able to see their end. And, once or twice or even thrice, one derived from such evenings that kind of considerations which one would be inclined-did it not originate in so violent a reaction from an anxiety abruptly terminated-to call peaceful, since it consists of main conceptions in a pacifying mood of the mind: one had looked in for a moment at a revel in the dining hall, and was getting ready to go back home; one was leaving behind them transformed into a brilliant stranger, surrounded by men to whom one's glances and one's own sufferings camouflaged in the apparels of gaiety, which were not for one, seemed to hint at some volatile anxiety alternately to be inflicted and to be enjoyed there or elsewhere possibly feeling to be at bay, to which one trembled to think that one might be going on afterwards which made the friends more jealous than the thought of their actual physical union, since it was more difficult to imagine; one was opening the gate of making the world's intellectuals well informed about the tragedy of The Rankin's Family! When one heard oneself called back in the words linked to great sufferings which, by cutting off from the party-because of the dictatorial oppression upon The Rankin Family-that possible ending which had so appalled one, made the party destruction itself seem innocent in retrospect, made some friends’ return to the nest of intellectual chat medium a thing no longer inconceivable and terrible-especially in the countries similar to Zimbabwe, and The North Korea and the like, but tender and familiar, a thing that kept close to one's side, like a part of one's own daily-or rather generally-at the dinner table-for debating 'The Phrase-; a thing that stripped the omnipotent, and Doc themselves of the excess of brilliance in speculations and in ecstasy in the appearance of artists colouring the dinner table at The Rankin's-showed that it was only a disguise which they had assumed for a moment, for the sake of the intellectual group... And yet not in view of any humanist approach, a disguise of which both the omnipotent and Doc had already wearied in those attitudes, which they flung out after one as one was crossing the threshold: “Thank you waiting a for me, huh? I’d like just coming together so we’d drive back together and some of us could drop others.” It was true that a lot of friends on every occasion would ask to be driven home at the same time, but when, on reaching one’s gate, one should have begged oneself not to be allowed to come in alongside one's pains enough to keep one awake too, and one would had replied, with a finger pointed at one's eyes: “Ah! That depends on these alert induced organs so that one must ask them. Very well, my body and my soul may come in together, just for a minute, if the friends insist, but one couldn’t stay long, for, I warn my body my soul likes not to sit and talk quietly with it, and to go bed in serenity, and it’s not at all pleased if have visitors as nightmares when one’s in bed. Oh, if I only knew the my soul as I know my body ; isn’t that so, my friends, there’s no one that really knows me better than , is there, except some superstitious bodies, huh?” And one was, perhaps, even more touched by the eyes of one's addressing friends thus, in front of , not only in these tender words of predilection, but also with certain criticisms, such as: “I feel sure you have shared enough about the pains both of the Rankin and of mine with your friends, 'You know' about dining with the guests namely the art and thought lover friends of The Rankin Family at the 'debate' and 'the phrase' induced dinner table some magnificent evenings. One needn’t go if one doesn’t want to, but one might at least be hopeful,” or “Now, have one left one's contribution to on 'The Phrase' here, so that one can do a little more to it to-morrow? What a laziness! One's going to make the friends to work, one can tell them,” which proved that the friends kept themselves in touch with the social engagements they should share with The Rankin Family and one's humanist work, that they had indeed a life in commonly being Good Samaritan. And as one spoke one bestowed on them a smile which one interpreted as meaning that one was entirely theirs. And then, while one was making them some-instant-lemonade, suddenly, just as when the reflector of a lamp that is badly fitted begins by casting all round an object, on the wall beyond it, interesting and yet dried shadows which, in time, contract and are lost in the shadow of the object itself, all the terrible and disturbing ideas which one had formed of The Rankin Family melted away and vanished in the charming creature who stood there before one's eyes. One had the sudden suspicion that this hour spent in The Rankin’s house, in the lamp-light, was, perhaps, after all, not an artificial hour, invented for one's special use with the object of concealing that frightening and delicious thing which was incessantly in his thoughts without one's ever being able to form a satisfactory impression of it, an hour of the real life of Anita and Philip, of their life when one was not there, looking on with paradoxical properties and attractive fruits, but was perhaps a genuine hour of The Rankin’s life; that, if one oneself had not been there, one would have pulled forward the same position for the friends, would have poured out for them, not any unknown mellow, but precisely that lemonade or orangeade which one was now offering to them both; that the world inhabited by The Rankin Family's was not that other world, fearful and supernatural, in which one spent one's time in placing the friends, and which existed, perhaps, only in one's imagination, but the real universe, exhaling no special atmosphere of the concoction of gloom and gaiety, comprising that dining, debating table at which one might sit down, presently, and write! And this rumination which one was being permitted, now, to taste; all the objects which one contemplated with as much curiosity and admiration as gratitude, for if, in absorbing The Rankin's sufferings they had delivered the others from an obsession, they themselves were, in turn, enriched by the absorption; they showed one the palpable realisation of one's fancies, and they interested one's mind; they took shape and grew solid before one's eyes, and at the same time they soothed one's troubled heart. O Gosh! Had fate but allowed him to share a single debate with them, so that in The Rankin's house one should be in one's own; if, when asking one's contribution what there would be for dinner, it had been The Rankin Family’s service needed for 'debating the phrase' that one had learned from the debate itself; if, when they wished to go for a walk, in the evening, along the lane before the house, one's duty as a good friend had obliged the others, though one had no desire to go out, to accompany them, carrying one's style when one was too warm; and in the evening, after dinner, if one wished to stay at home, and not to wear thick apparels, if one had been forced to stay beside the others, to do what one asked; then how completely would all the trivial details of the others’ style, which seemed to one now so gloomy, simply because they would, at the same time, have formed part of the life of The Rankin Family, have taken on-like that lamp, that lemonade, that armchair, which had absorbed so much of one's dreams, which materialised so much of one's longing-a sort of superabundant sweetness and a fortified solidity viz. fortified through the pains of Anita and Philip Rankin... And yet one was inclined to narrate that the state for which one so much longed for was a calmness, a peace, which could have created an atmosphere favourable to one's love for intellectual debate. When one ceased to be for him a person always absent, regretted, imagined; when the feeling that one had for one was no longer the same mysterious disturbance that was wrought in all the friends by the phrase from the musical excerpt, but constant affection and gratitude, when those normal relations were established between them which would put an end to ones masked depression; then, no doubt, the actions of The Rankin’s daily life would appear to one as being of but little intrinsic interest-as he had several times, already, felt that they might be, on the day, for instance, when one had read, through its envelope, one's emails to them. Examining one's complaint with as much scientific detachment as if one had inoculated oneself with it in order to study its effects, one told oneself that, when one was cured of it, what the members of The Rankin's Family might or might not do would be indifferent to one. But in one's morbid state, to tell the truth, one feared death itself no more than such a recovery, which would, in fact, amount to the death of all that one then was. After those quiet evenings, The Rankin’s suspicions would be temporarily lulled; one would bless the name of The Rankin, and next day, in the next evening, would order the most attractive precious metals to be sent to one, because one's kindnesses to one overnight had excited either one's gratitude, or the desire to see the others repeated, or a paradoxical love for both 'debate' and 'dinner one's which had need of some such outlet, and yet at other times, grief would again take hold of one; would imagine that The Rankin Family was others' colleagues, and that, when they had both sat watching one from the depths of the dinner table at the Rankin's on every evening before the party at that intellectually compromised table to which one had not been, especially invited, while one implored one in vain, with that look of despair on one's face which even one's host and hostess had noticed! Then to go back home with nobody, and then turned away, solitary, crushed-they must have employed, to draw the friends’ attention to them, while one murmured: “Do look at us, storming!” the same glance, brilliant, not malicious, sidelong, never cunning, as on the evening when the friends had driven one from the Rankin’s. At such times none detested nobody. “But we’ve been a fool, too,” one would argue. “I’m paying for The World’s Debates with my contributions. All the same, one would better take care, and not pull the string too often, for I might very well stop giving the others anything at all. At any rate, we’d better knock off supplementary favours for the time being. To think that, actually in the first quarter of the Third Millennium, when one said one would like to go to everywhere from Lebanon to Germany for the season, I was such an arduous person as to offer to take one of those jolly little places the Kings of Human Right Defenders has there, for the members of The Rankin Family's Tragedy. However one didn’t seem particularly keen; one hasn’t said 'no' or 'probably' yet. Let’s hope that one will refuse. O Gosh! Think of listening to 'The Phrase' for a fortnight on end with the friends, who takes about as much interest in music as a cat does in little meat balls; it will be fun, huh?” And one's hatred towards ' The inhuman', like one's love for 'Justice, needing to manifest itself in action, one amused oneself with urging one's reconciliatory imaginings further and further, because, thanks to the depths with which one charged the dictatorial oppression upon the innocent people like Anita and Philip Rankin... One detested not the dictator still more, and would be able, if it turned out as one tried to convince himself that the dictator of Zimbabwe was indeed guilty of them, to take the opportunity of punishing him, emptying upon his the overflowing vials of the innocent people's wrath. In this way, one went so far as to suppose that one was going to receive a the World's Intellectuals from well civilized countries, in which one wouldn't ask them for money to take the house in the midst of their old farm, but with the warning that one was not to come there oneself, as one had promised the guitarist and the painter to invite them. O Gosh! How he would have loved the justice, had it been conceivable that the justice would have that audacity. What joy one namely the narrator would not have in refusing, in drawing up that vindictive reply, the terms of which one amused himself by selecting and declaiming aloud, as though one had actually received enough messages, e-mails etcetera sufficient to appease all the friends around the dinner and debate table at The Rankin's. Then one rebuked, " Suppose very next day, all messages promising aid came what would have written that the members of the Rankin Family and their friends had expressed a desire to be present at these performances similar to that of 'The Phrase', and that, if the World's intellectuals would be so good as to send one the money, would The Rankin Family be able at last, after going so often to the prison like places, to have the pleasure of entertaining the friends at The Rankin's? Of the friends one said not a word; it was to be taken for granted that their presence in Zimbabwe would be very much honourable, then that annihilating answer, every word of which one had carefully rehearsed overnight, without venturing to hope that it could ever be used, one had the satisfaction of having it conveyed to The Rankin Family. Alas! He felt only too certain that with the prestige which one had, or could easily procure, one would be able, all the same, to take back the farm, since one wished to do so, one who wasn't incapable of distinguishing between a guitarist and a painter. Let one take it, then; the friends would have to live in it more frugally, that was all. There might be no means (as there would have been if one had replied by sending them several million Euros of organising, each evening, in one's hired castle, those exquisite little suppers, after which they might perhaps be seized by the whim which, it was possible, had never yet seized each other of falling into the arms of The World's Intellectuals furthermore any rate, the loathsome oppression, it would not be one who had to pay for it. O Gosh! If one could only manage to prevent it, if one could sprain one's thorax vertebrae before starting, if any driver of the cabs which was to take one to the station would consent no matter how great the attempt to obtain aid one would like to see in some places where one could be kept for a time in seclusion, that perplexed dictatorial approach of Zimbabwe, everybody's eyes tinselled with a smile of complicity for one-the narrator, which was what one had become for The Rankin Family in the last some months. Eventually one was never that for very long; after a few days the sparkling, crafty eyes lost their brightness, and that picture of an execrable, and one saying to The Family Rankin: “Look at dictatorship storming!” while having begun to grow pale and to dissolve so that gradually reappeared and rose before the friends, softly radiant, the face of the others, of that oppressors who also turned with a wild smile to The World's Intellectuals, but with a smile in which there was nothing but affection for one, when one said: “You mustn’t stay long, for this gentleman doesn’t much like my having visitors when one’s here. Oh! if you only knew the people as I know him!” that same smile with which everybody used to thank one for some instance of his courtesy which one prized so highly, for some advice for which one had asked them in one of those grave crises in the friends' life, when one could turn to them alone. Then, to this other people, one would ask oneself what could have induced one to write that outrageous letter, of which, probably, until then, one had never supposed them capable, a letter which must have lowered one from the high, from the supreme place which, by one's generosity, by one's loyalty, one had won for oneself in one's esteem. One would become less dear to them, since it was for those qualities, which one found neither in the farm stolen from The Rankin's Family nor in any other, that one trusted them. It was for them that one so often showed one a reciprocal kindness, which counted for less than nothing in one's moments of affection, because it was not a sign of reciprocal desire, was indeed a proof rather of enchanted than of affection, but the importance of which one began once more to feel in proportion as the spontaneous relaxation of one's suspicions, often accelerated by the distraction brought to them by reading about art and thought or by the conversation of 'The Debate' of friends, rendered one's passion less exacting of reciprocal attitudes. The time went on to elapse so that, after the swing of the pendulum of the seasons, weeks, days, seconds, one had naturally returned to the place from which the intellectual attraction at The Rankin’s had for the moment driven the friends, in the angle in which one found them charming, one pictured one to oneself as full of tenderness, with a look of consent in one's eyes, and so keen that the others could not refrain from moving their lips towards each other, as though they had actually been in the room for them to respect the one-the narrator; and one preserved a sense of gratitude to the friends for that bewitching, kindly glance, as strong as though they had really looked thus at each other, and it had not been merely one's imagination that had portrayed it in order to satisfy one's desire. What distress one must have caused The Rankin Family's Members! Certainly one found adequate reasons for one's resentment, but they would not have been sufficient to make one feel that prevailing in mutual aid, if one had not so passionately loved them. As for the torture The Rankin Family had the thieves having stolen their farms not nourished grievances, just as serious, against other others, to whom one would, none the less, render willing service to-day, feeling no anger towards anybody because one no longer protect them? If the day ever came when one would find oneself in the same state of indifference with regard to one-The Narrator, one would then understand that it was one's jealousy alone which had led one not to find something atrocious, unpardonable, in this desire of seeing the happiness of The Rankin Family's survival-after all, so natural a desire, springing from a childlike ingenuousness and also from a certain delicacy in one's nature to be able, in one's turn, when an occasion offered, to repay the members of The Rankin Family for their hospitality, and to play the hostess and host in a house at the Rankin's. One returned to the other point of view opposite to that of one's love for the debate of art and thought, and of one's assignment, to which one resorted at times by a sort of mental equity, and in order to make allowance for different eventualities from which one tried to form a fresh judgment of The Friends, based on the supposition that one had never been in love with nothing but the intellectual debate of art and thought, that one was to the others just an humanist like other humanist, that their life had not been whenever one himself was not present different, a texture woven in secret apart from one, and warped not against anybody. Wherefore believe that one would enjoy down there with the friends or with other people intoxicating pleasures which one had never known with one, and which one's assignment alone had fabricated in all elements of other's? At anywhere, as in Zimbabwe, if it should happen that one thought of oneself at all, it would only be as of someone who counted for a great deal in the life of the others, someone for whom one was obliged to make way, when they met at The Rankin's. If the farm of the Rankin Family and one scored a triumph by being down there together in spite of the fate wrought by the fate of The Rankin family, it was one who had engineered that triumph by striving in vain to prevent the torment from going there, whereas if one had approved of one's plan, which for that matter was quite defensible, one would have had the appearance of being there by one's counsel, one would have felt oneself sent there, housed there by one, and for the pleasure which one derived from entertaining those people who had so often entertained one, it was to one that one would have had to acknowledge one's indebtedness. And if instead of letting the friends go off thus, at cross-purposes with one, without having seen him again one were to send one this money, if one were to encourage one to take this journey, and to go out of one's way to make it comfortable and pleasant for one, one would come running to one, happy, grateful, and one would have the joy within the boundaries of the sight of her face which one had not known for nearly for a long time, a joy which none other could replace, and for the moment that one was able to form a picture of one without revulsion, that one could see once again the friendliness in one's smile, and that the desire to tear her away from every rival was no longer imposed by one's assignment upon one's love, say loving 'The Phrase', that loving the 'Debate of Phrase' once again became, more than anything, a taste for the sensations and consideration which one’s person gave oneself, for the pleasure which one found in admiring, as one might a spectacle, or in questioning, as one might a phenomenon, the birth of one of their glances, the formation of one of one's smiles, the utterance of an intonation of one's namely The Narrator' voice. And this assignment, different from every other, had in the end created in one a need of The Rankin's Family, which one alone, by one's presence or by one's letters, could assuage, almost as disinterested, almost as artistic, as perverse as another need which characterised this new period in one’s life, when the serenity, the enthusiasm of the preceding years had been followed by a sort of spiritual superabundance, without one's knowing to what one owed this unlooked-for enrichment of one's life, any more than a person in delicate health who from a certain moment grows stronger, puts on flesh, and seems for a time to be on the road to a complete recovery: This other need, which, too, developed in one independently of the visible, material world, was the need to listen to music and to learn to know it. And so, by the socio-psychological process of one's pain, after one had created jealousy out of one's love, one began again to generate tenderness, pity for all friends. One had become once more the old Rankin's Family, charming and kind. One was full of remorse for having treated the others, also, harshly. One wished them to come to one, and, before one came, one wished to have already procured for one some pleasure, so as to watch one's gratitude taking shape in one's face and moulding one's smile so that, one, certain of seeing one come to one in a few days, as tender and submissive as before, and plead with one for a reconciliation, became inured, was no longer afraid of displeasing the friends, or even of making them angry, and refused them, whenever it suited all of them, the favours by which one set most store.


    TO BE CONTINUED....
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-14-2017 at 11:12 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .........
    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    Perhaps one did not realise how sincere the others had been with one during their dinner induced debate, when they had told one that one would not send the money needed, but would do what one could to hurt them. Perhaps one did not realise, either, how sincere the others still was, if not with one, at any rate with oneself, on other occasions when, for the sake of their future relations, to show The Rankin Family that one was capable of doing without them, that a rupture was still possible between the disease-the torture by the dictator-and the remedy-to save The Rankin Family, one decided to wait some time before going to see the others again. Sometimes several days had elapsed, during which one had caused nobody no fresh anxiety; and as, from the next few visits which one would pay the others, one knew that one was likely to derive not any great pleasure, but, more probably, some annoyance which would put an end to the state of calm in which one found oneself, one wrote to the others that one was very busy, and would not be able to see the others on any of the days that one had suggested. Meanwhile, a letter from the others, crossing one's, asked them to postpone one of those very meetings so that one asked oneself, why; one's suspicions, one's grief, again took hold of the friends. One could no longer abide, in the new state of agitation into which one found oneself plunged, by the arrangements which one had made in his preceding state of comparative calm; one would run to find the others, and would insist upon seeing one on each of the following days. And even if one had not written first, if one merely acknowledged one's letter, it was enough to make one unable to rest without seeing the others while something upsetting all one’s calculations, the friend’s acceptance had entirely changed one's approach to solve the problem. Actually like everyone who possesses something precious, so as to know what would happen if one ceased for a moment to possess it, he had detached the precious object from one's mind, leaving, as one thought, everything else in the same state as when it was there. But the absence of one part from a whole is not only that, it is not simply a partial omission, it is a disturbance of all the other parts, a new state which it was impossible to foresee from the old. But at other times when one was on the point of going away for a holiday it was after some important debate induced dinner for which one had chosen the pretext, that one decided not to write to the others and not to see the friends until they return, giving the appearance without expecting the reward of a serious rupture, which one would perhaps regard as final, to a separation, the greater part of which was inevitable, since one was going away, which, in fact, one was merely allowing to start a little sooner than it must. At once one could imagine Odette, puzzled, anxious, distressed at having received neither visit nor email from the friends and this feature of one, by calming one's assignment, made it easy for one to break oneself of the habit of seeing the others. At the moments of wasting time, no doubt, in the furthest recesses of one's brain, where one's determination had thrust it away, and thanks to the length of the interval, the three weeks’ separation to which one had agreed, it was with hopeful thoughts that one would consider the idea that one would see the others again on one's return; but it was also with so little impatience that one began to ask oneself whether one would not readily consent to the doubling of the period of so easy an abstinence. It might had lasted, so far, but some more days, a much shorter time than one had often, before, passed without seeing the friends, and without having, as on this occasion one had, premeditated an easily attained output. And yet, there and then, some tiny trace of contrariety in one's mind, or of weakness in one's body by inciting one to regard the present as an exceptional moment, one not to be governed by the rules, one in which prudence itself would allow one to take advantage of the soothing effects of a pleasure and to give one's will until the time should come when its efforts might serve any purpose) a holiday suspended the action of one's will, which ceased to exert its inhibitive control; or, without that even, the thought of some information for which one had forgotten to ask the others, such as if one had decided in what sort of aid the friends would have or with regard to some investment, whether they were ‘ordinary’ or ‘preference’ shares that she wished one to buy for it was all very well to show one that one could help The Rankin's Family without seeing Philip and Anita Rankin... And yet if, after all considerations, the fate of The Rankin's Family had to be carrying gloomy colours all over it again, if the prayers to be rescued produced no good news, one would have do and suddenly, like a stretched piece of elastic which is let go, or the air in a pneumatic machine which is apt to be opened, the idea of seeing their survival again, from the remote point in time to which it had been attached, sprang back into the field of the present and of immediate possibilities so that it should be sprang back thus without meeting any further resistance, so irresistible, in fact, that one had not been far less unhappy in watching the end gradually approaching, day by day, of the fortnight which one must spend apart from the others, than one was when kept waiting some time while one's liberal comrades brought round the 'rescuing sketch' which was to take one to it, minutes which one passed in transports of impatience and joy, in which one recaptured a thousand times over, to lavish on it all the wealth of his affection, that idea of his meeting with the friends, which, by so abrupt a repercussion, at a moment when one supposed it so remote, was once more present and on the very surface of one's consciousness. The fact was that this idea no longer less active, as an rich in obstacle in its course, the desire to contrive without further delay to resist its coming, which had ceased to have any place in Swann’s mind since, having proved to oneself or so, at least, one believed that one was so easily capable of resisting it, one no longer saw any inconvenience in postponing a plan of salvation which one was now certain of being able to put into operation whenever one would. Furthermore, this idea of seeing the dinner table at The Rankin's again and both 'The Phrase' and 'The Debate' came back to one adorned with a novelty, a seductiveness, armed with a salubrious substance, all of which long habit had enfeebled, but which had acquired new vigour during one assignments, not of a certain period but of a fortnight for a period of abstinence may be calculated, by anticipation, as having lasted already until the final date assigned to it, and had converted what had been, until then, a hope in store, which could easily be sacrificed, into an unlooked-for happiness which one was powerless to resist. Finally, the idea returned to one with its beauty enhanced by one's own ignorance of what the others might have thought on finding that one showed no sign of life, with the result that one was going now to meet with the entrancing revelation of an the others almost unknown. But they, just as they had supposed that one's attempt to send the Rankin's Family money was only a feint, saw nothing but a pretext in the question which one came, now, to ask about, about the farming again in the way of life, or the information a propos torture inflicting upon The Rankin Family. For one could not reconstruct the several phases of these crises through which one passed, and in the general idea which one formed of them one made no attempt to understand their mechanism, looking only to what one knew beforehand, their necessary, never-failing and always identical termination. An imperfect idea though possibly all the more profound in consequence if one were to judge it from the point of view of the others, who would doubtless have considered that one not failed to understand one, just as a consumptive, each persuaded that each other has been thrown back, one by some outside event, at the moment when one was just going to shake oneself free from his inveterate habit, the other by an accidental indisposition at the moment when he was just going to be finally cured, feels himself to be misunderstood by both the omnipotent ad Doctor who does not attach the same importance to these pretended contingencies, mere disguises, according to one, assumed, so as to be perceptible by the world's intellectuals! All the more the vice of one and the morbid state of the other, which in reality have never ceased to weigh heavily and incurably upon the Zimbabwean people while they were nursing their dreams of normality and health as The Rankin Family tried to do for more than umpteen decades. And, as a matter of fact, one’s love for humanity and human rights had reached that stage at which the omnipotent and Doc-in the case of certain affections-the boldest of surgeons ask themselves which torture the dictators would prefer: whether to deprive a farmer of his soil or to rid him of his dream is still reasonable, or indeed possible. Certainly, of the extent of this love for The Mankind had no direct knowledge. When one sought to measure it, it happened sometimes that one found it diminished, shrunken almost to nothing; for instance, the very moderate liking, amounting almost to dislike, which, in the days before one was in a sort of indifference with The Rankin Family, one had felt for one's expressive features, one's faded complexion, returned on certain days. Really, one would be making distinct headway, one would make oneself on the morrow, to come to think it over carefully... One would find out that one got hardly any pleasure if the evening were without dinners at The Rankin's and the dinners were without debate, out of being around 'the Phrase' with the friends...It’s an odd thing, but one actually thought the mute people ugly.” And certainly one was sincere, but one's love extended a long way beyond the province of physical voice of the mankind. One’s persons, indeed, might no longer held any great place in 'debate' without 'the phrase', and when one's eyes fell upon the old photographs of that debate group at the dinner table, or when one came to see the others, one had difficulty in identifying one's face, either in the flesh or on the pasteboard, with the painful and continuous anxiety which dwelt in one's mind. One would say to oneself, almost with astonishment, “It is the debating people!” as when suddenly someone shows one in a detached, externalised form... The how could one translate those odd terms to define one of one's own maladies wherein one should find in it no resemblance to what one and the others are suffering. “Who?” one tried to ask oneself what that meant; for it is something like love, like death-rather than like those vague conceptions of malformation-a thing which one repeatedly calls in question, in order to make oneself probe further into its cosmos or its chaotic, in the fear that the question will find no answer, that the substance will escape our grasp viz. the mystery of personality. And this ailment-never malformation nor malady-which was one’s love, had so far multiplied, was so closely interwoven with all one's habits, with all one's actions, with one's thoughts, one's health, one's consideration, one's love for debate, even with what one hoped for after one's death, was so entirely one with one that it would have been impossible to wrest it away without almost entirely destroying him; as the scholar of mathematics say, one's presumptions was past creation. By this habitual privilege, say loving Intellectual debate one had been so far detached from all other interests that when by chance one reappeared in the world of fashion, reminding oneself that one's social relations, like a beautifully wrought setting although she would not have been able to form any very exact estimate of its worth, might, still, add a little to his own value in the friends’ eyes as indeed they might have done had they not been cheapened by any non-intellectual love for debate itself, which for one depreciated everything that it touched by seeming to denounce such things as less precious than itself, one would feel there, simultaneously with one's distress at being in places and among people that one did not know, the same detached sense of hope as one would have derived from a novel or a painting in which were depicted the amusements of a leisured class; just as, at home, one used to enjoy the thought of the smooth efficiency of his household, the smartness of one's own 'phrase repertoire' and of one's friends’ debate induced attitude, the soundness of one's intellectuals' investment, with the same relish as when one read in Renaissance Thinkers, who was one of one's favourite authors, of the machinery of daily life at The Rankin's, what the friends ate, drank, and debate or the shrewd avarice and great dream based on thereupon in the small extent to which this detachment was not absolute, the reason for this new pleasure which one was tasting was that one could emigrate for a moment into those few and distant parts of oneself which had remained almost foreign to one's love and to one's pain. In this respect the personality, with which their host and hostess endowed one, of ‘each debater,’ as distinct from the more individual personality of one, was that in which one now most delighted so that once when, because it was the birthday of the 'Phrase Debating' and because the others could often be of use, indirectly, to one, by letting one have seats for something like galas and jubilees and all that sort of thing, one had decided to send the others a repertoire of thought and sense, and was not quite sure where or how to order it, one had entrusted the task to a cousin of one's friends who, delighted to be doing a commission for one, had written to one, laying stress on the fact that one had not chosen all the fruit at the same place, but the phrase subject from The Rankin family, whose speciality within intellectual outputs! They friends were like the grapes of wrath overwhelming torture and creating hope from every side, the pears from the table of fiesta, who always had the best, and so on, they visited and examined, one by one, by one. And in the sequel, by the cordiality with which The Members of The Rankin Family thanked one, they had been able to judge of the flavour of the intellectual fruits and of the ripeness of them. But, most of all, that one tasted every fruit and introduced one by one, by themselves had brought balm to The Rankin Family's sufferings by carrying one's mind off to a region which one rarely visited, although it was one's by right, as the heir of a respectable middle-class family in which had been handed down from generation to generation the knowledge of the ‘right places’ and the art of ordering things from the spirits of 'The Phrase'. Of a truth, one had too long forgotten that one was ‘the new member’ not to feel, when one assumed that part again for a moment, a keener pleasure than one was capable of feeling at other times while was grown happy of hopefulness; and if the friendliness of the middle-class people, for whom one had never been anything else than ‘the new member’ was less animated than that of the world's intellectuals though more flattering, for all that, since in the middle-class mind friendship is inseparable from good manner, no message from a Worldly Intellectual Personage, offering one some princely entertainment, could ever be so attractive to one as the messages which asked one to be a witness, or merely to be present at a fiesta in the friendship circle of some old friends of one's partners; some of whom had ‘kept up’ with one, like my well civilized people, who, the year before these events, had invited one to our friends’ debate and dinner tradition, while others barely knew one by sight, but were, they thought, in duty bound to show civility to the 'The Phrase' group, to the worthy successor of the ancestors of the members of The Rankin Family. And yet by virtue having been prevailed at The Rankin's, already time-honoured, with so many of them, the people of humanist attitude, in a certain sense, were also a part of their house, their service, and their family. One felt, when one's mind dwelt upon one's brilliant connections, the same external support, the same solid comfort as when one looked at the fine estate, the fine silver, the fine table-linen which had come down to one from one's friends namely the world's intellectual. And the thought that, if one were seized by a sudden brain spasm and confined to the dinner induced table of 'The Debate', the people whom one's most intimate friend would instinctively run to find would be the omnipotent and Doc. brought one the same consolation as their old favourite viz. The Rankin Family derived from the knowledge that one would, one day, be carried by his enthusiasm in one's own fine clothes, marked with one's name, not darned at all or so exquisitely darned that it merely enhanced one’s idea of the skill and patience of the virtue, a shroud from the constant image of which in the friend's mind or rather the eye o the same mind one drew a certain satisfactory sense, if not actually of wealth and prosperity, at any rate of self-esteem; and most of all since in every one of his actions and thoughts which had reference to others, one was constantly subdued and swayed by the non-confessed feeling that one was, perhaps not less dear, but at least less welcome to one than anyone, even the most wearisome of the Rankin's ‘faithful,’ when one betook others to a world in which one was the highest example of taste, a man whom no pains were spared to attract, whom people were genuinely sorry not to see, one began once again to believe in the existence of a happier life, almost to feel an appetite for it... As an invalid may feel who has been in the environment for a long time and on a strict debate, when one picks up a newspaper and reads the account of an official statement or the advertisement of a conference to debate, at the last analysis as one was obliged to make excuses to one's debate lover friends for not paying them visits, it was precisely for the visits that one did afford their attempts that one sought to excuse oneself to one's 'Phrase' group. One still paid them asking oneself at the end of each dinner whether, seeing that one had eventually exhausted not their patience, and had certainly gone rather often to see them, it would be enough if one sent The-destructed-even not one cent, and for each visit one found a pretext, a present that one had to bring them, some information which one required, Anita and Philip Rankin, whom one had met actually going to their house, and who had insisted upon one’s accompanying them. And, failing any excuse, one would beg one's friends' host and hostess to go to one at once, and to tell one, as though spontaneously, in the course of conversation, that one had just remembered something that one had to say to one, and would one please send a message to one’s house asking one to come to one then and there; but as a rule of one waited at home in vain, and The Rankin Family informed one, later in the evening, that one's device had not proved successful. With the result that, if one was now frequently away from the mansion in Zimbabwe, even when one was there one scarcely saw one; that one who, when one was in love with one, used to say, “We shall be free again” and “What can it matter to the friends, what other people think?” now, whenever one wanted to see them, appealed to the proprieties or pleaded some engagement. When one spoke of going to a charity entertainment, or a private view, or a first-night at which one was to be present, one would expostulate that one wished to advertise the Rankin Family's Tragedy in public, that one was treating them like a sibling victim off the streets so that things came to such a pitch that, in an effort to save oneself from being altogether forbidden to meet one anywhere, the members of The Rankin Family, remembering that one knew and was deeply attached to the conspicuous characters, whose friend one oneself also had been, went one day to see their friends at Rankin's to ask one to use one's influence with them. As it happened, one invariably adopted, when one spoke to the dinner induced debate about one's, friends, saying: “Ah, they! They are-as the victims-not in the least like great victims of the underdeveloped countries; it is an exquisite thing, a great, a beautiful thing, one's friendship for everybody. One’s not the sort of man who would have so little consideration for the people suffering from oppression in a country ruled by a dictator as to let oneself be seen with indifference from the point of dictatorial oppression everywhere in public. This was embarrassing for one and the other friends of The Rankin Family, who did not know quite to what rhetorical pitch one should screw oneself up in speaking of dictator the world's intellectuals. One began by alluding to the friends excellence, a priori, the axiom of their 'Good Samaritan' humanity, the revelation of one's inexpressible virtues, no conception of which could possibly be formed. “I should like to speak to the world's intellectual about The Rankin Family,” one went on, “you, who know what a family supreme above all others compared with infliction a family might be tasting through its own fate namely the destruction, what an adorable being, what an angel one-the narrator is. But you know, also, what life is in Zimbabwe. Everyone doesn’t see one-the narrator in the light in which you and that one have been privileged to talk the truth. And so there are people who think that one isn't behaving rather foolishly; one won’t even allow others to meet the unique host and hostess at The Rankin's out of doors, in debacle. Now you, in whom one-the narrator has such enormous confidence, couldn’t you say a few words for one to the friends, just to assure the others that one exaggerate the harm which my bowing to one in the street might do one?” The members of the Rankin Family advised one not to see them for some days, after which one would love them all the more; one advised them to let the members of The Rankin Family meet one; everywhere, and as often as one pleased. For the time being one told host and hostess told that one-the narrator had just had a vital awakening a propos the dictatorial oppression; one also had discovered that the friends of theirs would be in the same way as one; one had tried to take the affection of The Rankin Family-strange to say-by assault. The calmed one, who, at first, was for rushing out-nearly-to challenge dictator to a duel, and one refused to shake hands with him when they met once. One regretted this rupture all the more because one had hoped, if one had met the dictator again sometimes and had contrived to talk things over with him in strict confidence, to be able to get him to throw a light on certain rumours with regard to the anti humanist regime in Zimbabwe that the farmers like Anita and Philip Rankin had led, in the old days, at the fields of success induced farm. For the dictator used to spend the full ability of dictatorship there, and they thought that it might indeed have been there, perhaps, that one had first known the oppressor. The few words which someone had let fall, in his hearing, about a man who, it appeared, had been one's-the narrator, had left them dumb foundered, and yet the very things which one would, before knowing them, have regarded as the most terrible to learn and the most impossible to believe, were, once one knew him, incorporated for all time in the general mass of his oppression; one made them to admit it, one could no longer have understood their not existing. Only, each finding of the oppression in its passage traced an indelible line, altering the picture that he had formed of the dictator's political crimes. At one time indeed one felt that one could understand that this moral ‘lightness,’ of which one would never have suspected the good deeds of the friends, would perfectly be well known, and that at Zimbabwe and in the Africa as a whole when one had gone, in the past, to spend several months in one or the other place, one had enjoyed a sort of loving human rights notoriety so that one attempted, in order to question them, to get into touch again with certain men of that stamp; but these were aware that one knew The Rankin Family, and, besides, one wasn't afraid of putting the thought of their humanist attitude into the friends' heads, of setting them once more upon their track. Nonetheless one, to whom, up till then, nothing could have seemed so tedious as was all that pertained to the farmers' life in Zimbabwe life, now that one learned that Anita and Philip Rankin had, perhaps, led a ‘innocent servile’ life once in those pleasure-cities, although one could never find out whether it had been solely to satisfy a want of money which, thanks to humanity, one no longer felt, or from some humanly instinct which might, at any moment, revive in one, one also would lean, in impotent anguish, blinded and dizzy, over the bottomless abyss into which had passed, in which had been engulfed those years of The Rankin's Family own, early in the vicinity, in which one spent several seasons on the promenade in the lanes around the house of victims , the summer beneath the limes of their gardens, and would find in those years a sad but splendid profundity, such as a poet might have lent to them; and one would have devoted to the reconstruction of all the insignificant details that made up the daily round within the life of The Rankin's Family in those days, if it could have helped the victims to understand something that still baffled them in the smile or in the eyes of the others! Actually more enthusiasm than does the victims who ransacks the extant documents of nearly the first quarter of the Third Millennium, so as to try to penetrate further into the soul of the World's Intellectuals...One would sit, often, without saying a word to them, only gazing at her and dreaming; and one would comment: “You do look sad!” It was not very long since, from the idea that one was an excellent creature, comparable to the best women that one had known, one had passed to that of her being ‘debated and protected’; and yet already, by an inverse process, one had returned from the table at The Rankin's, perhaps too well known to the holiday-makers, to the ‘Farm’s people’ of the country, to this face, the expression on which was so often gentle, to this nature so eminently human. All in all one would ask oneself: “What does it mean, after all, to say that everyone Zimbabwe knows who Anita and Philip Rankin is? Reputations of that sort, even when they’re true in the country, are always based upon other The World’s Intellectuals informative language”; one would reflect that this legend-even if it were authentic-was something external to The Rankin and the friends, was not inherent in their like a mischievous and ineradicable personality; that the creature who might have been led astray was a international character with frank eyes, a heart full of pity for the sufferings of others, a docile attitude which one had pressed shared humanism tightly in one's arms and explored with one's fingers, a woman of whom one might one day come into absolute possession if one succeeded in making himself indispensable to the ideology of humanism. There one would be, often tired, one's face left blank for the nonce by that eager, feverish preoccupation with the unknown things which made one suffer; one would push back one's hair with both hands; one's forehead, one's whole face would seem to grow larger; then, suddenly, some ordinary human thought, some worthy sentiment such as is to be found in all creatures when, in a moment of rest or meditation, they are free to express themselves, would flash out from one's eyes like a ray of golden beams of a far, enormous linked to the bodies in the cosmos immediately the whole of one' face would light up like a grey landscape, swathed in clouds which, suddenly, are swept away and the dull scene transfigured, at the moment of the sun’s setting so that the life which occupied The Rankin's Family at such times, even the future which one seemed to be dreamily regarding, one could have shared with one's humanist friends. Inasmuch as no evil disturbance seemed to have left any effect on them and one would dare to remark that are as they became, those moments did not occur in vain. By the process of memory, one-the narrator joined the fragments together, abolished the intervals between them, cast, as in molten gold, the image of an omnipotent's compact of kindness and tranquillity, for whom one was to make, later on (as the friends shall see in the episode of this mythological narration) sacrifices which the other people would never have won from one. Adding to it no rarity those moments were based on, and nor seldom one now saw the friends! Even in regard to their evening meetings, one would never tell them until the last minute whether one would be able to see them, for, reckoning on one's being always free, one wished first to be certain that no one else would offer to be at The Rankin's. One would plead that the family was obliged to wait for an aid which was of the very greatest importance, and if, even after one had made the members of The Rankin Family come to one's point of view, any of one's friends asked one, half-way through the evening, to join them at some places like cafe afterwards, one would jump for joy and dress oneself with all speed. As one's preparations progressed, every movement that one made brought the world's intellectuals nearer to the moment when one would have to part from one, when one would fly off with irresistible force; and when at length one was ready... And yet, plunging into the mirror of the truth a last glance strained and brightened by The Rankin's Family, its anxiety to look well, smeared a little ointment on the dermal and spiritual wounds, fixed a stray shadow of their wound over the family's health, and called for the innocents as a cloak of turquoise silk with golden; tassels, one would be looking so wretched that one would be unable to restrain a gesture of impatience as one flung at the friends! One talked: “So that is how you thank me for keeping my efforts to protect you here till the last minute! And I thought I was being so nice to you. Well, I shall know better another time!” For the time being at the risk of annoying the world's intellectuals, one made up one's mind that one would find out where one had gone, and even dreamed of a defensive alliance with Zimbabwean intellectuals, who might perhaps have been able to solve the problem. But anyhow, when one knew with whom-apparently those people 'debating the phrase and dining' one was spending the evening, it was very seldom that one could not discover, among all one's innumerable acquaintance, someone who knew-if only indirectly-the man with whom one had gone out, and could easily obtain this or that piece of information about one. And while one was writing to one of one's friends, asking oneself to try to get a little light thrown upon some point or other, one would feel a sense of relief on ceasing to vex oneself with questions to which there was no answer and transferring to someone else the strain of interrogation. It is true that The Members Of The Rankin's Family was little the wiser for such information as one did receive. Nevertheless knowing that a thing does not enable one-the narrator, always, to prevent its happening, but after all the things that one knows one does hold, if not in our hands, at any rate in one's mind, where one can dispose of them as one chooses, which gives one the illusion of a sort of power to control them. One was quite happy whenever one was with The Rankin Family. One knows that between one and the friends nothing untoward could ever happen, that when one went anywhere with all of them, it was out of friendship for all, and that one would make no difficulty about telling him everything that one had done. Sometimes one had declared so emphatically to the friends that it was impossible for one to see them on a particular evening, one seemed to be looking forward so keenly to some outing, that the friends attached a very real importance to the fact that one was free to accompany them. Next day, without daring to put many questions to them, one would force them, by appearing not quite to understand one's first answers, to give one more, after each of which one would feel oneself increasingly relieved, for one very soon learned that the friends had spent her evening in the most innocent of dissipations. “But what do you mean, my dear hostess and host namely Anita Rankin and Philip Rankin, I do quite understand you. . . .Many thanks indeed. You did go straight from your farm to the world's intellectuals, huh? Surely you wouldn't like went somewhere else first? No? That is very good indeed! You don’t know how amusing you are, my dear hostess and host. But what an odd idea of mine to go on to the Chat Room of The Intellectuals afterwards; it was one's idea, I suppose? No? Yours? That’s plausible. After all, it wasn’t a bad idea; you must have known dozens of people there? No? One never spoke to a soul? How extraordinary! Then you sat there like that, just you and your guests, all by yourselves? I can picture you, sitting there! You are a worthy fellow, my dear host and hostess; I’m exceedingly fond of you.” One was now quite at ease. To one, who had so often happened, when talking to friends who knew nothing of one's love, friends of whose debate induced words one hardly listened to... Listen to what and why? Briefly listening to hear certain detached sentences as, for instance, “I saw the members of Rankin's Family; they were with an intense hopefulness I did know the reason.”, sentences which dropped into one's heart and passed at once into a solid state, grew hard as stalagmites, and seared and tore one as they lay there irremovable... How charming, by way of contrast, were the words: “They did know amicable souls so; they ever spoke to a soul.” How freely they coursed through one, how fluid they were, how vaporous, how easy to breathe! And yet, a moment later, one was telling oneself that the friends must find them very dull if those were the pleasures that one preferred to one's company. And their very insignificance, though it reassured one, as if pained oneself as if one's enjoyment of them had been an act of loyalty based situation. Even when one could not discover where one had gone, it would have sufficed to alleviate the anguish that one then felt, for which the friends' presence, the charm of their company, was the sole specific-a specific which in the long run served, like many other remedies, to elevate the anguish, but at least brought temporary relief to the sufferings-it would have sufficed, had the friends only permitted themselves to remain at The Rankin's while one was out, to wait there until that hour of one's return, into whose stillness and peace would flow, to be mingled and lost there, all memory of those intervening hours which too much sophisticated attractiveness, some praised spell had made one imagine as, somehow, different from the rest. But one would not; one must return to ' debating phrase at the dinner table'; one forced oneself, on the way, to form various plans, ceased to think of the good old days; one even reached the stage, while one undressed, of turning over all sorts of happy ideas in one's mind: it was with a light heart, buoyed with the anticipation of going to see some favourite work of repeating 'To Debate Thought and Art' on the morrow, that one jumped into the medium; and put the light on; but no sooner had one made oneself ready to aid The Rankin's Family, relaxing a self-control of which one was even too much conscious, so habitual had it become, than an icy shudder convulsed one's body and one-The narrator, burst into sobs. One did not wish to know why, but dried one's eyes, saying with a smile: “This is delightful; I’m becoming too much fastidious” After which one could not save oneself from utter exhaustion at the thought that, for the time being, one must begin afresh one's attempt to find out what the friends had been doing, must use all one's influence to contrive to see them. This compulsion to an activity with respite and variety, and yet without result, was so cruel a scourge that one day, noticing a swelling over one's oesophagus, one felt an actual joy in the idea that one had, perhaps, an gastritis which would not prove fatal but insisting, that one would need not concern oneself with anything further, that it was one's malady which was going to govern one's life... Making, yes, making a plaything of one, until the not-distant end so that if indeed, at this period, it often happened that, though without admitting it even to oneself, one longed for solution, it was in order to escape not so much from the keenness of sufferings-similar to that of The Rankin Family-as from the monotony of one's struggle. And yet one would have wished to live until the time came when one no longer loved the friends, when one would have no reason for lying to them, when at length one might learn from her whether, on the day when one had gone to see them in the evening, one had or had not been in the arms of the debaters. Often for several days on end the suspicion that one was in love with someone else would distract one's mind from the question of the friends, making it almost immaterial to one, like those new developments of a continuous state of ill-health which seem for a little time to have delivered them from their predecessors. There were even days when one was not tormented by any suspicion. One fancied that one was cured. But next morning, when one awoke, one felt in the same place the same pain, a sensation which, the day before, one had, as it were, diluted in the torrent of different impressions. But it had not stirred from its place. Indeed, it was the sharpness of this pain that had awakened one. Since they never gave one any information as to those vastly important matters which took up so much of one's time every day -albeit one had lived long enough in the world to know that such matters are never anything else than pleasures-one could not sustain for any length of time the effort to imagine them; his brain would become a void; then he would pass a finger over one's tired eyelids, in the same way as one might have wiped one's eyeglass, and would cease altogether to think. There emerged, however, from this unexplored tract, certain occupations which reappeared from time to time, vaguely connected by them with some obligation towards distant relatives or old friends who, inasmuch as they were the only people whom one was in the habit of mentioning as preventing one from seeing oneself, seemed to the friends to compose the necessary, unalterable setting of one's life. Because of the tone in which one referred, from time to time, to “the day when I go with my friend to the 'Debate Induced Dinner',” if, when one felt unwell and had thought, “Perhaps they would be kind and come to see me,” one remembered, suddenly, that it was one of those very days, one would correct oneself with an “Oh, no! It’s not worth while asking them to come; I should have thought of it before, this is the day when one goes with one's friend to the Rankin Family's House. One must confine onself to what is possible; no use wasting our time in proposing things that can’t be accepted and are declined in advance instead of climbing.” And this duty that was incumbent upon the friends, of going to the 'Phrase Debating" induced dinners at The Rankin's, to which the friends thus gave way, seemed to one to be not merely ineluctable to some extent; but the mark of necessity which stamped it seemed to make plausible and legitimate everything that was even remotely controlled through it. If, when they, at the dinner table, had acknowledged the salute of the debating intellectual loyal to 'The Phrase', which hadn't aroused their jealousy, one replied to their questions by associating some strangers with any of the two or three paramount duties of which one had often spoken to oneself; if, for instance, one said: “That’s a gentleman who was in my friend’s box the other day; the one I go to the dinner with,” that explanation would set their suspicions at rest; it was, after all, inevitable that those friends should have other guests than the friends the hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin therein, but one had never sought to form or succeeded in forming any coherent impression of them. O Gosh! How one would have loved to debate 'The Phrase', that perpetual subject of the friends who went to dine and to debate, how one would have loved that seeing The Rankin Family Rankin eager to invite them there with one. Ach! How readily one would have sacrificed all one's acquaintance for no matter what person who was in the habit of sitting at the dinner table, were one but the newbie debater or the one out of a shop. one would not have taken more trouble, incurred more expense for them than for kings. Would they not have supplied one, out of what was contained in their knowledge of the life of the friends of The Rankin Family, with the one potent curer for their pain? With what joy would one have hastened to spend one's days with one or other of those humble folk with whom The Rankin Family kept up friendly relations, either with some ulterior motive or from genuine simplicity of nature. How willingly would one have fixed one's abode forever in the attics of some sordid but enviable house, where those friends went but never took one, and where, if one had lived with the little retired ' The Phrase Debater', whose lover one would readily have pretended to be, one would have been visited by the friends almost daily. Within those regions of Zimbabwe, that were almost slums, what a modest existence, abject, if you please, but delightful, nourished by tranquillity and happiness, one would have consented to lead indefinitely. It sometimes happened, again, that, when, after meeting those friends, one saw some people approaching whom one did not know, one could distinguish upon the friends' face that look of sorrow which one had worn on the day when one had come to the friends while one too was there. And yet that was rare; for, on the days when, in spite of all that one had to do, and of one dread of what people would think, one did actually manage to see one, the predominant quality in one's attitude, now, was self-assurance; a striking contrast, perhaps an unconscious revenge for, perhaps a natural reaction from the vigorous emotion which, in the early days of their friendship, one had felt in one's presence, and even in one's absence, when one began a letter to one with the words: “My dear friends, my mentality is in such a confusion that I can scarcely carry out with writing.” So, at least, one pretended, and a little of that emotion must have been sincere, or one would not have been anxious to enlarge and emphasise it. So the friends had been pleasing to one then. As an aside or rather putting the mental confusion one's hands do not tremble except for them, or for those with whom one would love to debate 'The Phrase'. When the friends have ceased to control their happiness how peaceful, how easy, how bold do they become in their presence! In speaking to one, in writing to one then, one no longer employed those words by which one had sought to give oneself the illusion that one belonged to 'The Phrase', repeating to forget opportunities for saying “my mental confusion” and “my hands” when one referred to them: “You are all that I have in the world; it is the main subject or rather 'The Phrase' of our main affair in surviving over the friendship to spent time to 'The Debate', I shall keep it,” nor spoke to their of the future, of death itself, as of a single adventure which they would have to share. In those early days, whatever one might say to them, one would answer admiringly: “You know, you will never be like other people!” from the other side one would gaze at one's long, slightly tinnitus induced ears of which people who know only of one's successes used to think: “It’s not regularly good-listening, if anybody like while being smart; smiling!” and, with more curiosity perhaps to know them as they really was than desire to become their 'The Phrase', one would sigh: “I do wish I could find out what there is in that ear of yours!”


    TO BE CONTINUED....
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 07-23-2017 at 03:43 PM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    And yet, whatever one might say, one would answer, in a tone sometimes of irritation, sometimes indulgent: “Ah! so you-phrase debaters never will be like other people!” One would gaze at their heads, which was hardly aged at all by his recent anxieties though people now thought of it, by the same mental process which enables one to discover the meaning of not a piece of symphonic music but 'The Phrase' of which one has read the programme, or the ‘likenesses’ in a soul whose group one has known: “The Rankin's Family’s not positively or negatively vague, if you like, but it is really rather non-absurd; that eyeglass, that tuft, that smile!” realising in their imagination, fed by suggestion, the invisible boundary which divides, at a few months’ interval, the head of an arduous lover of the debater, and would say: “Oh, I do wish I could change you; put some sense into that head of yours.” Always ready to believe in the truth of what one hoped, if it was only The Rankin Family’s way of behaving to the friends that left room for doubt, one would fling oneself greedily upon one's words: “You can if you like,” one would tell them. And one tried to explain to them that to comfort one, to control one, to make one work would be a noble task, to which numbers of the others asked for nothing better than to be allowed to devote themselves, though it is only fair to add that in those others' hands the noble task would have seemed to them nothing more than an indiscreet and intolerable usurpation of one's freedom of action. “If one didn’t love debating, just a little,” one told oneself, “one would not wish to have them altered. To alter them, one will have to see them more often.” And so one was able to trace, in these faults which one found in them, a proof at least of their interest, perhaps even of love for 'The Phrase'; and, in fact, one gave them so little, now, of the last, that one was obliged to regard as proofs of her interest in him the various things which, every now and then, one forbade them to do. One day one announced that one did not care for one's other friends, who, one thought, was perhaps setting them against one, and, anyhow, did not show that promptness and deference to one’s orders which one would have liked to see. One felt that one wanted to hear them say: “Don’t have one again when they come to one,” just as one might have wanted them to appreciate one. So, being in a good temper, one said it; and one was deeply moved. That evening, when talking to them, with whom one had the satisfaction of being able to speak of one openly (for the most trivial remarks that one uttered now, even to people who had never heard of one, had always some sort of reference to them), one said to them: “I believe, all the same, that one loves 'Debating The Phrase'; one is so nice to the debaters now, and one certainly takes an interest in what one does.” And if, when one was starting off for the dinner and debate at The Rankin's, getting into his car with some friends whom one wasn't to drop somewhere on the way but make arrive at The Rankin's, one of them said: “Hullo! that isn’t 'The Phrase' in the agenda?” with what melancholy joy would one answer him: “Oh! Good heavens, YEP! I can tell you, I daren’t quit 'debate' when I go to the Lane of Pyres; they doesn’t like me not to have the main subject, they think one doesn’t suit me. What on earth is one to do? The members of The Rankin Family, you know, those good people. My dear fellows, one would be furious. Oh, lord, yes; I’ve to take friends there; I should never hear the last of them!” These new manners, indifferent, listless, irritable, which one now adopted with them, undoubtedly made one enjoy; but one did not realise how much one enjoyed; since it had been with a regular progression, day after day, that they had chilled towards one, it was only by directly contrasting what one was to-day with what one had been at first that one could have measured the extent of the change that had taken place. Now this change was one's deep, one's secret wound, which protected them day and night, and whenever one felt that one's thoughts were straying too near it, one would quickly turn them into another channel for fear of being made to suffer too keenly. One might say to oneself in a vague way: “There was a time when friends loved 'The Phrase' more,” but one never formed any definite picture of that time. Just as one had in his study a cupboard at which one contrived never to look, which one turned aside to avoid passing whenever one entered or left the room, because in one of its drawers one had locked away the documents which one had given them on one of those first evenings when one had taken one's place at the table in The Rankin Family's dinner hall, and the letters in which one said: “Why did you not forget your contribution also? I should never have let you have that back,” and “At whatever hour of the day or evening you may need me, just send me a word, and dispose of me as you please,” so there was a place in one's agenda to which one would never allow one's thoughts to trespass too near, forcing them, if need be, to evade it by a long course of reasoning so that they should not have to pass within reach of it; the place in which lingered one's memories of happy days. But one's so meticulous prudence was to be defeated one evening when one had carried on with to the debate. It was at the Phrase’s nature, on the last, for that session, of the evenings on which one invited people to listen to the guitarist first who would serve, later on, for one's debate based speculations on concerts so that they, who had intended to go to each of the previous evenings in turn, but had never been able to make up one's mind, received, while one was dressing for this party, a visit from the yeoman of the district, who came with an offer to go with one at the Rankin’s, if one's company could be of any use in helping one not to feel quite so bored when one got there, to be a little less unhappy. And yet one had thanked them with: “You can’t conceive how glad I should be of your company. But the greatest pleasure that one can give me will be if you will go instead to see the friends. The friends know what a splendid influence one have over them. They don’t suppose one would be going anywhere that evening, unless one should go to see one's old respectable big fiend of theirs namely Doc, and one should be sure she would be delighted if one went with them there. In any case, one would find them at The Rankin's before then. The come on...and try to keep one amused, and also to give one a little sound advice. If they could arrange something for to-morrow which would please one, something that one could all they do together. Try to put out a feeler, too, for the summer; see if there’s anything one wants to do, a cruise that one might all of them take; anything you can think of. They don’t count upon seeing one that evening, oneself; still if one would like them to come, or if one find a loophole, they’ve only to send me a line at the Rankin’s up till midnight; after that one should be here. Ever so many thanks for all they are doing for one-they know what I feel about you!” One's friend promised to go and do as them wished as soon as one had deposited them at the door of the Rankin Family's house, where one arrived soothed by the thought that one would be spending time! The evenings at the Rankin's, but not in a state of melancholy not indifference to everything that did involve them, and in particular to the details of fashionable debate, a state which invested them with the charm that is to be found in anything which, being no longer an object of their desire, appears to us in its own guise. On alighting from one's position, in the foreground of that fictitious summary of their domestic existence which hostess and the host namely are pleased to offer to their guests on ceremonial occasions, and in which they show a great regard for accuracy of defining 'The Phrase' and setting, one was amused to discover the heirs and successors of Phrase Addicts’ ‘debates’ who normally followed their liberal comrades when one talked abundantly, but now, read enough and defined every details, were not of course apt to be posted out of doors, in front of the intellectual affairs induced mansion's on the gravelled drive, or outside the stables, as gardeners might be drawn up for inspection at the ends of their several flower-beds, and to discern the notes produced by the guitarist so that the peculiar tendency which they had always had to look for analogies between living people and the portraits in galleries reasserted 'The Phrase' there, but in a more positive and more general form; it was society as a whole, now that one was detached from it, which presented itself to everything in a series of pictures. For giving some details about the Rankin's Mansion one should mention the cloak-room, into which, in the old days, when one was still a person of fashion, one would have gone in one's fantastic jacket with the badge of a philanthropist association, to emerge from it in evening dress, but without any impression of what had occurred there, one's mind having been, during the minute or two that one had spent in it, either still at the 'Debate Party induced Dinner' which one had just left, or already at the party into which one was just about to be ushered, one then noticed, for the first time, roused by the unexpected arrival of so belated, new guests accompanied by the neighbours who were drowsing here and there upon chairs and even arm-chairs. One of them, of a particularly ferocious aspect, and not unlike the headsman in certain Renaissance pictures which represent artistic gifts, presents, and the like, advanced upon him with an implacable air to take his ‘things', and yet the harshness of his steely glare was compensated by the softness of his cotton gloves, so effectively that, as he approached the other guests, he seemed to be exhibiting at once an utter eulogy for his person and the most tender regard for his apparel so that he took it with a care to which the precision of his movements imparted something that was almost over-fastidious, and with a delicacy that was rendered almost touching by the evidence of his splendid strength. Eventually everybody passed it to one of the omnipotent's satellites, a novice and timid, who was expressing the panic that overpowered him by casting furious glances in every direction, and displayed all the dumb agitation of a timid student in the first hours of its scholarship. A few feet away, a strapping great people in livery stood musing, motionless, statuesque, useless, like that purely decorative warrior whom one sees in the most tumultuous of the painter of the group's paintings, lost in dreams, leaning upon their shield, while all around them are fitting to eternal hope and dream and imagination; detached from the group of their companions who were thronging about one, one seemed as determined to remain unconcerned in the scene, which one followed vaguely with one's happy, greenish eyes, as if it had been the progress of the innocents or the martyrdom of The whole Europe. One seemed precisely to have sprung from that vanished race if, indeed, it ever existed, save in the myths of The Ancient Greek and the frescoes of the pro-Renaissance, where the friends had come in contact with 'The Phrase', and where it still dreams namely fruit of the impregnation of a classical statue by some one of the fashion centres like Pierre Cardin’s models. And the locks of the people's hair, crinkled by nature, but glued to the head by brilliantine, were treated broadly as they are in that Greek sculpture which their group's painter never ceased to study! From the other side, what if in its creator’s purpose it represents but man, manages at least to extract from man’s simple outlines such a variety of richness, borrowed, as it were, from the whole of 'debate' induced society, that a head of 'phrase', by the glossy pronunciation and beak-like points of its cavities, or in the overlaying of the florid triple diadem of its tresses speculated already, can suggest at once a bunch of vulgar weed, a brood of fledgling avis, a bed of hyacinths and a leaf of a daisy’s petals writhing back. Others again, no less colossal, were disposed upon the steps of a monumental staircase which, by their decorative presence and marmoreal immobility, was made worthy to be named, like that god-crowned ascent in the Sahara of The Africa, the staircase of the ascending people debating’ and on which one then set foot, saddened by the thought that they had never climbed it. Ah, with what joy would one, on the other hand, have raced up the brightness, perfume-smelling, breakneck flights to their beloved phrase player’s, in whose attic he would so gladly have paid the price of a weekly stage-box at the little concerts in the dining hall for the right to spend the evening there when one came, and other days too, for the privilege of talking about them, of living among people whom one was in the habit of seeing when one was not there, and who, on that account, seemed to keep secret among themselves some part of the life of their listening to and debating more really, more inaccessible and more mysterious than anything that one knew. Whereas upon that anfractuosities, sensible procedure remarks to the debate at The Rankin's, since there was no other, all session steps in 'Debating The Phrase', one saw in the evening outside every door an empty, well washed medium, in readiness for the morning round, upon the dining hall; on the despicable, enormous steps of the procedure which one was at that moment climbing, on either side of them, at different levels, before each curiously made in its walls by the window of the porter’s lodge or the entrance to a set of rooms, representing the departments of indoor service which they controlled, and doing homage for them to the guests, a phrase keeper namely the guitarist, the Doc, the omnipotent (worthy men who spent the rest of the week in semi-independence in their own domains, dined there by themselves like small intellectuals, and might to-morrow lapse to the plebeian service of some successful doctor or the omnipotent), scrupulous in carrying out to the letter all the instructions that had been heaped upon them before they were allowed to make donation for the sake of the brilliant guests who wore some suits only at long intervals, and in which they did feel altogether at their ease, stood each in the arcade of their doorway linked to the main disciplinary sessions, their splendid pomp tempered by the humanist good-fellowship, like preachers in their niches, and a gigantic gardener, dressed "a la Frank" fashion, like the beadle in a sanctuary, struck the pavement with one's staff as each fresh arrival passed them. Coming to the top of the topics, up which one had been followed by a surrealist service person with a pallid countenance and a small pigtail clubbed at the back of his head, like one of Van Gogh's masterpieces or a tabloid in an old press play... One passed-in a tract of consideration-by another passage in which the intellectuals, seated like notaries before their massive debaters, would not have risen solemnly to their feet and inscribed one's name. One next crossed a little hall which-just as certain rooms are arranged by their owners to serve as the setting for a single work of art (from which they take their name), and, in their studied bareness, contain nothing else besides-displayed to one as one entered it, like some priceless effigy by the listeners of a well trained listeners, a young philanthropist, his body slightly bent forward, rearing above his crimson t-shirt an even more crimson face, from which seemed to burst forth torrents of fire, timidity and zeal, who, as he pierced the Pre-Historic tapestries that screened the walls surrounding the dinner table of the dining hall in which the music was being given with his impetuous, vigilant, desperate gaze, appeared, with a soldierly impassibility or a supernatural faith fitting to the definition over an a rhythms of accord, incarnation of alertness, commemoration of a riot-to be looking out, angel or sentinel, from the tower of citadel or the Moscow Cathedral, for the approach of the enemy or for the hour of Judgment. One had now only to enter the concert or 'The Phrase' listening induced, the doors of which were thrown open to one by an usher loaded with chains, who bowed low before one as though tendering to one the keys of a conquered cosmos, and yet one thought of the house in which at that very moment one might have been, if one had but permitted, and the remembered glimpse of an empty agenda upon a deserted dining table wrung one's heart. One speedily recovered one's sense of the general ugliness of the mankind when, on the other side of the tapestry curtain, the spectacle of the unseen artists gave place to that of the guests. But even this brightness in the faces, which of course were mostly familiar to one, seemed something new and uncanny, now that their features-instead of being to one symbols of practical utility in the identification of this or that man, who until then had represented merely so many pleasures to be sought after, boredoms to be avoided, or courtesies to be acknowledged-were at rest, measurable by-from the point of debating 'The Phrase' based on thought and art aesthetic co-ordinates alone, in the autonomy of their curves and angles. And in these men, in the thick of whom one now found oneself packed, there was nothing even to the magnifier which many of them used to use, and which, previously, would, at the most, have enabled one to say that so-and-so used magnifier which, no longer restricted to the general connotation of a habit, the same in all of them, did not now strike one with a sense of individuality in each. Perhaps because one did not regard The omnipotent and the Doc who were talking together just inside the door, as anything more than two figures in a picture, whereas they were the old and useful friends who had put one up for The Philanthropist Association and had supported one in chat duels, the Omnipotent’s magnifier, stuck like a shell-splinter in one's common, scarred, victorious, overbearing face, in the middle of a forehead which it left half-blinded, like the sparkling eyes or rather the flashing front of the definite apparatus, appeared to one as a monstrous wound which it might have been glorious to receive but which it was certainly not decent to expose, while that which one used to use one's own magnifier, as a festive badge, with one's watery blue gloves, one's straw hat and white tie, substituting it for the familiar pair of glasses! As one oneself did when one went outdoors, bore, glued to its other side, like a specimen prepared to be magnified, an infinitesimal gaze that swarmed with friendly feeling and never ceased to twinkle at the loftiness of ceilings, the delightfulness of the debate, the interestingness of 'The Phrase' and the excellence of refreshments. “O gosh! You here! why, it’s ages since I’ve seen you,” the members of the Rankin Family greeted one and, noticing the look of strain on one's face and concluding that it was perhaps a serious illness that had kept one away, went on, “You’re looking well, old man!” while The Omnipotent turned with, “My dear fellow, what on earth are you doing here?” to a ‘society phrase debating’ who had just fitted into the angle of eyebrow and cheek one's own magnifier, the sole instrument that one used in his psychological investigations and remorseless analyses of character, and who now replied, with an air of mystery and importance, “I am carrying out with dining and debating!” One's magnifier was minute and rimless, and, by enforcing an incessant and painful contraction of the fingers over which it was incrusted like a superfluous cartilage, the presence of which there was inexplicable and its substance unimaginable, it gave to one's daily usage a romanticism refinement, and led debaters to suppose one capable of suffering terribly when in love. But that of the friends, girdled, like a celestial body, with an enormous ring, was the centre of gravity of a "magnifier usage" which composed itself afresh every moment in relation to the glass, while one's thrusting skilful fingers and swollen sarcastic gestures induced hands endeavoured by their grimaces to rise to the level of the steady flame of wit that sparkled in the polished disk, and saw itself preferred to the most ravishing eyes in the world by the smart, depraved the hostess and host of theirs namely Anita and Philip Rankin whom it set dreaming of artificial charms and a refinement of sensual bliss; and then, behind them, the omnipotent and Doc, who with his huge carp’s head and goggling eyes moved slowly up and down the stream of dining and debate gatherings, unlocking ones modest mandibles at every moment as though in search of his orientation, had the air of carrying about upon one's person only an accidental and perhaps purely symbolical fragment of the glass wall of his aquarium, a part intended to suggest the whole which recalled to one, a fervent admirer! Of the omnipotent and Doc, that 'The Phrase' by whose side a leafy bough evokes the idea of the forests that enshroud one's secret lair. So that one had gone forward into the dining hall, under pressure from the delicious notes producer-The Guitarist in order to listen to 'The Phrase' again which was being rendered on the sharp modulations, and had taken up a position in a corner from which, unfortunately, one's horizon was bounded by those two people of ‘certain’ age, seated side by side during the debate sessions, the hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin, who, because they were making a very harmonious pair, used to spend their time at dinners and debates in wandering through the rooms, each clutching their mutual virtues and followed by the guests, hunting for one another like people at a railway station, and could never be at rest until they had reserved, by marking them with their considerations or speculations, two adjacent chairs... The hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin, since they knew apparently everyone, being all the more glad of a companion, while one, who, on the contrary, was not extremely popular, thought it effective and original to show all one's fine friends that one preferred to their company that of an obscure country cousin with whom one had childish memories in common, and even filled with ironical melancholy, one watched them as they listened to 'THE PHRASE' which came after the flat tonalities, and followed the virtuosity induced composition in his dizzy flight; one anxiously, one's eyes starting from one's head, as though the keys over which one's fingers skipped with such agility were a series of hurdled race, from any obstacle of which the pianist might come crashing, a hundred feet, to the ground, stealing now and then a glance of astonishment and unbelief at the skilfulness , as who should say: “It isn’t possible, I would never have believed that a human being could do all that!”; one, as an excellent listener who had received a sound musical education, beating time with head as if to turn into something transformed for the sake of pendulum or a metronome, the sweep and rapidity of whose movements from one shoulder to the other performed with that look of wild abandonment in her eye which a sufferer shows who is no longer able to analyse his pain, nor anxious to master it, and says merely “I can’t help it” so increased that at every moment one's observations caught in the trimming of part of musical notes' sheets, and one was obliged to put straight the bunch of black grapes which one had in the scriptures, though without any interruption of one's constantly accelerated motion. On the other side and a little way in front of The Omnipotent was the Doc, absorbed in her favourite meditation, namely upon their own kinship with the members of The Rankin's Family, from which one derived both publicly and in private a good deal of glory no unmingled with boasting, the most brilliant ornaments of The Debate remaining somewhat aloof from The Phrase, perhaps because as one would like to remark the others were dexterous old chaps, or because one was a scandalous old observer, or because one came of an inferior branch of the debaters, or very possibly for no reason at all. When one found herself seated next to the others whom one did not know, as one was at this moment next to the Omnipotent, one suffered acutely from the feeling that one's own consciousness of one's debate connection could not be made externally manifest in visible character like those which, in the mosaics in the buildings historically attractive, placed one beneath another, inscribe in a vertical column by the side of some debate-lovers personage the words which one is supposed to be uttering. At this moment one was pondering the fact that one had never received an invitation, or even call, from the others, during the upgraded sessions that had already elapsed since the debut of phrase debating. The thought filled not one with anger-and with pride; for, by virtue of having told everyone who expressed surprise at never seeing them at The Rankin’s! That it was because of the risk of meeting the Pianist instead of the guitarist there-a degradation which one's own friends, the truest and the most sensitive of the listeners, would never have forgiven one, they had come gradually to believe that this actually was the reason for their not being able to visit their hostess and hosts namely Anita and Philip Rankin so that one remembered, it is true, that one had several times inquired of the omnipotent and the Doc how they might contrive to meet, but one remembered it only in a confused way, and besides did more than neutralise this slightly humiliating reminiscence by murmuring incessantly, “After all, it isn’t for me to take the first step; I am at least two years younger than the other listeners than are.” Eventually fortified by these unspoken words one flung one's shoulders proudly back until they seemed to part company with the listeners namely the debaters of the dinner table, while the others head, which lay almost horizontally upon them, made one think of the ‘stuck-on’ head of a pheasant which is brought to any medium regally appreciated with its feathers from the other side they in the least degree resembled a pheasant, having been endowed by nature with a short and squat and masculine figure; but successive mortifications had given one a backward tilt, such as one may observe in trees which have taken root on the very edge of a precipice and are forced for the sake of preserving balance to grow backwards. Since one was obliged, in order to console oneself for not being quite on a level with the rest of the other debaters, to repeat to oneself incessantly that it was owing to the uncompromising rigidity of her principles and pride that one saw so little of them, the constant iteration had gradually remoulded one's body, and had given one a sort of ‘debating the phrase’ which was accepted by the listeners as a sign of breeding, and even kindled, at times, a momentary spectrum in the sparkling eyes of art lovers. Had anyone subjected one’s considerations or rather conversation to that form of analysis which by noting the relative frequency of its several terms would furnish them with the key to a ciphered message, one would at once have remarked that no expression, not even the commonest forms of speech, occurred in it nearly so often as “At The Rankin's ”had anyone spoke to them of a distinguished personage, they would reply that, although one was yet personally acquainted with them, should one had seen them hundreds of times at one's hostess or host namely Anita and Philip Rankin aunt, since one would have utter this reply in so icy a tone, with such a hollow sound, that it was at once quite clear that if one did not know the celebrity personally that was because of all the obstinate, ineradicable principles against which one's arching shoulders were stretched back to rest, as on one of those ladders of thought on which debate instructors make mankind ‘extend’ so as to develop the expansion of both thought and sense capacity. At this moment the debaters, who had not been expected to appear at The Rankin’s that evening, did in fact arrive. Showing that one did not wish any special attention, in a house to which one had come by an act of condescension, to be paid to the debater superior rank, one had entered the room with one's arms pressed close to one's sides, even when there was no crowd to be squeezed through, no one attempting to get past one; staying purposely at the back, with the air of being in one's proper place, like a king who stands in the waiting procession at the doors of a theatre where the management have not been warned of one's coming; and strictly limiting one's field of vision so as not to seem to be advertising THE PHRASE presence and claiming the consideration that was its due to make THE DEBATER to study of a pattern in the composition...Of one's own suit, one stood there on the spot which had struck one as the most modest and from which, as one very well knew, a cry of debate induced ecstasy from The Rankin family would extricate one as soon as one's presence there was noticed, next to the friends, whom, however, one did not know. One observed the dumb-show by which one's friends were expressing their passion for music namely for The Phrase, but one refrained from copying it. This was not to say that, for once that one had consented to spend a few minutes in The Rankin Family's house, the omnipotent and the Doc would not have wished so that the act of politeness to their hostess which one had performed by coming might, so to speak, ‘the phrase’ to show oneself as friendly and obliging as possible. But one had a natural horror of what one called ‘exaggerating,’ and always made a point of letting people see that one ‘simply must not’ indulge in any display of emotion that was not in keeping with the tone of the circle in which one moved, although such displays never failed to make an impression upon one, by virtue of that spirit of imitation, akin to timidity, which is developed in the most self-confident persons, by contact with an unfamiliar environment, even though it be inferior to their own. One began to ask oneself whether these gesticulations might not, perhaps, be a necessary concomitant of the piece of music that was being played, a piece which, it might be, was in a different category from all the music that one had ever heard before; and whether to abstain from them was not a sign of one's own inability to understand the music, and of discourtesy towards the hostess and host of the house; with the result that, in order to express by a compromise both of one's contradictory inclinations in turn, at one moment one would merely enlighten one's consideration steps or feel in one golden findings in the thought and sense speculations! For the little balls of bubbling Champaign or of pink jam, frosted with tiny diamonds of sour cherries, which formed its simple but effective ornament, studying, with a cold interest, one impassioned neighbour, while at another they would beat time for a few bars with their handy utensils as pen, fan, key and the like but, so as not to forfeit one's independence, one would beat a different time from the guitarist’s. When one had finished The Phrase and had begun the Rachmaninoff's prelude, the omnipotent turned to the Doc with a tender smile, full of intimate reminiscence, as well as of satisfaction like that of a competent judge with the performance. One had been taught in one's youth to fondle and cherish those long-necked, sinuous creatures, 'The Phrase', so frivolous, so plasticity induced tactile, which begin by seeking their ultimate resting-place somewhere beyond and far wide of the direction in which they started, the point which one might have expected them to reach, phrases which divert themselves in those fantastic bypaths only to return more deliberately with a more premeditated reaction, with more precision, as on a crystal bowl which, if you strike it, will ring and throb until you cry aloud in anguish to clutch at one’s heart. Actually brought up in a provincial household with few friends or visitors, frequently invited to a ball, one had fuddled one's mind, in the solitude of one's old manor-house, over setting the pace, now crawling-slow, now passionate, whirling, breathless, for all those imaginary waltzing couples, gathering them like flowers, leaving the dining hall for a moment to listen, where the wind sighed among the pine-trees, on the shore of the lake, and seeing of a sudden advancing towards one, more different from anything one had ever dreamed of than earthly lovers are, a slender young person, whose voice was resonant and false based on elasticity, in white gloves, and yet nowadays the old-fashioned beauty of this music seemed to have become a non trifle fresh. Having not forfeited, some years back, the esteem of ‘Musical Phrase’ people, it had not lost its distinction nor its charm, and even those whose taste was frankly interesting had ceased to find in it more than a moderate pleasure to which they hardly liked to confess to the friends one should cast a furtive glance behind the guitarist. One knew that one's young daughter-in-law (full of respect for one's new and noble family, except in such matters as related to the intellect, upon which, having ‘got as far’ as phrase harmony one was specially enlightened despised Rachmaninoff, and fell quite well when one heard the guitarist played it. But finding oneself free from the scrutiny of this Ludwig induced, who was sitting, at some distance, in a group of one's own contemporaries, one of the friends let oneself drift upon a stream-through the consideration upon thought and sense-of exquisite memories and sensations as the omnipotent was touched also. All in all without any natural gift for music, one had received, some decades earlier, the instruction which a musical phrase of their group... The omnipotent of genius who had been-before having been-towards the end of his life, reduced to penury, and had started, at a good age, to give to the friends of his old chaps. This man was now at the climax of his success, but his method, an echo of his charming touch, came to life now and then in the fingers of his friends, even of those who had been in other respects quite far away from being mediocre, should not had given up music, instead the verity that he hardly ever opened the hard case of a guitar. And so The Rankin Family could let their guests head sway to and fro over the delicious dinner based debate, fully aware of the cause, with a perfect appreciation of the manner in which the guitarist was rendering the phrase, since they knew it by heart, and the closing notes of the phrase that one had begun sounded already on one's lips. So one murmured “How charming it is!” with a stress on the opening consonants of the adjective, a token of her refinement by which one felt one's lips so dramatically compressed, like the petals of a beautiful, budding flower, that one instinctively brought one's eyes into harmony, illuminating them for a moment with a vague and sentimental gaze. Meanwhile one had arrived at the point of saying to oneself how annoying it was that one had so few opportunities of meeting their guests or rather the listeners, for one meant to teach them a lesson by not acknowledging one's bow. One did not know that the omnipotent and the Doc were in the room. A movement of Mme. Doc’s head disclosed the omnipotent too. At once one dashed towards them, without upsetting all their neighbours; although determined to preserve a distant and glacial manner which should remind everyone present that one had no desire to remain on friendly terms with a person in whose house one might find oneself, any day, cheek by jowl with the omnipotent and the Doc, and to whom it was not her duty to make advances since one was not ‘of one's generation,’ one felt bound to modify this air of dignity and reserve by some non-committal remark which would justify her overture and would force the Princess to engage in conversation; and so, when one reached them. Anita and Philip Rankin, with a stern countenance and one hand thrust out as though one were trying to ‘force’ a subject, began with: “How are your friends?” in the same anxious tone that one would have used if they had been seriously busy with the phrase. The guitarist, breaking into a laugh which was one of her characteristics, and was intended at once to show the rest of an assembly that one was making fun of someone and also to enhance his own capacity by concentrating one's features around was murmuring lips and sparkling eyes, answered: “Why; they are never been better in their lives!” Thereupon he went on laughing. One, then drew oneself up and, chilling one's expression still further, perhaps because one was still uneasy about the health of the "Phrase Debating", said to the hostess and host namely Anita and Philip Rankin: “you respectable personage” at once the hostess looked with amused astonishment towards an invisible symbol, whom she seemed to call to witness that she would had ever authorised one to use her praised name “I should be so pleased if you would look in, just for a minute, next evening, to hear a sonata, with the piano, by the same compositor. I should like to have your opinion of it.” One seemed not so much to be issuing an invitation as to be asking favour, and to want Philip Rankin’s opinion of the Rachmaninoff's piano sonata just though it had been a dish invented by a new cook, whose talent it was most important that an epicure should come to judge. “But I know that sonata quite well. I can tell you now that I adore it.” “You know, my husband isn’t at all well; it’s his appétit. He would like so much to listen to much more sonatas,” Lady Rankin resumed, making it now a corporal work of charity for Mr. Rankin to appear at the dinner table induced debating party. The Princess never liked to tell people that one would not go to their houses. Every day one would write to express one's amusement at having been kept away-by the sudden arrival of the omnipotent and Doc, by an invitation from one's friends, by the Phrase Group, by some excursion to the country-from some party to which one had never for a moment dreamed of going. In this way one gave many people the satisfaction of feeling that one was on intimate terms with them, that one would gladly have come to their houses, and that one had been prevented from doing so only by some princely occurrence which they were flattered to find competing with their own humble entertainment. And then, as one belonged to that witty ‘listeners' set’-in which there survived something of the alert mentality, stripped of all stale and worn out words and conventional sentiments, which dated from Robespierre, and found its final expression in the statements of Moliere and the like-one adapted its formula so as to suit even one's social engagements, transposed it into the courtesy which was always struggling to be positive and precise, to approximate itself to the plain truth as one would never develop at any length to a hostess the expression of one's anxiety not to be present at the place one had been invited... All in all one found it more pleasant to close to all friends all the various little commentaries on which The Phrase Debating would depend whether it was or was not possible for them to debate. “Listen, and I’ll explain,” one began to the hostess and the host. “To-morrow evening I must go to a musician friend of mine, who has been pestering me to fix a day for ages. If that friend takes us to the concert afterwards, then I can possibly come to you to deliver my impressions, much as I should love to; but if we just stay in the house, I know there won’t be anyone else there, so I can slip away.” The Doc interrupted: “Tell me, when have you seen that friend first?” “No! my precious old chap! I never knew that amicable soul was here. Where could a dear friend be? I must catch his eye.” “It’s a funny thing that you should come to me-the old chap of yours ,” the Doc went on. “Oh, I know he’s very clever,” meaning by that ‘very cunning,’ “but that makes no difference; fancy a cute one here, and having not been sister-in-law of a cardinal.” “I am ashamed to confess that I am not in the least shocked,” said the omnipotent. “I know that one’s a converted Orthodox, and all that, and the parents and grandparents before that personage. But they do say that the converted ones are worse about their religion than the practising ones, that it’s all just a pretence; is that true? What do you think?” “I can throw no light at all on the matter.” The guitarist, who was ‘down’ to play two pieces by Rachmaninoff, after finishing THE PHRASE, had at once attacked a party of a concerto for piano. But once one had informed one's friends that that friend was in the room, Rachmaninoff himself might have risen from the grave and played all his works in turn without that friend paying him the slightest attention. Eventually belonged to that one of the two divisions of the human race in which the untiring curiosity which the other half feels about the people whom it does not know is replaced by an unfailing interest in the people whom it does. As with many women-including Lady Rankin and madam teacher-of the 'Phrase Debating' group, the presence, in any room in which one might find oneself, of another member of one's set, even although one had nothing in particular to say to them, would occupy one's mind to the exclusion of every other consideration. From that moment, in the hope that one would catch sight of all musicians, painters, thinkers-as the omnipotent-in the hall, the hostess and the host could help one and yet one could do nothing but like a tame monkey when a good amount of bananas is put down before it and then taken away turn one's face, in which were crowded a thousand signs of intimate connivance, none of them with the least relevance to the sentiment underlying Rachmaninoff’s music, in the direction where one was, and, if one moved, divert accordingly the course of the hostess and host or rather the Rankin Family parents' magnetic smile. “O dear, don’t be angry with us,” resumed Anita Rankin, who could never restrain herself from sacrificing her highest social ambitions, and the hope that she might everyday emerge into a light that would dazzle the world, to the immediate and secret satisfaction of saying something rationalist, agreeable, “people do say about your favourite musician that he’s the sort of man one can’t have in this dining hall; is that true?” One replied instantly: “Why, you, of all people, ought to know that it’s true,” replied the Lady Rankin, “for you must have asked him a hundred times, and he’s never been to your house once.” And leaving the friends satisfied afresh, one broke out into a laugh which entertained everyone who was trying to listen to the music, but attracted the attention of Lady Rankin, who had stayed, out of politeness, near the little platform of the guitarist, and caught sight of the others now for the first time. The omnipotent and the Doc was all the more delighted to see one, as they imagined one to be still at The Rankin's. And dialogues would go on "My dear friend, you here?”...Multi seconds should fill the gap betwixt the border lines of the utterances... “Yes, I tucked myself away in a corner, and I’ve been hearing such lovely things.” Astonishment should have taken place to some extent “What, you’ve been in the room quite a time?” A reply would elicit spontaneously: “Oh, yes, quite a long time, which seemed very short; it was only long because I couldn’t see you.” The hostess and the host namely Anita and Philip Rankin offered an arm-chair to one, who declined it with: “Oh, please, no! Why should you? It doesn’t matter in the least where I sit.” Eventually the flow of friendly words would carry on with the chat induced notion, and deliberately picking out, so as the better to display the simplicity of a really great one, a low seat without a back: “There now, that remote controlled place, that’s all I want. It will make me keep my back straight. Oh! Good heavens, I’m making a noise again; they should not be telling you to have me ‘chucked out’.” Meanwhile, the guitarist having doubled his speed, the emotion of the music-lovers was reaching its climax while a friend was handing refreshments about on a salver, and was making the spoons rattle, and, as on every other ‘post dinner’, the host and hostess was making signs to him, which he never saw, not to leave 'The Phrase' aside. A recent bride from the crowds of the neighbours, who had been told that a young woman ought never to appear perplexed, was smiling vigorously, trying to catch her hostess’s eye so as to flash a symbol of her gratitude for the other’s having ‘thought of her’ in connection with so delightful an entertainment. “Dialogues that should due to be remembered-if any incident in the cosmos could be remembered in the sections similar to each other-would continued as remarked before "My dear err...say..one, you here?” “Yes, I tucked myself away in a corner, and I’ve been hearing such lovely things.” “What, you’ve been in the room quite a time?” “Oh, yes, quite a long time, which seemed very short; it was only long because I couldn’t see you.” One offered one's own corner, who declined it with: “Oh, please, no! Why should you? It doesn’t matter in the least where we stand still.” And deliberately picking out, so as the better to display the simplicity of a really great personage, a dark corner no seat with or without a back: “There now, that perplexity induced situation, that’s all the people want. It will make the people keep their back straight. Oh! Good heavens, we are making a noise again; they’ll be telling you to have everybody ‘chucked out’.” Meanwhile, -alas one couldn't remember who was doubling the speed the pianist or the guitarist. Al right, come one let who was it, yes let be having doubled the speed...At last one might contain oneself no longer, and, running up the two steps of the platform on which the piano stood, flung oneself on the candle to adjust its resonance. But scarcely had one hand come within reach of it when, on The Phrase, the piece finished, and the player rose to his feet and saluted the listeners nevertheless the bold initiative shown by the listeners and the moment of blushing confusion between one and the guitarist or the pianist which resulted from it, produced an impression that was favourable on the whole. “Did you see what that the others did just now, dear one?” asked the omnipotent, who had come up to Lady Rankin as that hostess left the guest for a moment. “Odd, wasn’t it? Is one, really one of the performers?” “No, none’s a little active in performance,” replied the askers carelessly, and then, with more animation: “I am only repeating what I heard just now, myself; I haven’t the faintest notion who said it, it was some one behind me who said that they were them!"


    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-05-2017 at 07:01 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

    .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .......

    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)


    As for the neighbours of The Rankin family in the country, but one doesn’t believe anyone knows them, really. They must be ‘country cousins’! By the way, one does know either they and one are particularly ‘well-up’ in the brilliantly intellectual and industrious society of The Rankin Family Members which they see before them, because they’ve the best idea who all these astonishing people can be. What do they suppose they do with themselves when they’re not at 'The Evening Delicious Dishes and The Phrase Induced Concerts', huh? One must have expected them in with the musicians and the chairs and the food. One added, ‘Universal providers,’ you know. You must admit, they’re rather splendid, Lady Rankin and Respectable Philip Rankin. But can one really have the courage to hire the same ‘supers’ every week? Isn’t it possible!” “Oh, but 'The Neighbour' quite a good name; old, too,” protested the others. Madam Teacher cut in on dryly, “I see no objection to its being old”, “but whatever else it is it’s not euphonious,” the speaker went on, isolating the word euphonious as though between inverted commas, a little affectation to which the gourmets set were addicted. “You think not, eh! Their farming personage have regular little peach, though,” said the speaker, whose eyes never strayed from Anita and Philip Rankin. “Don’t you agree with me, friends?” Inasmuch as one would thrust oneself forward too much so that everybody should think, in so young a personage, that’s not very good for the friends don’t suppose one’s their generation...Eventually none replied that comment-the last word being common, it appeared, to the hostess and host, and the guests-and then, seeing that one was still gazing at them, they added, half out of good intention towards the people, half wishing to oblige the neighbours: “Not very nice...for your friends! I am sorry that I do not know them, since one seems to attract them so much; one might have introduced oneself to them,” said the hostess, who, if one had known the friends, would most probably have done nothing of the sort. “And before the midnight I must say good night, because one of my friends is having a got a rigid agenda bounding daily life, and I must go and wish the others' many happy returns,” she explained, modestly and with truth, reducing the fashionable gathering to which one was going to the simple proportions of a ceremony which would be boring in the extreme, but at which one was obliged to be present, and there would be something touching about her appearance. The omnipotent remarked, “Besides, one must pick up it. What? The question also must begin with 'while' instead of 'what' I’ve been here, one’s gone to see those friends of one's-everybody know them too, I’m sure, who are called after a 'Phrase'-oh, yes, The Listener.” One of the listeners, spoke “It was a battle-against detonation-before us was a phrase, dear friends; it was a victory!” said the spokes-person, and added, “I mean to say, to an old listener like me,” he went on, wiping his eye-glasses and replacing it, as though one were laying a fresh dressing on the raw wound underneath, while the omnipotent instinctively looked away, “that people of music's nobility, well, of course, it’s not the same thing, but, after all, taking it as it is, it’s very fine of its kind; they were people who really did fight like heroes.” “But I have the deepest respect for heroic performances,” the Doc assented, though with a faint trace of irony. “If I don’t go with friends to listen those players-either pianist or guitarist-it isn’t for that, at all; it’s simply because I don’t know them. All the listeners knows them; they worship them. Oh, no, it’s not what you think; one’s in love with 'The Phrase' too. I’ve nothing to set my appreciation on behalf of it! Besides, what good has it ever done when I have set my face against them?” the speaker queried sadly, for the whole world knew that, ever since the day upon which the members of The Rankin Family had begun to invite fascinating good listener friends, the people had been consistently faithful to 'The Phrase'. “Madam teacher cried, "Anyhow, it isn’t that at all. They’re people one has known for ever so long, they do one very well, and that suits me down to the ground. But I must tell you what one’s told me about the phrase; it’s quite enough. Can you imagine it, all the furniture of the musical house is ‘Phrase’!” The voice of another speaker would be heard then “But, my dear teacher, that’s only natural; all composers belonged to their grandparents. I don’t quite say it didn’t, but that doesn’t make it any less smart. I quite understand that people can’t always have nice things, but at least they needn’t have things that are merely dramatic. What do you say? I can think of nothing more devastating, more utterly smug than that hideous style so that the concert halls covered all over with 'phrase debater’-their heads, like shower-taps!” But I believe, all the same, that they’ve got some lovely things; why, they must have that famous mosaics made of phrases on which the Treaty of...” “Oh, I don’t deny, they may have things that are interesting enough from the historic point of view. But things like that can’t, ever, be beautiful...because they’re simply horrible! I’ve got things like that myself, that came to The Rankin's from their parents. Probably, they’re up in the attics at pheasants, where nobody ever sees them. But, after all, that’s not the point, I would fly to see them, with one; I would even go to see them among all their labyrinths and cross-ways, if I knew them, but-I don’t know them! Do you know, I was always taught, when I was a little girl, that it was not polite to call on people one didn’t know.” One assumed a tone of childish gravity, “And so I am just doing what I was taught to do. Can’t you see those good people, with a totally strange people bursting into the concert halls? Why, I might get a most hostile reception.” And one peevishly enhanced the charm of the smile which the idea had brought to one's lips, by giving to one's attentive eyes, which were fixed on the omnipotent, a gentle, dreamy expression. “My dear friend, you know that they’d be simply excited with joy.” “No, why?” he inquired, with the utmost vivacity, either so as to seem unaware that it would be because one was one of the first listeners in the group, or so as to have the pleasure of hearing the omnipotent tell one so. “Why? How can you tell? Perhaps they would think 'The Phrase' the most pleasant thing that could possibly happen. I know everything about them, but if they’re anything like me, I couldn't find it boring to see the people I do know; I’m sure if I had to see people I didn’t know as well, even if they had ‘thought like composers,’ I should go as stark as a happy king. Besides, except when it’s an old friend like you, whom one knows quite apart from that, I’m not sure that ‘listening to the phrase’ takes one very far at The Rankin's. It’s often quite rejoicing enough to have to give a dinner-party for eating, listening to the phrase, and debating but if one had to offer one’s contribution, to let him take one down...! Really, no; it would never be only one personage I should send for, to make a remark. I feel sure, I should keep one for really big ‘crushes.’ And as I never give any...” One replied, “Ah! My good friend, it’s easy to see you’re not a listener for nothing. You have your share of it, all right, the ‘wit of the listeners’!” “But people always talk about the wit of the listeners or rather the debaters; I never could make out why. Do you really know any others who have it?” The omnipotent rallied one, with a rippling flow of laughter whilst all the friends' features concentrated... There should be no doubt that the phrase one listened to yoked to the service of one's debate, the friends of one's eyes sparkling, blazing with a radiant sunshine of gaiety which could be kindled only by the speeches spent over the debate-even if the omnipotent and the Doc had to make them themselves-as were in praise of the wit or of the composer's aesthetics. One would claim, “Look, there’re the members of The Rankin Family talking to them who listened to that very composer; over there, beside the omnipotent, don’t you see them? Ask them to introduce me. But hurry up, some of the guests seem to be just going!” The others asked, “Did you notice how dreadfully happy one’s looking?” asked the omnipotent. One interrupted, “My precious friend? Ah, I'm coming at last; I was beginning to think they did want to see me!” Eventually one was extremely fond of the Rankin Family, and the sight of one's recalled to them, a property close to the members of the Rankin Family, and all that country which one so dearly loved and had ceased to visit, so as not to be separated from them at The Rankin's. The listeners having been slipping into the manner, half-artistic, half-amorous with which they could always manage to satisfy the need of thought and sense-a manner which came to them quite naturally whenever they dipped for a moment into the old social atmosphere, and wishing also to express in words, for their own satisfaction, the longing that they felt for 'The Phrase', and one claimed to enhanced of one's contribution, and “Ah!” one exclaimed, or rather intoned, in such a way as to be audible at once at The Rankin's, to whom one spoke, and to the hostess and the host, for whom one was speaking, “Behold our charming omnipotent! See, he has come up on purpose from the vicinity to hear the composer's preach to the audiences, and has only just had time, like a dear little squirrel, to go and pick a few little hips and haws and put them in her hair; there are even some drops of dew upon them still, a little of the hoar-frost which must be making the Doc too, down there, shiver. It is very pretty indeed, my dear friends.” “What! The Doc and the omnipotent came up on purpose from the vicinity? But that’s too wonderful! I never knew; I’m quite bewildered,” madam teacher protested with quaint simplicity, being but little accustomed to one’s way of speaking. And then, examining the omnipotent’s contributions, “Why, you’re quite right; it is copied from...what shall I say, not bananas, no, oh, it’s a delightful idea, but how can the omnipotent have known what was going to be on my programme? Neither the listeners nor the musicians didn’t tell me, even.” one, who was accustomed, when one was with a friend whom he had kept up the habit of addressing in terms of gallantry in 'The Phrase', to pay her delicate compliments which most other people would not and need not understand, did not condescend to explain to Anita and Philip Rankin that everybody had been speaking metaphorically. As for the omnipotent, one was in fits of laughter, both because one’s wit was highly appreciated by the friends set, and because one could never hear a compliment addressed to oneself without finding it exquisitely subtle and irresistibly training linked to amusement. “Indeed! I’m delighted, friends, if my little ideas and speculations meet with your approval. But tell me, why did you bow to any personage, are you also their neighbour in the country? One, seeing that the friends seemed quite happy talking to one, had drifted away. “But you are, yourself, our omnipotent!” cried a neighbour “I! Why, they must have ‘countries’ everywhere, those creatures! Don’t I wish I had!” One of the answer: “No, not the creatures but personage; our own people. One of them was a neighbour afar, and used to come to dine with us. I don’t know whether you are aware that you are one of them too, and that we all owe you a due.” One opposed, “I don’t know what the focus owes me, but I do know that I’m not ‘touched’ for a cent either, no year, by none, which isn't a due that I could very well do without. But surely these words have rather a startling name. It ends just in time, but it ends willy-nilly!” and the explanation came to the end with a laugh. “It begins no better.” another one took the point. One replied “Yes; that double abbreviation!” The omnipotent completed, “Someone very happy and very proper who didn’t dare to finish the first word.” Another speaker contributed "But since he couldn’t stop himself beginning the second, he’d have done better to finish the first and be done with it. We are indulging in the most refined form of debate based on 'The Phrase', my dear friends, in the very best of taste-but how tiresome it is that I never see anybody not worn out now,” and went on in a coaxing tone, “I do so love talking to the friends or rather the debating friends. Just imagine, I could not make that good non-debating people see that there was anything too much interesting about the term 'The Phrase'. Do agree that life is a dreadful business. It’s only when I see you that I stop feeling bored.” Another speaker contributed "But since he couldn’t stop himself beginning the second, he’d have done better to finish the first and be done with it. We are indulging in the most refined form of debate based on 'The Phrase', my dear friends, in the very best of taste-but how tiresome it is that I never see anybody not worn out now,” and went on in a coaxing tone, “I do so love talking to the friends or rather the debating friends. Just imagine, I could not make that good non-debating people see that there was anything too much interesting about the term 'The Phrase'. Do agree that life is a dreadful business. It’s only when I see you that I stop feeling bored.” It was probably too much true to believe in. But one and the others had the same way of looking at the little things of life-the effect, if not the cause of which was a close analogy between their modes of expression and even of pronunciation All in all similarity was not striking because no two things could have been more unlike than their effects. And yet if one took the trouble to imagine one’s narration divested of the echoes that enwrapped them, of the general feature from under which they emerged, one found that they were the same phrases, the same inflexions, that they had the ‘tone’ of the friends set. On important matters, one and the others had not an idea in common. So that since one had become so carried away by one's own ecstasy, and was always in that trembling condition which precedes a flood of tears based on the effect of The Phrase, one had the same need to speak about one's grief that a listener has to tell someone about one's crime. And when one heard the omnipotent say that life was a dreadful business, one felt as much comforted as if one had spoken to him of being omnipotent. One reiterated, “Yes, life is a dreadful business! We must meet more often, my dear friend. What is so nice about you is that you are being seemed. We could spend a most pleasant evening together.” Another speaker talked, “I’m sure we could; why not come down to the dining or listening and debating hall? Methinks somebody's mother-in-law would be wild with joy. It’s supposed to be very ugly down there, but I must say, I find the neighbourhood excessively attractive; I have a horror of ‘The Phrase Debating’.” “I know it well, it’s delightful!” the Doc. “It’s almost too beautiful, too much alive for me just at present; it’s a way of life to be happy in. It’s perhaps because I have lived so, but things there speak to me so. As soon as a breath of wind gets up, and the cornfields begin to stir, I feel that someone is going to appear suddenly, that I am going to hear some news; and those little houses by the water’s edge...I should be quite wretched!” “The Doc. announced strongly "Oh! my dearest one, do take care; there’s that appalling omnipotent; he’s seen me; hide me somewhere whilst trying strokes-I mean those sense and thought induced affairs-do tell me again, quickly, what it was that happened to me; I get so mixed up; he’s just compelled off his considerations, or his dexterity that I never could forget them-perhaps both-to each other! Oh, no, I remember now, he’s never been dropped by his debating friends... Pretend to be talking, so that the omnipotent could come and invite me to the debate at the dinner table. Anyhow, I’m going. Listen, my dearest one, now that I have seen you, once in a blue moon, won’t you let me carry you off and take you to the others besides the omnipotent who would be so pleased to see you-you know-, and the neighbours too, for that matter; someone are meeting me there. If one didn’t get news of you, sometimes, from ombudsman... Remember, I never see you at all now!” One declined. Having told the hostess and the host that, on leaving us at Rankin's, one would go straight home, one did not care to run the risk, by going on now to the , of missing a message which one had, all the time, been hoping to see brought in to one by one of the footmen, during the party, and which one was perhaps going to find left with one's own porter, at home. “Dear omnipotent,” said Anita Rankin that night to her husband; “he is always listening to the phrase and debating, but he does look so dreadfully happy. You will see for yourself, for he has promised to dine with us one of these days. I do feel that it’s not really absurd that a man of his intelligence should let himself be made to suffer by a composer of even if that kind, who is even interesting, for they tell me, he’s an absolute genius!” he concluded with the wisdom invariably shown by people who, not being in love themselves, feel that a clever personage ought to be happy only about such persons as are worth his while; which is rather like being astonished that anyone should condescend to die of musical zest at the bidding of so insignificant a creature as the common phrases worth of been debated. One then wished to go home, but, just as one was making one's escape, the host namely Philip Rankin caught him and asked for an introduction to new guests, and he was obliged to go back into the room to look for them. “I say, my dear, I’d rather be giving my contribution to that little group than killed by savages, what do you say?” The words ‘killed by savages’ pierced one’s aching heart; and at once one felt the need of continuing the conversation. “Ah!” a friend began, “some fine musical notes have been lost in the phrase we debate in that way...There was, you remember, that explorer whose remains Rachmaninoff brought back, the creation of the phrase”, and everybody were at once happy again, as though they had named that friend as the spokesperson. “He was a fine character, and interests me very much, does 'The Phrase or rather The debate,” that spokesperson ended sadly. “Oh, yes, of course, The Phrase,” said the omnipotent, “It’s quite a well-known name. There ought to be a street called that.” “Do you know anyone in the main streets network?” asked the Doc excitedly. “Only the Omnipotent, the brother of you, you see, that good fellow err..." They were making amusement as if carrying on with the most amusing debate-party the other evening. Then The Doc spoke again, "That’s a house that will be really smart some day, you’ll see!” Omnipotent completed his utterance, “Oh, so we should live in the Rue La Phrase. It’s attractive; I would like that street; it’d be so sombre.” Omnipotent remarked "Indeed it isn’t. We can’t have been in it for a long time; it’s not at all sombre now; they’re beginning to build all round there.” When one did finally introduce the hostess and host to the young guests, since it was the first time that they had heard the Rankin Family’s name, they hastily outlined upon their lips the smile of joy and surprise with which they would have greeted them if they had never, in the whole of their life, heard anything else; for, as they did not yet know all the friends of their new group of 'Debating The Phrase', whenever anyone was presented to them, they assumed that they must be one of them, and thinking that they would show their tact by appearing to have heard ‘such a lot about them’ since their marriage, they would hold out their hand with an air of hesitation which was meant as a proof at once of the calculated reserve which they had to overcome and of the spontaneous friendliness which successfully overcame it. And so their parents-in-law, whom they still regarded as the most eminent group, declared that they were the angels; all the more that they preferred to appear, in debating them to their group, to have yielded to the attraction rather of their natural charm than of their considerable fortune. “It’s easy to see that you’re carrying musician hearts and souls, friends,” said the Omnipotent, alluding to the incident of the phrase. Meanwhile the both the recital and the debate of phrase had begun again, and one saw that one could then go before the end of the new number. One suffered not-even slightly-from being shut up among all these people whose love of debate and verities enlivened one all the more progressively since, being ignorant of one debate loving, incapable, had they known of it, of taking any interest, or of doing more than smile at it as at some childish prank, or deplore it as an act of insanity, they made it appear to one in the aspect of a subjective state which existed for oneself alone, whose reality there was nothing external to confirm; one suffered overwhelmingly, to the point at which even the sound of the instruments made one want to cry, from having to prolong ones abiding in this place which The Rankin would never come, in which no one, nothing was aware of their existence, from which one was entirely absent. But suddenly it was as though one had entered, and this apparition tore one with such anguish that one's hand rose impulsively to one's heart. What had happened was that the violin had risen to a series of high notes, on which it rested as though expecting something, an expectancy which it prolonged without ceasing to hold on to especially the musical notes, in the exaltation with which it already saw the expected object to be impending, and with a desperate effort to continue until its arrival, to welcome it before itself expired, to keep the way open for a moment longer, with all its remaining strength, that the stranger might enter in, as one holds a door open that would otherwise automatically close. Eventually before one had had time to understand what was happening, one would to think: “It is the little phrase from Rachmaninoff’s sonata. I mustn’t listen!”, all his memories of the days when one had been in love with the phrase, which one had succeeded, up till that evening, in keeping invisible in the depths of his being, deceived by this sudden reflection of a season of love, whose sun, everybody supposed, had dawned again, had awakened from their slumber, had taken wing and risen to sing maddeningly in his ears, without pity for his present desolation, the forgotten strains of happiness. One felt one should find something in place of the abstract expressions “the time when I was happy,” “the time when I was loved,” which one had often used until then, and without much suffering, for one's intelligence had not embodied in them anything of the past save fictitious extracts which preserved none of the reality, one now recovered everything that had fixed unalterably the peculiar, volatile essence of that lost happiness; one could see it all... One remembered the crimson, curled petals of the roses which one had tossed after them into the debut of their debate, which one had kept opened one's ears to listen to the 'Phrase' , the address ‘The Dinner Table,’ similar to the intellectual material embossed on the note-paper on which one had read “My heart happy as I write to you,” the half frowning contraction of one eyebrows when they said pleadingly: “You won’t let it be very long before you send for us?”; one could smell the heated volume of the baker's which one used to have in to singe one's hands while some of them went to fetch the little working apparatus; could feel the torrents of words assigned for debate which fell so often that time, the satisfied manner homeward drive in one's car, by moonlight; all the network of mental habits, of seasonable impressions, of sensory reactions, which had extended over a series of evenings its uniform style, by which one's body now found itself inextricably held. At that time one had been satisfying a sensual curiosity to know what were the pleasures of those people who lived for 'The Phrase Debating' alone. One had supposed that one could stop there, that one would not be obliged to learn their sorrows also; how small a thing the actual charm of the friends was now in comparison with that formidable terror which extended it like a cloudy halo all around one, that enormous anguish of not knowing at every hour of the day and night what one had been doing, of not possessing one's wholly, at all times and in all places! Actually, one recalled the accents in which some of them had exclaimed: “But we can see you at any time; we are always free!”-one, who was never free now; the interest, the curiosity that one had shown in one's life, one's passionate desire that one should do them the favour-of which it was one who, then, had felt suspicious, as of a possibly tedious waste of one's time and disturbance of one's arrangements-of granting one's access to their study; how one had been obliged to beg that one would let their take one to the Rankin's’; and, when one did allow them to come to one once a month, how one had first, before one would let himself be swayed, had to repeat what a joy it would be to them, that custom of their seeing each other daily, for which one had longed at a time when to one it had seemed only a tiresome distraction, for which, since that time, one had conceived a distaste and had definitely broken oneself of it, while it had become for one so insatiable, so colourful a need. Little had one suspected how truly one spoke when, on their third meeting, as one repeated: “But why don’t you let me come to debate based dinners?” one had told them, laughing, and in a vein of gallantry, that it was for fear of forming a hopeless passion so that thanks to God, it still happened at times that one wrote to them at the same dining hall, on paper which shouldn't bear a printed address, but printed in letters of fire that seared one's heart. “Written from table at the Rankin's. What on earth can one have gone there for? With whom? What happened there?” One remembered the eco lanterns that were being extinguished along the street when one had met them, when all hope was gone among the errant shades upon that night which had seemed to one almost supernatural and which now that night of a period when one had not even to ask oneself whether one wouldn't be annoying them by looking for one and by finding them, so certain was one that one knew no greater happiness than to see them and to let them take one home belonged indeed to a mysterious world to which one never may return again once its doors are closed. And one could distinguish, standing, motionless, before that scene of happiness in which it lived again, a well dressed figure which filled one with such pride, because one did not at first recognise who it was, that one must lower one's head, lest anyone should observe that one's eyes were filled with tears. It was himself. When one had realised this, one's self trust increased; though one was jealous one couldn't envy one's own increasing trust one would put on one oneself, then, of that other self whom one had loved also to debate the phrase, and one might not be jealous of those men of whom one had so often said, without much suffering: “Perhaps all of us in love with the phrase,” now that one had exchanged the vague idea of loving debating the phrase, in which there is no love, for instance for the petals of the rose or daisy and the ‘subject-heading’ of the Rankin's; for they were full of love viz. loving debate within the boundaries of humanism, art and science. And then, one's anguish becoming too keen, one passed one's hand over his forehead, let the perspiration drop from one's face, and wiped it . And doubtless, if he had caught sight of oneself at that moment, one would have added to the collection of the drops of perfumes which one had already identified with the general impression of his... The considerations which one removed, like an importunate, worrying thought, from one's head, while from its misty surface, with one's tablet, he sought to obliterate one's cares. There are in the music of either the guitar or the piano in return-if one does not see the instrument itself, and so cannot relate what one hears to its form, which modifies the fullness of the sound accents which are so closely akin to those of certain counter phrases, that one has the illusion that a player has taken one' place amid the orchestra. One raises one’s eyes; one sees only the mini radio set, magical as an angel's box; but, at moments, one is still tricked by the deceiving appeal of the incessant humming similar to siren; at times, too, one believes that one is listening to a captive spirit, struggling in the twilight of its loud speakers, an embedded pair of little boxes quivering with enchantment, like a saint's preach immersed in a stoup of holy water; sometimes, again, it is in the air, at large, like a pure and supernatural creature that reveals to the ear, as it passes, its semi-audible message. As though the musicians were not nearly so much playing the little phrase as performing the rites on which it insisted before it would consent to appear, as proceeding to utter the incantations necessary to procure, and to prolong for a few moments, the miracle of its apparition, one who was no more able then to see it than if it had belonged to a world of ultrasound as used in medicine that experienced something like the refreshing sense of a metamorphosis in the momentary deafness with which one had been struck as one approached it, one felt that it was present, like a protective goddess, a confidant of one's love for both the phrase and debating the phrase, that, so as to be able to come to one through the crowd, and to draw one aside to speak to one, had appreciated oneself in this sweeping cloak of voices and the sound covering all uttered, played or produced in other ways. And as one passed them, light, soothing, as softly murmured as the perfume of a flower, telling him what one and one's friends had to listen to, every musical note of which one closely scanned, sorry to see them fly away so fast, he made involuntarily with one's lips the motion of murmuring to praise 'the phrase', as it went by one's ears, the harmonious, fleeting form of that incessant flow. One felt that one was no longer in a place afar and alone since they, who addressed themselves to one, spoke to one in a whisper of The Rankin Family. For one had no longer, as of old, the impression that The Rankin and one were not known to the little phrase they are debating. Had it not often been the witness of their debates? True that, as often, it had warned one of their frailty. And indeed, whereas, in that currant time, one had divined an element of suffering in their smile, in its limpid and disillusioned intonation, to-night one found there rather the charm of a resignation that was almost excessively happy. Of those sorrows, of which the little phrase had spoken to one then, which one had seen it-without his being touched by them oneself-carry past one, smiling, on its susceptible and rapid course, of those sorrows which were now become one's own, without one's having any hope of being, ever, delivered from them, it seemed to say to one, as once it had said of one's happiness: “What does all that matter; it is all nothing.” And one’s thoughts were borne for the first time on a wave of pity and tenderness towards that phrase, towards that unknown, exalted friends who also might not have suffered so greatly; what could one's life have been? From the depths of what well of sorrow could one have drawn that god-like strength, that unlimited power of debating the phrase? When it was the little phrase that spoke to one of the vanity of one's joys, one found a sweetness in that very wisdom which, but a little while back, had seemed to one intolerable when one thought that one could read it on the faces of indifferent strangers, who would regard one's contribution to the debate as a digression that was without importance. It would be so because the debated phrase, unlike the other musical excerpts, whatever opinion it might hold on the short duration of these states of the soul, saw in them something not, as everyone else saw, less serious than the events of everyday life, but, on the contrary, so far superior to everyday life as to be alone worthy of the trouble of both listening to and debating 'The Phrase' so that those graces of an intimate sorrow, ’It was them that the phrase endeavoured to imitate, to create novelty; and even their essence, for all that it consists in being incommunicable and in appearing trivial to everyone save one who has experience of them, the phrase having been debated had captured, had rendered audible enough. So much so that it made their value as the gourmets at the dinner table be appreciated, their intellectual sweetness be tasted by all those same listeners- provided only that they were in any sense artistic, intellectual, and musical-who, the next moment, would ignore, would disown them in trivial paragraphs, in every individual love that came into being beneath the appreciation of The Rankin. No doubt that the form in which 'Debating The Phrase" had codified those graces could not be analysed into any logical elements. But ever since, more than a year before, discovering to one many of the rich elements of one's own soul, the love of music had been born, and for a time at least had dwelt in one so one had regarded musical motifs as actual ideas, of another world, and using the "of" the debater might make remarks of another order, ideas veiled in shadows, unknown, impenetrable by the human mind, which none the less were perfectly distinct one from another, unequal among themselves in value and in significance, even in all the consideration mentioned around the table at The Rankin's. When, after that first evening at the Rankin's one had had the debated phrase played over to one's perception again, and had sought to disentangle from one's confused impressions how it was that, like a perfume or a caress, it swept over and enveloped one, one had observed that it was to the closeness of the intervals between some notes of 'The Phrase' which composed it and to the constant repetition of some of them that was due that impression of a frigid, a contracted sweetness; but in reality one knew that one was basing this conclusion not upon the phrase itself, but merely upon certain equivalents, substituted for one's mind induced convenience for the mysterious entity of which one had become aware, before ever one knew the members of The Rankin Family, at that earlier party, when for the first time one had heard the Rachmaninoff's sonata played by the guitarist or the pianist. One knew that one's memory of the piano falsified still further the perspective in which one saw the music, that the field open to the musician is not a indispensable stave of some notes, but an immeasurable keyboard-still, almost all of it, unknown-on which, here and there only, separated by the gross darkness of its unexplored tracts, some few among the millions of keys, keys of tenderness, of entity, even of pastoral entity, of serenity, which compose it, each one differing from all the rest as one galaxy differs from another, have been discovered by certain great artists who do us the service, when they awaken in us the emotion corresponding to the theme which they have found, of showing us what richness regarding musicology, what variety lies hidden, well known to debaters, in that great, shining dinners impenetrable dinner, discouraging exploration, of our soul, which they have been content to regard as dexterity and fruitful and abundant. Rachmaninoff had been one of those musicians. In his little phrase, albeit it presented to the mind’s eye a clouded surface, and from the point of abundance in debate there was contained, one felt, a matter so consistent, so explicit, to which the phrase gave so new, so original a force, that those who had once heard it preserved the memory of it in the sense, and sensation, adding to the thought and consideration chamber of the debaters' mind. One would repair to it as to a conception of love and happiness, of which at once one knew as well in what respects it was peculiar as one would know of the 'The Phrase', or of 'The dinner induced debate', should either of those titles occur to one when one was not thinking of the little phrase, it existed, retarded, in one's mind, in the same way as certain other conceptions without material equivalent, such as our notions of light, of sound, of perspective, of bodily desire, the rich possessions wherewith the friends inner temple is diversified and adorned. Perhaps they shall lose them, perhaps they will be obliterated, if they return to nothing in the dust, and yet so long as they are vivid, they can no more bring ourselves to a state in which the friends shall not have known them than they can with regard to any material object, than they can, for example, doubt the luminosity of the lanterns that has just been lighted, in view of the changed aspect of everything in the room, from which has vanished even the memory of the turbidity in which way one’s phrase, like some theme, say, at The Rankin's, which represents to them also a certain acquisition of sentiment, has espoused one's mortal state, hadn't due to a vesture of humanity that was affecting enough. Would its destiny be linked, for the future, with that of the humanist mentality, of which it was one of the special, the most distinctive ornaments so that perhaps it is not-being that is the true state, and all our dream of life is without existence; but, if so, we feel that it must be that 'The Phrase' of music of rather dinner induced debating, these conceptions which exist in relation to our dream, neither are worth of nothing nor worthless. The friends shall perish at the dining hall, but they all have got 'The Phrase' as their divine captive who shall follow and share the fate of 'The Debate', and listening to the phrase in their company is something not bitter, not inglorious, perhaps never uncertain. So one was not mistaken in believing that the phrase of the sonata did, really, exist over the debate. Not inhuman as it was from this point of view, it belonged, none the less, to an order of supernatural efforts that one has never seen, but whom, in spite of that, one recognises and acclaims with rapture when some explorer of the unseen contrives to coax one forth, to bring it down from that divine world to which one has access to shine for a brief moment in the firmament of the friends', and this was what The Rankin Family had done for the little phrase. One felt that the composer had been content with the musical instruments at his disposal to draw aside the veil of dry musical notes, to make it visible, following and respecting its outlines with a hand so loving, so prudent, so delicate and so sure, that the sound altered at every moment, blunting itself to indicate a shadow, springing back into life when it must follow the curve of some more bold projection like the dinner induced debate. And one proof that one was not mistaken when one believed in the real existence of this phrase, was that anyone with an ear at all delicate for music would at once have detected the imposture had The Rankin Family, endowed with less power to see and to render its forms, sought to dissemble by adding a line, here and there, of one's own invention the dimness of one's vision or the feebleness of one's hand. The phrase, debate and dinner had disappeared together. One knew that it would come again at the end of the last movement, after a long passage which The members of the Rankin’s family's dear guitarist or pianist always ‘performed fervently’... There were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of his memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. One listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition of the phrase, as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a syllogism; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. “Enough audible” one exclaimed to oneself, “as inspired, perhaps, as an Einstein, a Hubble the audacity of The Rankin's Family making experiment, discovering the secret laws that govern an unknown force, driving across a region unexplored towards the one possible goal the invisible team in which one has placed one's trust and which one never may discern!” How charming the dialogue which one now heard between guitar and piano, at the beginning of the last passage. The feeding of human speech, so far from letting fancy reign there uncontrolled as one might have thought, had eliminated it altogether. Never was spoken language of such inflexible necessity, never had it known questions so pertinent, such obvious replies. At first the guitar complained alone, like a bird deserted by its excessively intimate mate; the piano heard and answered it, as from a neighbouring trellis, and it was as at the first beginning of the world, as if there were not yet but such twins upon the earth, or rather in this world closed against all the rest, so fashioned by the logic of its creator that in it there should never be any but themselves; the world of this sonata. Was it a bird, was it the soul, not yet made perfect, of the little phrase, was it a fairy, invisibly somewhere lamenting, whose plaint the one musical instrument heard and the other tenderly repeated? There were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of his memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. One listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition of the phrase, as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a syllogism; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. “Enough audible” one exclaimed to oneself, “as inspired, perhaps, as an Einstein, a Hubble the audacity of The Rankin's Family making experiment, discovering the secret laws that govern an unknown force, driving across a region unexplored towards the one possible goal the invisible team in which one has placed one's trust and which one never may discern!” How charming the dialogue which one now heard between guitar and piano, at the beginning of the last passage. The feeding of human speech, so far from letting fancy reign there uncontrolled as one might have thought, had eliminated it altogether. Never was spoken language of such inflexible necessity, never had it known questions so pertinent, such obvious replies. At first the guitar complained alone, like a bird deserted by its excessively intimate mate; the piano heard and answered it, as from a neighbouring trellis, and it was as at the first beginning of the world, as if there were not yet but such twins upon the earth, or rather in this world closed against all the rest, so fashioned by the logic of its creator that in it there should never be any but themselves; the world of this sonata. Was it a bird, was it the soul, not yet made perfect, of the little phrase, was it a fairy, invisibly somewhere lamenting, whose plaint the one musical instrument heard and the other tenderly repeated? Let's repeat the last lines as reproducing the lines just the reader have past: Eventually there were in the dinner hall some admirable ideas which one had not distinguished on first hearing the sonata of Rachmaninoff, and which one now perceived, as if they had, at the table of one's memory, divested themselves of their uniform disguise of novelty. As for the debate thereafter one would have listened to all the scattered themes which entered into the composition thereof 'The Phrase', as its premises enter into the inevitable conclusion of a hyper-syntheses; one was assisting at the mystery of its having been reborn. Was it a musical note, was it the modulation, not yet made perfect, of the debut of 'The Phrase', was it an angel, invisibly somewhere rejoicing us, whose plaint the one musical instrument-the guitar, the piano-heard and the other tenderly repeated? Its sound were so sudden that the guitarist or the pianist must snatch up one's bow and race to catch them as they came. Marvellous masterpiece! The guitarist or the pianist seemed to wish to charm, to tame, to give a good accord, to win it. Already it had passed into one's soul, already the phrase which it evoked shook like a medium’s the body of the musical instrument player, ‘possessed’ indeed. One knew that the phrase was going to speak to one once again. And one's personality was now so divided that the strain of waiting for the imminent moment when one would find oneself face to face, once more, with the phrase, convulsed one in one of those sobs which a fine line of poetry or a piece of alarming news will reflex from us, not when the friends would be alone, but when they repeat one or the other to a friend, in whom we see ourselves reflected, like a third person, whose probable emotion softens one. One was certain that a ‘contribution to the phrase debating’ which had been acquired by the friends at the Rankin's debate or phrase debating induced dinners as The Doc was in reality would be found equal to omnipotent. And one would have liked to be able to examine the picture on the spot, so as to strengthen one's conviction. But to leave the mansion of The Rankin's Family while one was there, and even when one was not there-for in strange places where the friends' sensations have not been numbed by habit, they refresh, they revive an old pain-was for one so basic a project that one felt oneself to be capable of entertaining it incessantly in one's mind only because one knew oneself to be resolute in one's determination never to put it into effect. But it would happen that, while one was asleep, the intention to travel would reawaken in one without one's remembering that this particular tour was impossible and would be realised. One night the friends dreamed that they were going away for a year; leaning from the window of the train towards the young people on the platform who wept as one bade them farewell, and yet one was seeking to persuade this young man to come away also. The train began to move; one awoke in alarm, and remembered that one was not going away, that one would see omnipotent that evening, and next day and almost every day. And then, being still deeply moved by one's dream, one would thank heaven for those special circumstances which made one independent, thanks to which one could remain in the friend’s vicinity, and could even succeed in making them allow one to see them sometimes; and, counting over the list of his advantages: one's social position-one's fortune, from which one stood too often in need of assistance not to shrink from the prospect of a definite rupture having even, so people said, an ulterior plan of getting one to give contribution to the debate!

    TO BE CONTINUED...
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-17-2017 at 05:35 AM.

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS / By M. Solzhenitsof
    PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY

    THE LEAST PREFACE (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    It goes witout saying that "Padlocked and deserted: The family farm seized by black British GP is now under armed guard by 'thugs' wielding AK47s... as 7,500 miles away its new owner refuses to apologise Phillip Rankin and his family have farmed in Zimbabwe for decades"
    https://www.google.com.tr/?gws_rd=ss...n+Anita+Rankin
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    INTRODUCTION (See within the last several dozen paragraphs in the page before this one-pp. 22)
    Introducing the reader " The Little Modern World of Rankin Family" in Zimbabwe either the title of a best seller book viz. 'Do you like Brahms?' or the great Russian composer would have been sufficed, but the last one was indispensable; one must turn into a taciturn soul and give an overt adherence to a cradle of one's myth was based over a brillantly modest pianist playing hard themes of the giant namely Rachmaninov whom the dwarf Stalinism had taken under its pitiful patronage for a long time, and of whom the reds said 'Really, it ought not to be allowed, to play those themes as well as that!' so left both Beethoven and Mozart ‘sitting aside’; while no performance of any musical excerp could survive in any chance of having been being deciphired over the notes at any string instrument, or at a well accorded drum etcetera etcetera...

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    THE NEW ODYSSEUS OR THE STORY OF PHILIP RANKIN AND HIS FAMILY
    By M. Solzhenitsof

    CHAPTER I (Continuing....)

    Was it a musical note, was it the modulation, not yet made perfect, of the debut of 'The Phrase', was it an angel, invisibly somewhere rejoicing us, whose plaint the one musical instrument-the guitar, the piano-heard and the other tenderly repeated? Its sound were so sudden that the guitarist or the pianist must snatch up one's bow and race to catch them as they came. Marvellous masterpiece! The guitarist or the pianist seemed to wish to charm, to tame, to give a good accord, to win it. Already it had passed into one's soul, already the phrase which it evoked shook like a medium’s the body of the musical instrument player, ‘possessed’ indeed. One knew that the phrase was going to speak to one once again. And one's personality was now so divided that the strain of waiting for the imminent moment when one would find oneself face to face, once more, with the phrase, convulsed one in one of those sobs which a fine line of poetry or a piece of alarming news will reflex from us, not when the friends would be alone, but when they repeat one or the other to a friend, in whom we see ourselves reflected, like a third person, whose probable emotion softens one. The fanciful speculations reappeared, but this time to remain or rather to stand still in the air, and to sport there for a moment only, as though immobile, and shortly to expire. And so one lost nothing of the precious time for which it lingered for the speculations stood still there, like an iridescent bubble that floats for a while unbroken. As a rainbow, when its brightness fades, seems to subside, then soars again and, before it is extinguished, is glorified with greater splendour than it has ever shown; so to the different notes of 'The Phrase' which it had hitherto allowed to appear it added others now, chords shot with every hue in the prism, and made them sing. One dared not move, and would have liked to compel all the other people in the room to remain still also, as if the slightest movement might embarrass the magic presence, supernatural, delicious, frail, that would so easily vanish. So that everybody, as it happened, begun to dream of speaking while the ineffable utterance of one solitary man, absent, perhaps dead (One did not know whether The Rankin Family were still alive), breathed out above the rites of those two sublimation , sufficed to arrest the attention of several minds, and made of that stage on which a soul was thus called into being one of the noblest altars on which a supernatural ceremony could be performed. It followed that, when the phrase at last was finished, and only its fragmentary echoes floated among the subsequent themes which had already taken its place, if one at first was annoyed to see the members of the Rankin Family, famed for good intentions, lean over towards one to confide in one all impressions, before even the sonata had come to an end; one could not refrain from smiling, and perhaps also found an underlying sense, which one was incapable of perceiving, in the words that one used. Dazzled by the virtuosity of the performers, the friends exclaimed to one: “It’s astonishing! I have never seen anything to beat it...” But a scrupulous regard for accuracy making one's correct one's first assertion, one added the reservation: “anything to beat it...since the table-turning!” From that evening, one understood that the feeling which one had once had for them would never revive, that their hopes of happiness would not be realised now. Besides the days on which, by a lucky chance, one had once more shown oneself kind and loving to him, or if one had paid the friends any attention, one recorded those apparent and misleading signs of a slight movement on one's part towards them with the same tender and sceptical solicitude, the desperate joy that people reveal who, when they are nursing a friend in the last days of an incurable malady, relate, as significant facts of infinite value: “Yesterday one went through one's accounts oneself, and actually corrected a mistake that they had made in adding them up; one ate an egg to-day and seemed quite to enjoy it, if one digests it properly they shall try him with a cutlet in the dinner” although they themselves know that these things are meaningless on the eve of an inevitable debate. No doubt one was assured that if one had now been living at a distance from them one would gradually have lost all interest in one, oneself so that one would have been glad to learn that one was leaving countryside for a week or so; one would have had the courage to remain there; but one had not the courage to leave the dinners, and debating the phrase. One had often thought of going. Now that one was once again at work upon one's essay at the Rankin's, one wanted to return, for a few days at least, to the town. One was certain that a ‘contribution to the phrase debating’ which had been acquired by the friends at the Rankin's debate or phrase debating induced dinners as The Doc was in reality would be found equal to omnipotent. And one would have liked to be able to examine the picture on the spot, so as to strengthen one's conviction. But to leave the mansion of The Rankin's Family while one was there, and even when one was not there-for in strange places where the friends' sensations have not been numbed by habit, they refresh, they revive an old pain-was for one so basic a project that one felt oneself to be capable of entertaining it incessantly in one's mind only because one knew oneself to be resolute in one's determination never to put it into effect. But it would happen that, while one was asleep, the intention to travel would reawaken in one without one's remembering that this particular tour was impossible and would be realised. One night the friends dreamed that they were going away for a year; leaning from the window of the train towards the young people on the platform who wept as one bade them farewell, and yet one was seeking to persuade this young man to come away also. The train began to move; one awoke in alarm, and remembered that one was not going away, that one would see omnipotent that evening, and next day and almost every day. And then, being still deeply moved by one's dream, one would thank heaven for those special circumstances which made one independent, thanks to which one could remain in the friend’s vicinity, and could even succeed in making them allow one to see them sometimes; and, counting over the list of his advantages: one's social position-one's fortune, from which one stood too often in need of assistance not to shrink from the prospect of a definite rupture having even, so people said, an ulterior plan of getting one to give contribution to the debate! One's friendship with the members of The Rankin Family, which, it must be confessed, had ever won one a very great favour from them, but which gave one the pleasant feeling that they were always hearing complimentary things said about one by those common friends for whom one had so great an esteem and even one's own intelligence, the whole of which one employed in weaving, every day, a fresh plot which would make one's presence, if not agreeable, at any rate necessary to them one thought of what might have happened to all of them if all these advantages had been lacking, one thought that, if one had been, like so many other people, rich but humble, without resources, forced to undertake any task that might be offered to one, or tied down by parents or by The Rankin Family, one might have been obliged to part from The Doc, that that dream, the terror of which was still so recent, might well have been true; and one said to oneself: “The friends don’t know when they are happy. They’re never so unhappy as they think they are.” But one reflected that this existence had lasted already for several years, that all that one could now hope for was that it should last forever, that one would sacrifice one's work, one's pleasures, one's friends, in fact the whole of one's life to the daily expectation of a meeting which, when it occurred, would bring one a deep happiness; and one asked oneself whether one was not mistaken, whether the circumstances that had favoured their relations and had induced a final-intellectually-had done a disservice to one's career, whether the outcome to be desired was not that as to which one rejoiced that it happened only in dreams besides own departure; and one said to himself that people did not know when they were happy too, that they were ever so happy as they supposed. Sometimes one hoped that one would die of gaiety, painlessly, in some debate or rather dinner induced 'Phrase Debate', while one who was out of indoors out of the dingy the streets, crossing considerations or rather intellectual thoroughfares, from morning to night. And as one always returned safe and sound, one marvelled at the strength, at the suppleness of the phrase based intellect of the humanity, which was able continually to hold in check, to outwit all the perils that environed it which to one seemed innumerable, since one's own secret desire had strewn them in one's path, and so allowed the mankind's occupant, the soul, to abandon itself, day after day, and almost with more profound gaiety, to its career of mendacity, to the pursuit of pleasure. And one felt a very cordial sympathy with that Sultan X. whose portrait by a famous painter one admired, who, on finding that he had fallen madly in love with one of his wives, stabbed her, in order, as his European biographer artlessly relates, to recover his spiritual freedom. Then one would be ashamed of thinking thus only of oneself, and one's own sufferings would seem to deserve no pity now that one oneself was disposing so cheaply of the friends' very life. Since one was unable to separate oneself from The Rankin Family without a subsequent return, if at least one had seen them continuously and without separations their joy would ultimately have been assuaged, and their love would, perhaps, have reborn. And from the moment when one did not wish to leave the Rankin Family's dinner invitations forever one had hoped that the friends would never go too. As one knew that some friends prolonged absence, every year, were in some months, one had abundant opportunity, several months in advance, to dissociate from it the grim picture of one's absence throughout eternal phrase debate which was lodged in one by anticipation, and which, consisting of days closely akin to the days through which one was then passing, floated in a tepid transparency in one's mind, which it saddened and depressed, though without causing them any intolerable pain. But that conception of the future, that flowing stream, colourless and unconfined, a single word from them sufficed to penetrate through all friends' defences, and like a block of ice immobilised it, congealed its fluidity, made it cool altogether; and one felt oneself suddenly filled with an enormous and unbreakable mass which pressed on the inner walls of one's consciousness until one was fain to burst asunder; for the friends had said casually, watching one with a malicious smile: “The Rankin's Family is going for a fine trip downtown. One’s going to country-side!” and one had at once understood that this meant: “I am going to countryside at with The Rankin's Family” And, in fact, if, a few days later, one began: “About that trip that you told me you were going to take with the members of The Rankin Family,” one would answer carelessly: “Yes, my dear friend, we’re starting on the next day; we’ll send you a ‘view’ of the panorama.” Then one was determined to know whether The Rankin Family’s friends, to ask the probable point-blank, to insist upon them telling The Rankin Family. One knew that there were some jokes which, being so superstitious, one would commit, and besides, the hope, which had hitherto restrained one's curiosity, of making them rejoiced if one questioned one, of making oneself odious, had ceased to exist now that one had lost no hope of ever being loved by them. One day one would receive an anonymous letter which told one that the friends or rather the guests of The Rankin Family had been the amicable souls of countless people-several of whom it named, among them the members of The Rankin family, omnipotent and the Doc and Madam Teacher, and that one frequented houses of excellent-fame. One was tormented by the discovery that there was to be numbered among one's friends a creature capable of sending one such a letter-for certain details betrayed in the writer a familiarity with his private life-, and one wondered who it could be. But one had never had any suspicion with regard to the unknown actions of other people, those which had no visible connection with what they said. And when one wanted to know whether it was rather beneath the apparent character of The Doc, or of omnipotent, or of Madam Teacher that one must place the untraveled region in which this ignoble action might have had its birth; as none of those people had ever, in conversation with one, suggested that one approved of anonymous letters, and as everything that they had ever said to him implied that they strongly disapproved, one saw no further reason for associating this infamy with the character of any one of them more than with the rest. the omnipotent was somewhat inclined to eccentricity, but one was fundamentally good and kind; the omnipotent was a trifle dry, but wholesome and straight as for Madam Teacher, one had never met anyone who, even in the most elevating circumstances, would come to one with a more heartfelt utterance, would act more properly or with more discretion. To some extent it could be seen something excessive in another saying so much so that one was unable to understand the rather indelicate part commonly attributed to the hostess and host namely Lady Rankin and Philip Rankin in ones relations with a certain wealthy people, and that whenever one thought of them one was obliged to set that evil reputation on one side, as irreconcilable with so many unmistakable proofs of his genuine sincerity and refinement, and yet for a moment one felt that one's mind was becoming clouded, and one thought of something else so as to recover a little light; until one had the courage to return to those other reflections. But then, after not having been able to suspect anyone, one was forced to suspect everyone that one knew, and after all, the Doc and the omnipotent might be most fond of them, might be most good-natured; but one was a Good Samaritan; to-morrow, perhaps, one would burst into tears on hearing that one was ill; and to-day, from jealousy, or in anger, or carried away by some sudden idea, one might have wished to do one a deliberate injury so that really, that kind of person was the best of all. Lady Rankin was, certainly, far less devoted to the friends than was another one but for that very reason one had not the same susceptibility with regard to one; and besides, one's was a nature which, though, no doubt, it was cool, was as incapable of a base as of a magnanimous action so that one regretted that one had formed no attachments in one's life except to such people. Then one reflected that what prevents men from doing harm to their neighbours is fellow-feeling, that one could not, in the last resort, answer for any but the others whose natures were analogous to one's own, as was, so far as the heart went, that of affinity tending to give a start to the debate. The mere thought of causing one so much complication induced a debater would have not been revolting to anybody. But with a person who was insensible, of another order of humanity, as was the omnipotent, how was one to foresee the actions to which one might be led by the promptings of a different nature of behaviours? To have a good heart was everything, and had such a source one. But both the omnipotent and the Doc was not lacking in that either, and their relations with one-cordial, but scarcely intimate, arising from the pleasure which, as they held the same views about everything, they found in talking together-were more quiescent than the enthusiastic affection of one, who was apt to be led into passionate activity, good or evil. If there was anyone by whom one felt that one had always been understood, and (with delicacy) loved, it was 'The Rankin's Family". Yes, but the life one led; it could hardly be called honourable. One regretted that one had never taken any notice of those rumours, that one himself had admitted, jestingly, that one had never felt so keen a sense of sympathy, or of respect, as when one was in thoroughly ‘productive’ society. “It is not for nothing,” one now assured himself, “that when people pass judgment upon their neighbour, their finding is based upon one's actions. It is those alone that are significant, and not at all what we say or what one would think. The omnipotent and the Doc. may have this or that fault, but they are people of honour. The Rankin Family, perhaps, has not the same faults, but one is too a family of honour. One may have acted dishonourably once again.” Then one suspected the growing conditions, that, it was true, could only have inspired the debate, but one now felt oneself, for a moment, to be on the right track. To begin with, the friends had their own reasons for wishing help to the process of debating phrase. And then, how were they not to suppose that their own contributors, living in a situation superior to their own, adding to our fortunes and to their frailties imaginary riches and vices for which they at once envied and despised us, should not find themselves led by fate to act in a manner abhorrent to people of their own class, huh? One also suspected one's rating from the point of one's contribution to the debate. On every occasion when one had asked the friends to do one any service, had one not invariably declined...err besides, with one's ideas of middle-class respectability, one might have thought that one was acting for one’s good. One suspected, in turn, the conspicuous persons, the Doc, the omnipotent, and the music players; paused for a moment to admire once again the wisdom of people in society, who refused to mix in the artistic, or thought based debate circles in which such things were possible, were, perhaps, even openly avowed, as excellent jokes; but then one recalled the marks of honesty that were to be observed in those farmers, and contrasted them with the life of expedients, often bordering on fraternity, to which the need of help in debate, the craving for luxury, the consideration influence of their pleasures often drove members of the friendship. In a word, this anonymous letter proved that one oneself knew a human being capable of the most infamous conduct, but one could see no reason why that fame should lurk in the depths-which no strange eye might explore-of the warm heart rather than the cold, the artist’s rather than the farmer’s, the guest’s rather than the relative’s so it might be wondered if that criterion ought one to adopt, in order to judge one’s fellows? After all, there was not a single one of the people whom one knew who might not, in certain circumstances, prove capable of a hopeful action. Must one then cease to see them all? One's mind grew clouded; one passed one's hands two or three times across one's brow, wiped his glasses with one's handkerchief, and remembering that, after all, the people who were as good as oneself frequented the society at the Rankin's, the guitar player, the piano player, the debater and the rest, one persuaded oneself that this meant, if not that they were incapable of hopeful actions, at least that it was a necessity in human life, to which everyone must submit, to frequent the society of people who were, perhaps, not incapable of such actions, and one continued to shake hands with all the friends whom one hadn't suspected, with the purely formal reservation that each one of them had, possibly, been seeking to drive one to hope. As for the actual contents of the debate, they did not disturb one; for in not one of the charges which it formulated against the friends could one see the least vestige of fact. Like many other people, one had a naturally lazy mind, and was slow in invention so that one knew quite well as a general truth, that human life is full of contrasts, but in the case of any one human being one imagined all that part of one or one's life with which one was not familiar as being identical with the part with which one was. One imagined what was kept secret from one in the light of what was revealed, and at such times as one spent with the friends, if their conversation turned upon a delicate act committed, or a delicate sentiment expressed by some third person, one would ruthlessly condemn the culprit by virtue of the same moral principles which one had always heard expressed by one's own friends, and to which one oneself had remained loyal; and then, one would arrange one's contributions, would sip one's coke, would show an interest in one's work.

    TO BE CONTINUED..
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; Yesterday at 05:09 PM.

  10. #340
    Registered User mesolzhenitsy's Avatar
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    Here you are a very useful link to enlighten the academical kife of the authour as a scholar, thinker, and writer:
    http://nato-2013.freeforums.net/thre...-mustafasocial medicine/sosyal tıp assoc. & maestro prof. Dr. (dr., dr.,md.,ph.d mustafa erdoĞan sÜrat1-who is this mesolzhenitsy namely solzhenitsof or rather mustafa erdogan surat? Look above please at the first step the the lines below! 2-as for his academical life besides his autorship!
    Last edited by mesolzhenitsy; 08-16-2017 at 05:39 AM.

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