After so many millennia of frost, heat exploded, agriculture with heat, civilizations with agriculture
As we saw in the previous article, in 10,000 BC. began the thaw of the last glacialism that had characterized the Earth's climate for about a million years, witness to the evolution of Prehistoric Man represented by the latest protagonists such as Erectus Man, Neanderthal Man and Sapiens Sapiens Man. Until then, the evolution of Paleolithic Man recorded slow changes to the modus vivendi already adopted by the distant ancestors: gradual improvements to the tools obtained mainly from stone and practically a certain stability in the activities and social organization of the populations. Nomads dedicated to hunting and collecting land products.
In the 10th millennium BC , when all the lands had been occupied by modern man, the most important revolution that humanity could have unleashed began at the same time as the progressive average temperature rise of 2.5-3 degrees: AGRICULTURE.
But why is agriculture considered the trigger of the greatest revolution that humanity has been able to undertake and whose principles have been perpetuated for so many millennia until today?
Throughout the Paleolithic, in order to devote himself to hunting and gathering fruits, he was forced to lead a nomadic life because sooner or later the time came that the natural resources of the territory were exhausted and therefore the group moved to where it could find sufficient food.
With the Neolithic, due to climatic variations, many species of animals disappeared or emigrated to the north and so too many species of plants were becoming increasingly impoverished in the southern latitudes. Added to this is the demographic explosion of the "world" population estimated in the middle Paleolithic (70,000 / 50,000 years BC) about one million people to reach at the beginning of the Neolithic (10,000 years BC) over nine million individuals concentrated in relatively restricted.
All this made it necessary for Man to resort to a radical change of life that involved the gradual abandonment of nomadism to settle in fixed residences gathered in villages that with the passage of time reached ever larger dimensions, transforming from gatherer / hunter to farmer / breeder. But what tools and knowledge did he have to get to such sensational experiences?
There were two very important tools available to man to acquire notions on the origin and evolution of natural elements: observation and intuition.
Making use of these two tools to meet new needs, man was pushed to transform himself into a farmer / breeder by appropriating the mechanisms of nature that are at the basis of the reproduction of vegetation and fauna.
In fact, from the remains of prehistoric stations it was possible to ascertain that man first began with the collection of cereals and legumes that were born and developed spontaneously in clearings, but in doing this he discovered that there were different varieties, in particular there were some types of cereals that compared to others had more advantageous properties, such as the more robust ear capable of retaining the seeds during transport. So it was almost spontaneous to focus on these varieties and use these seeds to obtain cheaper harvests, thus discovering a fundamental principle in nature:the selection, that is, the possibility of selecting the various species to obtain better harvests both in terms of quality and quantity.
Similarly, in the field of breeding, as early as the time of Neolithic Man, it was discovered that the species could be improved with crossings between different species which obviously occurred by chance or by concentrating breeding on those species that had more interesting characteristics for humans.
Certainly these processes required millennia of intuition and observations, so much so that the spread of agriculture and livestock could be considered concluded in its basic forms in 5,000 BC, that is, after five millennia from its birth, but if compared to the scarce basic notions of which it could then humanity disposes it effort of individuals and of the communityin practicing plant cultivation and livestock breeding, taking into account the results, it is perhaps no more deserving of the commitment and skills of those who today participate in genetic engineering projects, not always with commendable results, even from the point of view ethical?
Is he perhaps no more commendable than watching a tree trunk roll down a slope he sensed the wheel, than the one who conceived the chariot which application of the wheel? The idea of the wheel did not have to be as simple as it may appear to us today, in fact the peoples of America did not know the wheel, although they too had had the opportunity to see tree trunks rolling. But why did they have to wait for the Europeans to arrive? The simplest answer is that the quid that arises from the combination of observation and intuition was not triggered in the pre-Columbian populations, as had happened in the populations of the old continent, at least since 4,000 BC. if not before.
The need for the population to settle permanently, first as a family or small nuclei and then later as increasingly complex social structures made it necessary to establish a political-economic order whose principles are to be considered not only because they are revolutionary compared to the past. , but because they are present in today's social structures. For this reason, Agriculture is considered as the Mother of Civilizations.
Obviously both agriculture and breeding made it necessary to make changes to the tools obtained from stones, bone and wood, given that the discovery of the technique to obtain the first metal, i.e. copper, occurred in 6000 BC, but the blacksmiths of the time waited 2,000 years before realizing that copper and other metals could be profitably used to make tools and weapons, and not just furniture or costume jewelery, as it had been until then. .
What evolutionary process was followed by agriculture? Did the spread of agriculture happen by simple and peaceful exchange between populations or was it imposed following the immigration of farmers / ranchers in search of new space at the expense of hunter / gatherer populations?
Certainly it is known that agriculture as regards the old continent began in the Middle East (Iran, Greece, Crimea and Jordan) starting from wild forms of plants such as barley and wheat, and wild sheep lived.
Once the mechanism of species selection was understood, it was not difficult to extrapolate it to other wild plants that varied from region to region linked to different climatic conditions. The same can be said for livestock breeding, starting from those sedentary species that are more easily tamed and extending the system to those species that man considered most interesting for their nutritional needs or help in their work.
The spread of agriculture occurred mainly as a cultural exchange among neighboring populations because the interest that could be acquired by cultivating and breeding animals was evident in order to compensate for the inconveniences related to the culture of harvesting and hunting, among other things no longer practicable in some areas due to the climatic variations that occurred. However, part of the spread occurred following the invasion of populations from the east in search of new lands.
Obviously both agriculture and breeding made it necessary to make changes to the tools initially obtained from the processing of stone, bone and wood, since the discovery of the technique to obtain the first metal, that is copper, took place in 6000 BC , but the blacksmiths of the time waited 2,000 years before realizing that copper and other metals could be profitably used to make tools and weapons, and not just furniture or costume jewelery, as it had been until then.
Broadly speaking, the evolution of agricultural and breeding techniques extended to America, Africa and Asia with modalities varying from region to region.
It would remain difficult to examine the various civilizations of all continents, so we will only examine those that have conditioned and influenced the Mediterranean civilizations.
As schematically reported in graph relating to the temperature trend the metal civilizations only appeared in 6,000 BC. with the discovery of the copper,however used for practical uses only in 4,000 BC, and del bronze, the first metal alloy, well after three millennia. For the use of the ironit had to wait until 1100 BC.
The region considered the true cradle of Mediterranean civilizations is Mesopotamia, between the two rivers Tigris and Euphrates which saw the most ancient civilizations alternate with alternating fortunes, from the Sumerians to the Babylonians and Assyrians.
Mesopotamia in the early 10,000 BC. it was a valley with grasslands suitable for the natural grazing of herbivorous animals and hunters, where the nomads began their first agricultural and breeding experiments, sowing cereals and raising their first domestic animals.
As the glaciers retreated towards the north as a consequence of the rise in temperature, the valley became less and less rainy with the passing of the millennia, so that the most cultivable part was narrowing along the beds of the two rivers where, in occasion of floods, layers of fertile mud were deposited, as is the case today for many rivers in Africa and elsewhere.
Around 4,000 BC the Sumerians, probably coming from central Asia, occupied Mesopotamia and being expert farmers they developed not only agriculture, but also the art of building temples of considerable size and the manufacture of pottery and wooden utensils decorated with figures representing social life : peasants, shepherds, fishermen and characters of the royal court. The Sumerians were the first to wage real wars with native or neighboring populations for the control of the territory and the waters of the rivers. During these clashes some prisoners were made and they constituted the first slaves in the history of mankind, which obviously were used for working the fields and pastoralism. Which remained the main activity reaching a development such as to represent a truly significant wealth and to be able to allow the population that had in the meantime expanded to create a class that was not dedicated to agriculture and livestock, that is a class that over the millennia subsequent lead to the formation of an intermediate class between the plebs and the rulers, what in more recent times would have been called bourgeoisie (craftsmen, traders, entrepreneurs, priests, scribes, etc.). In practice, highly civilized social structures were established.
This is not the place to list all the discoveries and inventions in all fields made by the Sumerians and describe at what level they achieved their results, such as the development of agriculture, the full wheel, the invention of writing that in the arc of a few centuries it transformed into cuneiform writing and spread throughout the Middle East, legislation, art, mathematics and geometry, medicine and surgery, the literature that in the following millennia reached the Western world through the Greeks and Romans .
The rule of the Sumerians ended around 2,000 BC. and from then on, other civilizations alternated in the area for a long time, in particular Babylonians and Assyrians, for about 1,500 years, that is, until 546 BC.
Almost simultaneously, three centuries later than the birth of the Mesopotamian civilizations, that is, towards 3,200 BC. the great Kingdom of the Pharaohs was born, linked to the fertility of the Nile valley where, as in Mesopotamia, the great protagonist was agriculture exploiting the annual floods due to the floods of the Nile coming from the South, which, as along the Euphrates and the Tigris, they left on the area a layer of fertile mud on which the first Egyptians since 5,000 BC, still in a nomadic state, learned to sow cereals and raise their first domestic animals.
The flood phenomenon was of such an intensity and size as to require a complex organizational structure to control the waters not only along a territorial extension of over 1,000 km and for several thousand square kilometers, but also to deal with periods of famine. Not only the organization but also the measures of the hydraulic works put in place are striking for their complexity, and it comes to meditate on our organizations that are unable to ensure the water supply of inhabited centers of a few square kilometers.
Also for Ancient Egypt, at the base of the wealth achieved in the various millennia, there was the development of agriculture mainly concentrated in the cultivation of wheat, barley and flax. It would be long, however not on this occasion, to list in which fields the Egyptian civilization was able to leave an indelible mark, handed down and exported in the Mediterranean area also thanks to other civilizations whose peoples, such as the Jews and the Phoenicians first and, subsequently the ancestors of the Greeks who lived in the Aegean, such as the Minoans and the Mycenians, were also engaged in trade in distant lands.
Dr. Pio Petrocchi
Lake Bolsena level variation in the last ten millennia
Since the first men appeared on these shores, at least 6 millennia ago, the level of the lake it was not as stable as one would expect from a bright body of water.
The rich patrimony of historical data and morphological knowledge, accumulated over many years of underwater research, has made it possible to outline with a reasonable approximation the trend of the ancient coastline in the three main historical periods.
These same data, combined with appropriate instrumental investigations, have allowed a detailed reading of the seabed: a first practical result was the precise location of the "Amalasunta road".
But even more gratifying was the observation that the historian Pliny the Elder, in his "Naturalis Historia", did not tell fairy tales! Where he wrote:
"... in the great lake of Italy called Tarquiniese (Lake Bolsena) two wooded islands move under the wind, showing a shape that is now triangular and now round, never square ...".
In fact, examining the figure below it is observed that, with the variation of the level of the lake, the islands change shape from triangular to round, never square (!), But the Martana island in a certain time interval seems to disappear from that place (yes is transformed into a promontory) to reappear at the same time further west with the islet of the "Spereta", which has only now emerged from the waters: therefore the island has moved.
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To my daughter
After the sadness
Words like stars
FRITZ HAULOW - Dead leaves
UMBERTO SABA - The leaf
I am like that leaf - look -
on the bare branch, that still a prodigy
Deny me therefore. Don't be saddened by it
the beautiful age that colors you with anxiety,
and for me he lingers with childish impulses.
You tell me goodbye, if it fails to tell me.
Dying is nothing, losing you is difficult.
UMBERTO SABA - To my daughter
that I don't love because on my plant
you have blossomed again, but because you are so much
weak and love has granted you to me
o my daughter, you are not dreams
my hope and no more than for each
another sprout is my love for you.
child, it is the lonely slope, the closed slope
I sit, with my thoughts hidden in sight.
If you don't live those thoughts on top,
even in your world you make them wander
and I like to look closely
You conquer the house little by little,
and the heart of your wild mother.
As you can see, it ignites with joy
your cheek and run to her from the game.
A beautiful and pious yes welcomes you in her womb
Mom, and she enjoys you. And old love forgets.
UMBERTO SABA - After the sadness
This bread tastes like a memory,
eaten in this poor tavern,
where the port is most abandoned and cluttered.
And I enjoy the bitter beer of the beer,
sitting halfway back,
in the face of the clouded mountains and the lighthouse.
My soul who has overcome one of his pains,
with new eyes in the ancient evening
watch a pilot with his pregnant wife
and a ship, of which old wood
it glistens in the sun, and with the chimney
as long as the two trees, it is a drawing
boyish, which I made twenty years ago.
And who would tell me my life
so beautiful, with so many sweet worries,
and so much hermit bliss!
Often, to return to my home,
I take a dark street in the old city.
Yellow is reflected in some puddle
a few lights, and the street is crowded.
Here among the people who come and go
from the tavern to the house or to the brothel,
where the detritus are goods and men
of a great sea port,
I find infinity, passing by
Here a prostitute and a sailor, the old man
what a blasphemy, the female who quarrels,
the dragon sitting at the shop
of the fryer,
the tumultuous young woman gone mad
they are all creatures of life
the Lord is stirred in them, as in me.
Here I feel humble in company
purer where the way is uglier.
(From Trieste and a woman) 1910-12
UMBERTO SABA - Melancholy
you grind terribly
and there is nothing in the world, there is nothing in the world
that you digress me.
Nothing, or just one
that for me would be.
A door opens in your skimpy clothes
you come in, and you wipe me out.
Small a lot,
of spring. The blondes
many curls in the cap hide,
pass, love pass.
They remain so sad in the sorrowful heart,
gladly loved something,
always: Death. Now it's almost painful,
what else I do not hope.
When you don't love each other
more, it is not called
she the liberator
and in pain it doesn't make you happy anymore
I did not know
this now I drink
the last bitter sip
of experience. Oh how expensive it is ever
the thought of death,
to the young man,
than to a first affection
changes color and trembles.
The old does not love the grave: supreme
cruelty of fate.
UMBERTO SABA - Since when
Since my mouth is almost silent
I love lives that hardly speak.
A tree and just - stop where
I stop, my way resumes happy -
the docile animal that follows me.
He resigns himself to the yoke imposed on him.
A suppliant glance, at most, sends me.
Eternal truths, in silence, teaches.
UMBERTO SABA - Summer night
From the next room I listen dear
voices in the bed where I welcome sleep.
Through the open window a lamp shines,
far away, on top of the hill, who knows where.
Here I hold you to my heart, my love,
dead to me for countless years now.
UMBERTO SABA - Ulysses
In my youth I sailed
along the Dalmatian coasts. Islets
at the edge of the wave emerged, where rare
a bird stood, slippery in the sun
beautiful as emeralds. When the high
tide and the night canceled them, sails
leeward swerved farther,
to escape its snare. Today my kingdom
is that no man's land. The port
he lights his lights to others but offshore
still drives the untamed spirit,
and painful love of life.
UMBERTO SABA - Happiness
Youth greedy for burdens
spontaneously leans his shoulders to the load.
It doesn't hold up. He cries with melancholy.
Wandering, escapism, poetry,
dear late wonders! Late
the air is refined and the steps are made
if it is not yet happiness.
We will assume goodness someday
of his face, we will see some melt
his useless pain is like smoke.
UMBERTO SABA - Caffé Tergeste
Caffè Tergeste, at your white tables
the drunkard repeats his delirium
and I write my happiest songs.
Coffee of thieves, of whores hideout,
I suffered martyrdom at your tables,
I suffered it to form a new heart.
I thought: How well will I have enjoyed
death, the nothingness that I preach to myself in her,
who will repay me for having lived?
I dare not boast magnanimously
but, if being born is a fault, I to my enemy
I would be, for greater fault, more merciful.
Plebeian coffee, where one day I hid
my face, with joy today I look at you.
And you reconcile the Italian and the Slavic,
Narcissus at the source (Mediterranee)
When Narcissus reached his destiny
- from desert shepherds and flocks
in the shade of a blue spring grove -
immediately bent over the mirror.
Oh, lovely lovely face!
importunate he pushed aside, looked for his mouth
who sought his longing living.
The kiss she gave him was cold.
He was startled. He returned to his blind error.
Because dear to the gods, it turned into a flower
white on his grave.
UMBERTO SABA - February evening
The moon rises.
In the avenue it is still
day, an evening that quickly falls.
Indifferent youth fastens
swerves to poor goals.
And it is thought
Of death which, in the end, helps to live.
Words like stars
Between your stones and your arms
I go on vacation.
I rest in Piazza del Duomo.
Instead of stars
words are lit every evening.
Snow that swirls up and wraps
the things of a silent mantle,
snow that falls from above and we cover,
cover us again, endlessly: whiten
the city with the houses, with the churches,
the port with the ships,
the expanses of meadows.
UMBERTO SABA - Woman
When you were a young girl you stung
like a blackberry of scrub.
The foot too
you were a weapon, or savage.
You were hard to take.
you are still beautiful.
The signs of the years, those of pain,
they bind our souls, they make one.
And behind the black hair
that I wrap around my fingers,
I no longer fear the little one
white pointed demonic ear.
I loved trite words that not one dared.
the oldest difficult in the world.
I loved the truth that lies at the bottom,
almost a forgotten dream, that pain
With fear, the heart approaches it, which no longer leaves it.
I love you listening to me and my good one
card left at the end of my game.
Eugene de Blaas - God's creatures
Almost a morality
Sparrows no longer fear me. They go
they come to the window indifferent
to my quiet move around the room.
They find millet and scagliola: gift
shed by a kindred prodigal, augmented
from my hand. And I look at them dumb
(by theme they do not repent) and it seems to me
(true or illusion does not matter) read
in the little black eyes, if they meet mine,
almost a gratitude.
or else be you who listens to me, in pain
alive or in joy (and pious if in pain) learn
from those who have suffered much and much wrong,
that Grace still exists and that the world,
the whole world needs friendship.
It's like a wind-blown man,
blinded by snow - around pinge
a polar hell the city-
the opening, along the wall, of a door.
Come in. Find undead goodness,
a sweetness of a warm corner. A name
forgotten pose, a kiss above
hilarious faces he no longer saw
that you darken in threatening dreams.
he to the road, the road is another too.
The good weather has recovered, the ice
they break industrious hands, the celestial
reappears in heaven and in his heart. And think
that every extreme of evil announces a good.
UMBERTO SABA - A MEMORY
I do not sleep. I see a road, a grove,
that presses on my heart like an anxiety
where did we go, to be alone and together,
me and another kid.
Easter was the long and strange rites
of the old. What if he doesn't love me
I thought and would not come again tomorrow?
And tomorrow did not come. It was a pain,
a pang towards the evening
that a friendship (I later learned) was not,
that was a love
the first and which and what happiness
I had one, between the hills and the sea of Trieste.
But why not sleep with these today
stories of, I think, fifteen years ago?
UMBERTO SABA - PASSIONS
They are made of tears and blood
and more. The heart
The boy and the wheelbarrow
It is good to rediscover loves in ourselves
lost, reconcile the offense in us
but if the life inside weighs you down
You open the windows or you get out
in the crowd: you will see that it takes very little
to cheer you up: an animal, a game
a boy with a wheelbarrow,
that the road is open with a loud voice,
and if just downhill it finds a steep slope
The people on the street at that time are so many
he is not silent, after he pulls back.
The greatest he makes the noise and the anger,
VINCENT VAN GOGH
Today the weather is rainy.
It seems like day one evening,
it feels like spring
an autumn, and a great wind devastates
the sapling, which is, and does not seem to be, solid
a tall young man appears among the trees
too much for his too green age.
You look at him: you have pity
Maybe all those white flowers
that the bora takes away from them and they are fruit,
they are sweet preserves
for the winter its flowers, which among the herbs
they fall and your vast aches
I tell my heart.
I tell my heart, while I wait for you:
forget it, it will be kind.
I see you, and generous in one and vile,
I hurry to you.
I know that as far as my life is concerned you have taken away,
and for yourself I should hate you.
But then I don't know how to give you anything other than a kiss
when I listen to you.
When I listen to you talking to me about love
I feel the evil left you intact
I feel your bitter voice is done
for my heart.
Silence, the greens have closed
They don't want to be invaded.
Too many flames
of your glory, oh sun!
They just whisper
the birds then fall silent, defeated
from sleep. They seem extinct
men, so much is peace now
and silence. When there is everyone
the trees a sound is in tune,
a long hiss that deafens,
Sixth fugue (3-part song)
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
of love in youth,
of two lovers in happy intoxication,
of which one in the other dies.
I don't know much pain anymore
that to be deprived of that good,
and I don't wear other chains
of two naked and white arms,
that if they fall down tired
it is for a little while, it is at short notice.
Then his mouth that is silent,
everything in her tells me: still.
The rosy dawn appears in the sky,
and she brings sleep,
which comforts us to enjoy
of the great one thing.
2) I don't know the sweetest thing
of love. But smarter,
but more ardent than you is another
that I feel born to suffer.
Not the joy, but the torment
love is my beloved
I keep it closed in my chest,
his image in me varied.
And lonely walk
for the mountains and the meadows,
with impriginated eyes
dear faces, arcane gestures.
I dwell on humans:
I fear abruptly profane
what is in my mind
such a sweet thing.
3) I don't know the sweetest thing
to think of me. Pure love
of which I burn, from my heart
is born, and everything returns to him.
When it annuls and when it updates
I enjoy being myself.
It is my tireless care
adorn myself for myself alone.
My voice above flies,
evil and good descend to the bottom
everything is pure when it comes
to my blue pupil,
like a water that is still,
with the colors of the evening,
mirrors the mountains, the coast,
the living, all of them.
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
of my hidden abode,
in which everything announces an hour,
where everything remembers her.
Inside as a grave she is deaf,
no noises reach her
splendors reflect there
of the day artfully painted glass.
There is part of the East in her
for my long rests
for joyful games
broad has the thalamus and deep.
All the beauty that in the world
takes delight in your eyes,
there collected you can see
for the big one thing.
2) I don't know the sweetest thing
of my hidden room,
always in sight of me beloved,
naked as a prison.
There are few good things
only for me, for my life.
The noises of life
they come, yes, but from afar.
Everything in the world is in vain,
that lasts badly and badly innovates,
friendly space in her finds again
what dust in an eyelash.
There in a corner is my bed,
almost a warrior's bed.
With me lies my thought,
my only big thing.
3) I don't know the sweetest thing,
I like no other dwelling,
than wander in my peace,
like a cloud in a vast sky.
To myself, it's true, that's enough,
no craving stings me
I can also love those who love me,
and invest it with my fire.
you will hear me now in a little while
who will be blessed by me?
Perhaps a miserable fall
down to the bottom of the shame.
A full and ready grace
impels him in his heart
transfigure his pain
in the big one thing.
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
of love in youth
yet there is, they say, an intoxication
which is on top of that too.
Not for me that in a beautiful one
form I satisfy every desire,
but for those who feel like a god
in resembling will.
Not girl, not lover
-live autumn bunch-
sweetness is valid for him
to bow to his fate.
And he cuts a path
among the sloth and the hostile.
For your youthful dreams
I don't know bigger thing.
2) I don't know the sweetest thing
of whom at the sign of another subject,
he feels he is a chosen one
to internal freedom.
And it has no happiness
that it does not come to him from this.
Do not be deceived by his being sad,
its appearance does not deceive you.
Among the torments, in the troubles
proper only to his fate,
only to him did the doors open
of an occult paradise.
There is no killer there, no slain,
and not cloudy dementia.
From sad adolescence
I don't know what happy anymore.
3) I don't know what happy anymore
of the serene in which I enjoy.
Even when I speak to you,
and talking raving,
my peace I would like to give
for yours, oh I could!
But by the limits granted
there is no given, dear ones, to go out.
Crazy love, pride of wrath,
heaven does not touch me.
If you kiss me on the mouth
it was lawful to a mortal,
it would make sense, which one
of death is perhaps the frost:
the sky is so blue in me,
love burns so much in me.
1) I don't know hotter love
of the love of this land,
when all the greenhouse to the heart
in the embrace of his faithful one.
Like an apple it tastes like honey
and sour to my palate
if a bitter is mixed with it
it is because never but satiated.
If you torment them, if you torment them
that you exalt, prepare me,
which I have ever dearest thing
of the only one that I own?
But I look around, and I see
more than agony and mourning
on earth, where to fruit
bites each of the warm love.
2) I no longer know blind love
of the love of life.
In my hermit room,
from a unique and varied delirium
all night possessed,
how many, how many times have I had
the thought of leaving her!
Happy you if you can give it
of your love in the risks involved
happier still, and much,
whoever throws it is a boast
who throws it like a glove
to the fate he despises.
Ah, because youth
Does death have love in it?
3) I don't know about this love,
I don't know about this death:
fate is unchangeable
granted to my joy.
Let others live, let others die
the thought in me was not born.
He was pleased to create me
perhaps a soul in a dream.
Maybe a soul in a dream
she created me so beautiful,
with the mind to the slave good,
with my blue pupil,
like a water that is still
everything mirrors and nothing offends.
Ah, because between you he takes me
desire for something else?
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
of the present. To remote days
I also lose myself in unknowns
wishes, now no more.
I want the good, and nothing more,
which man can enjoy.
Beautiful shapes I love to see,
I love owning them even more.
Beauty falls in love with me,
and grace binds me
and I don't suffer another pain,
if it is not the absence of that.
To sad adolescence
I left my dreams in vain.
Being a man among humans,
I don't know sweeter what.
2) I don't know the sweetest thing,
nor more bitter to those without it.
In the present just alive,
I see more that others do not see.
Goods nobody believes in
they smile at me at the thought.
All the world a cemetery,
without those it becomes me.
All in me the joy is extinguished,
healthy joy in which you exalt yourself.
They are too low, too high
perhaps the dreams that I keep silent about others?
Ouch, dreaming I undo
I have sleepless nights and vain days.
Being a man among humans
no, there is no sweeter thing.
3) I don't know the sweetest thing
than to be able to change into you,
only an hour but come back
could I after my peace?
I would be still capable afterwards
to adorn myself for myself alone?
The delight that flies away
who ever knows if it will buy back?
I who see and am not seen,
if I could suffer the bite
of craving, perhaps the course
here longer I would have stopped.
Perhaps one would have listened to one
on my lip vain accents:
to be a man among humans
it seemed a sweet thing to me.
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
of sweet youth.
Until the wind caresses it
on the cheek, or a little stings.
If glory is added to her
highest is the good that you bring in you.
It's enough for me to hear its echoes,
drink the words for a long time.
Youth aches in me
just to be a fugitive.
I have no other pain alive,
out of this, in my heart.
And forget about love
also learned in the enchantment.
Make you sad in tears
how can you so short what?
2) I don't know what shorter
of sweet youth.
Perhaps he appreciates it more than I do
who has already reached his evening.
Of lying glory
I don't listen to the flattery.
Beautiful everyone else pretends,
I have his charm extinguished in me.
I love only those who are bound in fetters,
in the horror of a dungeon,
may have a happier soul
of those who beat him to blood.
Wet her cheeks with weeping,
the strange intoxication grows in the heart.
For him he feels youth
his grace also to the tortures.
3) I do not deny myself to your tortures,
I don't hate your pleasures
I don't know how my thoughts
they get lost in yours.
For the faith you show me,
you to a joy, and you to a pain,
if my heart were mortal
how much I would like to give you!
Although I am happy to look at you,
and hearing you is also dear to me.
For you I feel a rare gift,
virtue of the diamond
than in beautiful yellows, in reds, in blue,
when in a ray of sun it shines,
native splendor loosens
and I don't know what sweetest thing.
1) I don't know the sweetest thing
to listen to you, clear voice.
But if nothing hurts you,
behold, grant what I ask.
You who listen and who do not see
are you, hidden, a girl?
If so, from your cradle
of air come down at my call.
I long for your face to see,
without her there is a dark day.
So beautiful I figure you out
how sweet you are to hear.
I would kiss your mouth,
tenderness that you ignore.
One to make of two ardors,
I don't know sweeter what.
2) I don't know the sweetest thing,
no more vain, wandering friend.
Speak an angel, and a lover
your desire pokes into him.
Oh instead bow to mine,
I am thirsty just to hear you.
Where do you come from, to what goals
you are rebellious, I will say please.
I do not bind to you
of a deadly, airborne fire.
But stay a little longer
here with us, between earth and sky.
Perhaps I yearn for you in vain?
You have no body, you have no face
you are only a smile.
Speak, friend, oh speak again!
3) You speak, kind, again,
if you still yearn to hear me.
Don't you have me in your dreams?
never reached before?
When does the dawn appear in the sky?
In the vigil how blessed
he calls these, and has concealed some
his nausea he, disgust.
I am born of his disgust,
born I am from your torment:
I feel so alive to be
how much you love my life.
But if you are silent, I too,
here, in the air I resolve
with you free I evolve,
I die free with you.
Freljord, the many peoples in a single cold and inhospitable land
North West of Runeterra there is a mountainous area with glaciers and fjords, it is the Freljord, a terribly hostile and wild territory. The area is very large, but it does not have large cities nor can it boast large kingdoms that can compete with others, in fact a large part of the population is poor and often conflict with each other.
A land of ancient gods and legendary myths
There are not many reliable data, the origins and history of the Freljord they mix with the oral tales of the non-writing population except for the runes imbued with magic. What characterizes this land is the presence of divinities really present, it is not known what they are, it could be that they are Ascended beings (an altered form very similar to a divinity, the Ascension was a practice used in Shurima for millennia) or
are actually divinities, what is certain is that they have a zoomorphic shape and are often related to
an element, but their exact number and names are not well defined.
The deities are:
Anivia, the Ice Phoenix, her cult is highly regarded among the Avarosans and is considered the
protector of the Freljord and represents rebirth and revenge.
Ornn, the Aries of Fire and Metal, does not have many followers due to his lonely and disgusting character,
but he is the divinity to whom builders and craftsmen appeal.
Volibear, the Bear of Lightning and Blood, a fierce bloodthirsty divinity, for him the ferocity towards his enemies and the fear of his anger count, many barbarian clans revere him, especially that of the Winter's Claw.
Rhond, the Magma Serpent, it is not clear if he is actually a deity, apparently he was killed by
Volibear and his body was used to create the river that flows along the Freljord.
Kindred, the Wolf and the Lamb, the dual aspect deity of death is also venerated in Freljord
even if its presence is confirmed in other areas of Runeterra, its aspect that recalls that
of hunting makes it very popular with Freljordians.
The Hirnvell, it is not clear what they are, they seem to be spirits related to nature, especially trees,
to the earth, to the blood and to the animals.
Ildhaurg, the Guardian of the Sacrifice, is an undefined deity, it is not even known if he is male or
female, his prayer is very particular because it invokes the protection of a person by offering in
change your own.
Two names of divinities are missing from the roll, but the animal to which they correspond is known (perhaps one
of the two is right Ildhaurg) and I am Sister Foca and Iron Boar, of the latter we know that it is a lot
tied to the war and often backed Volibear to spark bloody conflicts.
After the gods, the cult of heroes is much appreciated and the most important saga was that of the Three Sisters.
In ancient times in the Freljord creatures with enormous magical power arrived, known as the
Sentinels of Frost or the Guardians of Frost (it is not clear where they came from, but it is speculated that they are
of the Voidborn from the Void), until three ambitious sisters, Avarosa, Serylda and Lissandra
they did not make a deal with them, swearing allegiance and submission to the Sentinels they would share
with them the secrets and powers they knew about. The Three Sisters had previously tried to
obtain more power, but with great sacrifices, Avarosa became deaf in the remotest depths of
earth, Serylda lost her voice trying to harness the power of the heavens, while a Lissandra they were
torn eyes from a claw of the god Volibear, however together the three warriors succeeded in theirs
intent: the Freljord was completely subdued and the three sisters became immortal and with enormous che
no one could have matched becoming the first Daughters of Frost. But the time came that
Avarosa and Serylda decided to rebel against their ancient masters (since the pact was sanctioned by Lissandra in
name of all three) with a real revolt the two warriors led the humans against the Sentinels
of the Frost, left with few allies, including the third sister Lissandra. The war was terrible and ended on
bridge of the Howling Abyss, an unprecedented battle that forced the Frost Sentinels themselves to
show their true nature. Horrified by their otherworldly form, Lissandra herself used her powers
against them, killing his sisters and imprisoning the Sentinels in True Ice.
Economy and Culture
The Freljordians have a survival economy so they are mainly based as a form of
sustenance in hunting, gathering, fishing, pastoralism and in rare cases also in cultivation and breeding, for this reason there are few cities, while there are many more semi-nomadic settlements. War is a very important element for the economy and culture of Freljord, in fact, cases of looting and looting often occur to compensate for economic shortcomings.
The Freljordian society is very stratified, at the base there are the Slaves of the Hearth, who represent a large part of the population, they are mainly civilians or servants also there are also warriors among the Slaves of the Hearth. The warriors who can wield a weapon of Real Ice are called Sons of Frost, while those who dedicate themselves to shamanism are the Spiritual Hermits. Little known are the Sons of Fire and could be the Sons of Frost they were led by Kreiv the Legless towards the forge of Ornn. The population is scattered in clans and tribes that often enter into conflict or alliance with each other, to lead a
clan or tribe it is good practice that there is a Warrior Mother, because according to their culture only one
mother will be able to lead a people to salvation if she considers her subjects as their children.
Mothers Warriors are polygamous and marry the strongest and most skilled warriors, so that they can produce strong daughters
and resistant. The husbands of the Warrior Mother serve a dual purpose, serving as an armed escort and as teachers
for the art of war against the sovereign's daughter, even if it is not their blood daughter. The daughters of the Warrior Mother have a specific task, from an early age they are tempered and trained to be able to be able to wield a weapon of True Ice, such weapons are the spearhead of this society, they are made of a material very cold glassy that never melts (with the exception of very rare cases) that end up hurting those who wield them, for this reason the daughters of the Warrior Mothers are continually subjected to these harsh tests.
The Freljord it has several points of interest, cradles of legends and myths that the population has been handed down for ages in front of a hot fire. Noteworthy are the volcano Langhus, where Ornn built his Forge, the Frost Guard Citadel, where the Ice Witch has settled Lissandra, and finally the Howling Abyss, located right
in front of the Citadel fortress, the bridge over which the legendary battle took place.
The latter actually appears in play on League of Legends in ARAM mode.
The flora is very sparse, but the fauna is very varied, there is a large variety of herbivores (mammoths, alnuk and even pores, very unusual goats that have become the symbol of Freljord), very dangerous predators and mysterious magical creatures, including Yetis and Eternals.
At the moment the Freljord hit by a ferocious civil war and is split into three factions. Lissandra leads the Frost Guard, ferocious warriors armed with Black Ice, a version of True Ice corrupted by the
Ice Witch. Lissandra can count on the support of the trolls, while the soldiers of the Guard of the Frost
they tend to seek out new sources of magical power and round up all war orphans to create
new recruits. The faction's symbol is an eye, probably an aspect of a Frost Sentinel.
Sejuani, descendant of Serylda leads the Winter's Claw, is a clan devoted to Volibear, with ferocious
warriors and powerful shamans, they often ride the drüvask, mighty war boars. Their symbol is
a pair of crossed battle axes.
Finally there are the Avarosani, led by Ashe, descendant of Avarosa, inhabit the southernmost area and can
count on large supplies thanks to more fertile soils than the rest of Freljord, Ashe tries
a diplomatic path in this conflict by forging alliances with the various clans. The faction symbol is the
Avarosa's crown with her bow and arrow superimposed.
What to write on a Valentine's Day card: discover the most beautiful phrases
As a celebration of Valentine's Day, people exchange flowers, Valentine's Day gifts, and scribble love notes on the blanks of greeting cards.
Although we express how we feel almost every other day of the year, a Valentine's day, it is increasingly difficult to put feelings on paper.
Before you start writing your own greeting card for Valentine's Day, think about the person you are writing to.
Being in love is not always enough to find words!
It is from this observation that we wanted to give a little help to lovers in lack of inspiration.
The templates of the Valentine's Day letters that you will find in this article are at your disposal.
You can adapt them, enlarge them or make them special with your own words.
Touch the heart of your loved one by delivering them along with your gift.
If your love likes edgy or teasing humor, don't be afraid to write funny sentences. They will certainly be appreciated.
- "To know true happiness, first of all I had the opportunity to meet you, then to know you. I found in you everything my soul desires: inner joy and the certainty that we have a future to build together. You are for me irreplaceable.
Happy Valentine's Day to the unique person, in my eyes and in my heart. "
- "If love is an art, I want to be an artist and you are my muse, my source of inspiration, the fresh water from which to quench my thirst.
In you, I will draw the strength to move mountains to build our happiness.
Thank you for your love that stirs my life with a golden light. "
- "I started looking into your eyes.
Then I tried to get closer.
Since then, you have completely bewitched me!
And now, I don't want to leave you anymore. Happy Valentine's Day, my love! "
In two, it's much better!
"Lift your eyes to the stars, admire a beautiful landscape or enjoy the beauty of music by holding your hand in mine.
So many things make sense only because we do them in two.
It means that your love gives me everything that makes me vibrate and feel good.
Happy Valentine's Day!"
The message with a surprise gift.
If you have a trip in mind as a Valentine's Day gift, this could be one nice idea on how to deliver the tickets: buy a bag or a travel bag, add something (toothbrush, toothpaste, underwear or any other personal effects) and then hide the tickets well inside the bag.
Then write the greeting card…
"I thought this year, as a Valentine's Day gift, to offer you a bag.
I know, it's a bit trivial, but open it!
There you will find some personal effects and ... look inside the bag: at the bottom there are two travel tickets for the two of us. Happy Valentine's Day!
I hope one Valentine's day romantic getaway, okay!
Best wishes! Happy Valentine's Day!"
How to invite him to dinner on Valentine's Day
To be written on a nice invitation card, like the one in the following photo:
"True, I have an all-consuming passion for you, but that's no reason to starve!
On the contrary, love drives us to greed, if it is shared.
So I propose, on the occasion of Valentine's Day, to enjoy a nice dinner together, we will have all the time, for the dessert, choosing something very delicious.
In this regard, I make this famous phrase my own and dedicate it to you:
There are several things I like, but especially three: love, love, love. ".
(From the scene of the interview with Sylvia, the protagonist of the film La dolce vita di Federico Fellini).
For those who don't like this romantic party but then thinks about it ...
He does not like Valentine's Day, but for the love of his wife, he dedicates a very sweet letter to her ...
You have often heard me say that Valentine's Day was nothing more than chocolates and commercials,
that we love each other every day and not just on February 14, that hearts are silly and roses are banal.
Yes, I know, I said all this but today I regret it.
Because even if you laughed at my caustic and ironic phrases and accepted them, I felt that deep down you were disappointed and this made me think, yes, I thought about it a lot.
I thought, I thought. and I realized that it is also this aspect of you that I am in love with.
Without your romance it wouldn't be you.
Today I sign this date that becomes important for me too, to remember it from now on and to show you that my love is stronger than my prejudices.
I hope that this Valentine's evening will be fresh, cheerful and above all romantic, and that we spend it together, eye to eye.
I love you more than my life.
Happy Valentine's Day, my love! "
For the first Valentine's Day together
"We have just met and we will take the time to get to know each other better, but I already have the feeling that our history can be written in the present and in the future.
I am happy to spend this Valentine's Day with you.
I hope it's the first of many others and I hope it's the same for you.
Happy Valentine's Day!"
Love is also a play on words.
- "Let's go on with all our refinement,
because today is our turn,
to savor the beauty of this day
that invites us to celebrate love. "
- "I love you I love you I love you .
It is you that I love. you know.
You know, yes, but how much?
It seems to me that proclaiming it 100,000 times,
it will always be insufficient to make people understand how great my love is for you!
Happy Valentine's Day!"
Funny phrases to wish Valentine's Day
- WWF reports that an endangered animal escaped from a protected park… but what did you do? Come home love! Happy Valentine's Day!
(Cit. From the web)
- Look, in a corner of your heart, there is a little door: open it.
Inside there is a little angel who smiles at you and loves you, now close the door because it is so cold. Best wishes.
(Cit. From the web)
- Do you know what are the three most beautiful things in the world?
The sun, the moon and you: the sun is needed for the morning, the moon for the night, and… I would like tea now and preferably warm!
Happy Valentine's Day.
(Cit. From the web)
Famous love phrases
- Without telling me anything you will take me in your arms and kiss me.
I know it sounds silly. But I'd really like to happen.
It's a nice way to get lost, to get lost in each other's arms.
Alessandro Baricco (From "Oceano Mare")
- What is it all that men have thought in millennia, in the face of a single instant of love?
It is also the most perfect, most divinely beautiful thing in nature!
- In fact, love is a flower that blooms everywhere, performs its sweet miracles defying the frost of autumn and the snow of winter and returns to bloom again, turgid and fragrant during the course of the year, making happy those who give it and those who receives it.
Louisa May Alcott (from the book "Little Men")
- He doubts the stars are fire, he doubts the sun moves, he doubts the truth is a liar, but never doubt my love.
- Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life alone. We find it together with someone else.
Did you like this list of Valentine's Day phrases and quotes?
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Weather: WEATHER BOMB bursts BEFORE already from Friday, even SNOW CONSEQUENCES for MANY DAYS, that's how many
Rainy days are coming to many regions The expected bad weather conditions will in fact be a Meteorological Bomb. For Meteorological Bomb we mean an event that radically changes the climate of a certain region in a drastic and lasting way, substantially changing the season.
In fact, we thought that the heat could last a few more days and instead the anticyclone again it will collapse sooner than expected under the pressure of the North Atlantic currents this time even from Greenland not even the time to announce the sweet warmth of a renewed albeit timid summer, which immediately fresh North Atlantic currents will set off towards the Mediterranean, and once they reach the Alps, the they will cross from the Rhone Valley throwing themselves impetuously towards the Sardinian sea triggering immediately after a cyclonic vortex on the Ligurian Sea, called in technical jargon a little difficult Cyclogenesi Ligure or Genoa Low in English, but the substance will not change.
Already from Thursday 30 August time will begin to suffer one profound revolution, in fact theadvanced ofCOLD AIR FROM THE NORTH it will begin to give its first effects with first thunderstorms in the Alps and between Piedmont and Lombardy, but it will be Friday that the Greenlandic saber will begin to do raid in Italy, entering from that natural valley that the Rhone river has built over the millennia just west of the Alpine chain in southern France. The mistral winds will therefore feed that low pressure that will quickly dig into the Ligurian Sea in one of the worst meteorological configurations for our country, so much so that immediately thunderstorms with hail already Friday afternoon-evening from the regions of North-west, then Piedmont, Liguria and Lombardy, they will march impetuous and merciless towards the Triveneto and Emilia Romagna, with particular fury at Garda Veronese, others from Eastern Liguria will extend to Tuscany.
But the worst will come later, when between Saturday 1 and Sunday 2 the cyclonic core will place its eye in the center of the Tyrrhenian Sea, around which they will rotate the winds of Mistral, Libeccio, Scirocco, Bora, even with risk severe thunderstorms on the Northeast with particular fury to Emilia Romagna, sula Tuscany, Umbria, Lazio and Rome, on Marche, on Abruzzo then down in Campania, in Naples, and on Puglia, especially on the Gargano.
Between Saturday night and Sunday sunrise SNOW will come back on Lombard Alps, on the Stelvio and then on the Dolomites of Trentino Alto Adige and Veneto even at altitude 1400-1600 meters, then just above and around Cortina d'Ampezzo.
Between Sunday afternoon-evening and Monday 3 September and until the beginning of next week the whole meteorological scenario could further worsen in conjunction with the descent from the North Sea of an even colder core of air that will cross the Alps both from the Rhone Valley and from the Porta della Bora, from that Karst plateau too often incapable now, as in the past, to defend Italy, a country abandoned even by the Anticyclone of the Azores, once a friend: the phenomena that will arise from these contrasts will be conspicuous, striking and will give rise to rains, thunderstorms and hail from North to South
Updated data tells us that the cyclone will linger more than previously expected, here then is that even the whole day of Monday 3 September will be characterized by frequent phases of bad weather even with incessant rains on Lazio, Rome, in Emilia Romagna and in Bologna, on the Triveneto also in Padua, Venezie, on Tuscany and Florence, on the Marche and Ancona, over Abruzzo to Pescara and Chieti, and also over Campania to Naples, and over Puglia to Bari and Taranto. It should be emphasized that the thunderstorms will hit the big cities, Rome, Florence and Naples once again with HAIL.
Bad news as well Tuesday 4 and Wednesday 5 especially on Friuli Venezia Giulia, on the Adriatic regions from Romagna to Puglia, on the Apennines with some storms still towards Rome and Naples, and further down on Calabria and Sicily especially Palermo, Messina, Catania.
But then the whole scenario is being organized to create a new twist: the heat will return. we'll talk again. very early.
Thomas Bernhard / Frost
Hospital practice is not just about assisting in complicated bowel operations, incising peritonei, pinching lung lobes, amputating feet, it is not really just about closing the eyes of the dead or bringing out children to come to the hospital. world. Hospital practice is not just this: carelessly throwing legs and arms whole or cut in half into the enameled bucket. It is not about continuing to run after the head physician and the assistant and assistant assistant like an idiot, being part of the crowd during visits. Nor can it consist only in hiding the truth from patients or even in saying: "The pus will naturally dissolve in the blood and you will be completely healed." Or in hundreds of other similar nonsense. In saying: "Everything will be fine!" - when there is nothing more that can go well. Hospital practice is not just about learning to cut and mend, to make bandages and to hold on. Hospital practice must also deal with out-of-body realities and possibilities. The task that I have been given to observe the painter Strauch forces me to deal with this kind of reality and possibility. To explore something unexplored. To find out to a certain surprising degree of possibility. How a conspiracy is discovered. And it may be that the extracorporeal - and by this I do not mean the soul - that is what is extracorporeal without being the soul of which I really don't know if it exists, even if I expect it to exist, it may be that this millennial hypothesis corresponds to a millennial truth, it may very well be that the extracorporeal, that is to say that which is without cells, is precisely that from which the whole derives its existence and not vice versa, and that it is not simply the one consequence of the other.
I took the first train, the one at half past four. I was traveling between rock walls. Left and right, everything was black. My teeth chattered when I got on the train. Then slowly I warmed up. There were also rumors of blue-collar workers returning home after the night shift. My sympathy immediately went to them. Men and women, young and old, but all in the same mood, and all exhausted - from head to toe, including breasts and testicles - from the sleepless night. Men with gray caps, women with red handkerchiefs on their heads. The legs wrapped in loden cloths, the only weapon to fight the cold. I immediately understood that it was a group of diggers who had boarded the train at Salzau. It was as hot as inside the belly of a cow: as if the air, under the thrust of powerful heart muscles, continually aspirated itself from those human bodies and then returned to the same bodies again. Better not think about it! I sat with my back against the wall of the carriage. Since I hadn't slept all night, I dozed off. When I woke up I saw the trail of blood that flowed rather irregularly on the wet floor of the carriage, like a river on a map continuously diverted by mountain massifs, and ended between the window and its frame, under the safety brake the track had started by a crushed bird, which the window, which rose suddenly, had broken in two. Maybe already many days before. It had closed with such violence that not even a breath of air could enter. The controller who passed by practicing his squalid job pretended not to notice the dead bird. But he must have seen it. This was my impression. Suddenly I heard the story of a linesman who had been suffocated in the blizzard, ending like this: "He didn't care at all!" Whether it was my external appearance or the internal one that was expressed on my face, or the emanation of my thoughts, of my assignment - for which I was preparing with all my energy - the fact is that next to me he did not come to sit none, although every place had become precious over time.
The train rattled through the valley where the river flows. In thought, I went home briefly once. Then I went very far, to some big city where I had been passing through one day. Then I noticed particles of dust on my left sleeve and tried to rub them off with my right arm. The workers took out knives and began to cut bread. They ate large pieces of bread and together ate slices of meat and salami, certain morsels that one would never eat sitting at the table. Only with lunch on your lap. Everyone drank cold beer and were obviously too weak to laugh at themselves, although they found themselves ridiculous. Their weariness was such that they did not even think about closing their trouser shop or wiping the corners of their mouths. I thought: as soon as I get off the train, they immediately fall into bed. And at five in the evening, when the others stop working, they start again. The train ran noisy and plunged down like the river beside it. It was getting darker and darker.
My room is small and uncomfortable like my practitioner's room in Schwarzach. If down there the noise of the nearby river was unbearable, here the silence is unbearable. At my wish, the host's wife pulled the curtains away. (It's always the same story: I don't like curtains in rooms that scare me). The host's wife repels me. It is the same repugnance that as a child made me throw up in front of the wide open doors of slaughterhouses. If she were dead - today - I would not repel, the corpses to be dissected never make me think of living bodies - but she lives, and lives in the midst of a putrid and stale smell of an old tavern kitchen. Apparently I must have liked it, as she carried my suitcase up and proved ready to serve me breakfast in my room contrary to her principle of ignoring what a breakfast served in the room is. "The painter is an exception," she said. He was also a regular customer and regular customers enjoy certain privileges. And they are "more a disadvantage than an advantage" for the hosts. How had I discovered his inn? "By chance," I said. I wanted to get healthy as soon as possible and go home where a mountain of backlog was waiting for me. She was sympathetic. I told her my name and gave her my passport.
Up to this moment I have not yet seen anyone other than the host's wife, although in the meantime one day at the inn there had been a great racket. During lunchtime, while I was in my room. I asked the host's wife where the painter was and she told me he was in the woods. "It's mostly in the woods," she said. He wouldn't be back before dinner time. If I knew the painter, he asked me. "No," I said. In silence, while he was still in the doorway, he seemed to ask me something that only a woman can ask of a man in such a quick way. I was baffled. I couldn't have been wrong. I rejected his offer without saying a word and not without a sudden feeling of disgust.
Weng is the most melancholy town I have ever seen. Much more melancholy than the assistant's description of it. Dr. Strauch had mentioned how one hints at a dangerous stretch of road that a friend must take. All the assistant had said were hints. The invisible ties with which from second to second he tied me more and more tightly to the task he had entrusted to me had become the cause of an almost intolerable tension between him and me, since the arguments that he imprinted in my mind without the slightest they made me feel like nails driven into my brain by force. However, he managed to avoid irritating me. He merely set me apart from the points to which I ought to have scrupulously adhered to. Indeed, this region frightened me and the country populated with tiny men who can easily be called idiots frightened me even more. Not taller than one meter and forty on average, these men stagger between walls full of cracks and tunnels, conceived in drunkenness. It seems that they are typical of this valley.
Weng is a very high country, yet it is as if it is at the bottom of a gorge. It is impossible to cross those rock walls. Only the railroad over there can get around them. It is a landscape which because of its extreme ugliness has more character than beautiful landscapes which have no character. Here everyone has drunken voices, childish and shrill voices that reach up to high C, voices that, if you hear them closely, pierce us from side to side. They pierce us. Voices that pierce us emitted by shadows, I must say, because in reality so far I have only seen shadows of men, human shadows in misery and prey to convulsive and trembling sensuality. And these voices that pierce us, emitted by these shadows, at first confused me and made me run away. However, I made these observations with a rather calm mind, I was not shocked by them. To tell the truth, everything bothered me only because it was terribly uncomfortable. In addition, I also had to carry my cardboard suitcase in which objects in great confusion rattled on all sides. The road from the station over there, where the factory is and the power station is being built, goes up there to Weng, can only be covered on foot. Five kilometers that cannot be shortened, however not this season. Everywhere dogs barking and barking.I have no trouble believing that in the long run people get mad from making remarks like the ones I kept making both on the road to Weng and to Weng, unless they get distracted with work or entertainment or other similar activities. like going to bitches praying or getting drunk, or with all these activities simultaneously. What can attract a man like the painter Strauch to a region like this, just this season in a region like this, which must be like a punch in the face at all times?
My assignment is absolutely secret and deliberately, calculated, it was entrusted to me by surprise, from one day to the next. The assistant must certainly have already come up with the idea of entrusting me with the task of observing his brother. Why me, why not one of those others, also practitioners like me? Was it because I often asked him certain difficult questions and others didn't? He advised me never to raise the suspicion in the painter Strauch that there was any relationship between me and him, the surgeon Strauch. For this reason, if they ask me, I will say that I study law so that they are completely diverted from the thought of medicine. The assistant paid for my travel and living expenses. He gave me a sum of money that seemed sufficient to him. He asked me to observe his brother carefully, nothing else. He wants me to describe his various ways of behaving, how he spends his days informing him about his opinions, intentions, statements, his judgments. He wants me to give him a report on how he walks, on his way of gesturing, of getting angry, of "defending himself from men." About how he handles his cane. "Observe the function of the stick that my brother holds in his hand, observe it in the most precise way."
The surgeon has not seen the painter for twenty years. For twelve years they have been without writing. The painter openly calls this relationship between them enmity. "However, as a doctor I want to give it a try," said the assistant. To do this, he needed my help. My observations would have been more useful to him than anything he had discovered up to now. 'My brother,' he had said, 'is a bachelor like me. He is, as they say, a thinker. But seriously disturbed. Haunted by vices, shame, awe, reproaches and authority, my brother is a guy who loves walking, so he is a man who is afraid. He is angry. A misanthrope ».
This assignment is a personal initiative of the assistant and is part of my hospital practice in Schwarzach. It is the first time that I consider observation as a job.
I intended to bring Kolz's book on brain diseases, which is divided into "enhanced activities" (arousal phenomena) and "reduced performance" (paralysis) of the brain, and instead I left it at home. On the other hand, I brought with me a book by Henry James with which I had already distracted myself in Schwarzach.
At four I left the inn. In that sudden, rough silence, a frightening agitation took over me, and not just my body. The feeling that I had worn my room like a straitjacket and that now I had to take it off made me rush up the stairs. I entered the hall. Since no one answered my repeated calls, I went out into the open. I stumbled on a pile of ice, but immediately got back on my feet and set myself a goal: a log about twenty meters away. I stopped in front of the stump. Now I saw so many similar stumps sprouting from the snow that seemed to be slashed by bullets, dozens and dozens. At that moment it occurred to me that I had slept for over two hours sitting on the bed. The journey and the newness of the environment were the causes of my exhaustion. The föhn, I thought. When suddenly from the stretch of wood, not more than a hundred meters from me, I saw a man walking with difficulty, undoubtedly the painter Strauch. I saw only the torso sticking out, because the legs were hidden by immense piles of snow. I noticed his big black hat. Reluctantly, it seemed to me, the painter moved from one log to another. He leaned on his stick with which he then spurred himself on, as if he were - at the same time - a stick herdsman and a beast for slaughter. But this impression disappeared and the problem remained of how to approach him as quickly and in the best way as possible. How do I introduce myself to him? I thought. I approach him and ask him something, so I adopt the safe even if foolish method of what he wants to know the time and place? Yes? No? Yes? I couldn't make up my mind. Yes. I decided to cut him off.
"I'm looking for the inn," I said. And everything was fine. He eyed me, for my sudden appearance was more disturbing than reassuring - and took me with him. He was a regular at the inn, he said. It could only be an extravagance or a mistake if one wanted to hold back at Weng. Coming to Weng to get healthy again. "In that inn there? " You can't be young enough not to immediately understand that this is absurd. "In this region?" Such a foolish idea could only come to an idiot. "Or to an would-be suicide." He asked who I was and what I was studying, since I was certainly still studying "something", and I, as if saying the most obvious thing in the world, replied: "Law." It was enough. «You can also walk in front of me. I am an old man, ”he said. For a few moments I was so frightened by his appearance that I shut myself up completely when I first saw him so helpless.
"If you continue to walk in the direction I am pointing to you with the stick, you will reach a valley that you can travel far and wide for hours and hours without the slightest fear," he said. - You mustn't be afraid of getting caught. Nothing can happen to you: everything is completely lifeless. Neither riches in the subsoil, nor crops, nothing. Numerous traces of this or that era, stones, wall fragments, signs, of what nobody knows. A church in ruins. Skeletons. Footprints of wild animals passed there. Four, five days of solitude, of silence, 'he said. - A nature completely undisturbed by men. Here and there a waterfall. It's like going through a millennium of a prehuman era ".
The evening falls here as suddenly as a thunderclap. As if on command a huge iron curtain was dropped that separates one half of the world from the other with a clean cut. Anyway: the night falls in the time to take a step. The dull dull colors go out. Everything goes out. There is no transition. It is because of the föhn that the cold in the darkness does not become more intense. A climate that, to say the least, weakens the heart muscles when it does not block them completely. Hospitals know a lot about this air: patients who seemed healed by dint of stuffing them with medical art to the point of finding hope, fall into a swoon and can no longer be brought back to life by any human theory for how skillfully applied. Atmospheric influences that favor emboli. Mysterious cloud formations far away somewhere. Dogs run madly through alleys and courtyards and even attack people. Rivers exhale a putrid smell all along their course. Mountains are shaped like brain structures that you can crash into and are crystal clear during the day, absolutely invisible at night. Strangers suddenly speak at a crossroads, ask questions and give answers that have never been asked of them. As if it were a moment of total brotherhood: ugliness dares to approach beauty, brutality to weakness. Chimes of clocks fall like drops on the cemetery and on the sloping roofs. Death cleverly makes its way through life. All of a sudden even children fall into a state of prostration. They do not shout, but they throw themselves under an accelerated train. In the taverns and stations, near the falls, relationships are intertwined that last no more than a second. Friendships are made that do not even have time to blossom. You are exalted as a torture to the point of murderous intent and then quickly suffocated in a little wickedness.
Weng is found in a pit, dug over millions of years by huge blocks of ice. The edge of the paths invites you to lust.
"I'm not a painter, - he said today, - at most I've been a house painter."
Between me and him now there is a tension that creates a relationship between us, below and above us. We were in the woods. Muti. Only the wet snow, weighing its kilos on our feet, whispered incomprehensible but continuous words. It broke the silence. He slipped between the inaudible words, just think, that were and were not there. He keeps demanding that I go before him. He's afraid of me. From the stories they tell each other and from direct experience he knows that young robbers attack from behind. The physiognomy often deceives us and we do not see the weapon in the hand of the murderer or the robber. The soul, if you want to call this "pilgrim among the laws", simply because you believe it exists, lengthens its pace, but that set of distrust, fear and suspicion that is the reason, remains behind and thwarts every trap. Although I say I don't know the way, he makes me walk in front. From time to time an order like "left" or "right" takes me away from the belief that he has gone too far, absorbed in his own thoughts. Groping in total darkness and impatiently I carry out these orders. The curious fact was that I saw no light that I could orient myself to. It was like rowing in the dark - even for the spirit and in those moments the balance is everywhere and nowhere. What would I do if I was alone now? This was one of the many thoughts that suddenly arose. The painter walked behind me like a tremendous load on my nervous system: as if behind my back he was doing nothing but cutting up judgments and spitting out judgments. Then he began to gasp and asked me to stop. “I walk this road every day,” he said, “I've been doing it for decades. I could do it in my sleep ». I tried to find out more about why he was now in Weng. "My illness and all the other reasons put together," he said. I did not expect more explicit clarifications. I described my life to him as best I could with a few epigraph phrases in which I slipped a few flashes of light and also a note of sadness, how my life - in my opinion - had made me what I am now - without revealing who in this moment I am really - with a sincerity that surprised even myself. My story did not interest him at all. He only cared about himself.
"If you knew my age, you would be frightened," he said. - You certainly imagine that I am an old man, it is something that young people soon think. But you would be amazed ». The despair on his face still seemed to darken a few degrees. "Nature is cruel," she said, "but the cruelest treatment reserves it to her most beautiful, most extraordinary talents, to those chosen by her." He tramples on them without batting an eyelid ».
The painter does not value his mother very much, even less his father. For his brothers after so many years he nurtures the same indifference that they - so he believes - have always felt towards him, but the way he says it is clear how much he loved his mother and his father and his brothers. How fond he was of them! "Everything has always been sad to me," he said. I took him through a stretch of my childhood. He commented: “All childhoods are equal. Except that one appears in an ordinary light, the other in a soft light, the other still in a diabolical light ".
At the inn it seems to me that they treat him with due respect, but behind his back they make a lot of versacci.
Their excesses are well known. Their sexual mania is in the air. One guesses their thoughts, their intentions, one feels that something forbidden is hidden in them. Their beds are located under the window and behind the door and sometimes they are not even beds: in those beds they pass from one turpitude to another. Men treat women like well-beaten meat and, conversely, they treat women like subaltern idiots. All these could be charged to them as serious crimes. Primitiveness is their common prerogative. Some need to agree to react, others can be said to know everything by nature. too tight pants, jackets, awaken bestial instincts in them. Evenings never pass: we can't take it anymore! We take two steps, we enter somewhere, we go back out, we go here and there so as not to die of cold. the mouths remain closed, but the rest goes wild. the morning passes over their faces and turns everything upside down. It is the sexual mania that destroys everything. Sexual mania, the disease that annihilates by its nature. Sooner or later it ruins even the deepest interiority. transforms one thing into another, the good into the bad, the top into the bottom. Without God, because first of all there is ruin. then morality becomes immorality, the model of every decline. Ambiguity of nature, one might say. The workers you see around these parts, - he said, - live only on sex like most people, like all people. They live involved in a continuous and savage process - which lasts until their death - against modesty and against time and vice versa: it is ruin. Time inflicts hard blows on them and afterwards their path is all paved with lust. Some hold it in check, hide it better, others less skilfully. The skilled ones are discovered only when there is no longer any remedy. Everyone lives a sex life, not a life. '
He asked me how long I would be staying in Weng. I told him I had to prepare some exams for the spring. 'Studying law,' he said, 'it won't be difficult for you one day to find a job. Jurists find employment always and everywhere. I had a nephew who was a lawyer, only he went mad over piles of papers and had to liquidate his business. It ended up in Steinhof. Do you know what it is? " I said that the Steinhof asylum was well known to me. "Then you will also know how my nephew ended up," he said.
I was prepared for a hard case, not a hopeless case. "Strength of character that leads to death", this sentence from a book I read when I was very young came back to me and evoked the thoughts I had in the afternoon about the person of the painter: why do you only think about suicide? Is it possible that for someone suicide is a kind of secret voluptuousness, which can dominate a person so completely? But what is suicide? Erase himself. With or without the right to do so. With what right? Why not? I tried to focus all my thoughts on one point, the one where the answer to the question is: is suicide lawful? I didn't find an answer. Nowhere. Since men are not an answer, they cannot be, nothing of what lives and not even the dead. By committing suicide I annihilate something for which I am not to blame. Something that has been entrusted to me? Entrusted by whom? When? Was I aware then that this was happening? No. But a voice that is impossible not to hear tells me that suicide is a sin. A shame? A simple sin? A mortal sin? A simple mortal sin? The voice tells me that it is something that makes everything precipitate. All? What is "everything"? His watchword, both awake and asleep: suicide. He suffocates us inside this word. He is bricking up one window after another. He'll soon be walled up alive. Then, when he will no longer see anything, because he will no longer be able to breathe, he will become convincing: because he will be dead. I have the impression of being in the shadow of a mental process that is similar to me, his: of being in the shadow of his suicide.
"The brain has the structure of a state," said the painter. - Suddenly anarchy reigns ". I waited for him until he had finished putting on his shoes. The great aggressors and the small aggressors, in the world of ideas as well as in that of men, often make alliances and then break them from one hour to the next. And then "being understood and wanting to be understood are a deception, a deception that is based on all the errors of the two sexes". Contrasts, like an eternal night, dominate the day that acts only in appearance. “Colors, you know, are everything. So shadows are everything. The contrasts have a great chromatic value ». In many things it happens as with clothes that you buy and wear a couple of times and then take off and never wear them again, in the best of cases they are resold - not given as gifts - or left to age in a closet. They end up in the attic or basement. "From the evening you see the morning," he said, "the morning, however, is always still a surprise." There is no experience, strictly speaking: "that's why there is no balanced man!" To tell the truth, however, there are possibilities that allow us to no longer be at the mercy of everything, not to be completely lost."But I have never had these possibilities." In a moment everything that matters in life loses all value. "The effort climbs up the mountain of disappointment," he said. While loss occurs easily, effort is a brutal process, even more brutal than before. «Whoever gets to the top will discover in any case that the top does not exist. When I was young like you, it had reassured me for some time to know that nothing deserves an effort. And it worried me. Today it scares me again: in this terror I have lost my sense of direction ". He called his state "expeditions into the jungles of solitude. As if I had to go through millennia because a couple of moments run after me with the stick, ”he said. He had never lacked the opportunity to sacrifice himself and he had never withdrawn nor could he have avoided exploitation by others. "I continued to invest in men even when I had known for some time that they were deceiving me, that they had decided to kill me." Later he had only clung to himself "as one clings to a tree that is already dead, but which is still a tree", reason and heart had gone away from him, driven away and relegated far away.
In the village there are people who have never left the valley. The bread carrier, for example, who began bringing bread at the age of four and has never stopped until today when she is seventy. The milkman. Both have so far only seen the train from the outside. And the sister of the bread bearer and the sexton. The Pon district for them is like black Africa for the others. The shoemaker. They stay where they earn their bread and the rest doesn't interest them. Or they are afraid to set foot outside the house. "It was a friend who gave me the address of the inn," I said. How did I tell this lie? In the most natural way, as if nothing was easier than lying. «Since I like to visit places and landscapes that I don't know, - I said, - I didn't hesitate». "The air has a terrible composition," said the painter. - Suddenly the weather conditions begin to limit your freedom of movement ». He wanted to know why I hadn't chosen a better inn for lodging, since there are so many inns and even guesthouses. “Even down there in the valley. But those are good for passing travelers, just to spend a night there ». I lied saying that it was all a friend's idea. So, having some address, I left to come here. "And did your trip go smoothly?" I wonder. I couldn't remember any incidents on the trip. "You know," he said, "when I travel, I always have some accident." Returning to the village and the inn he said: 'You have to bring some books or work with you. Didn't you bring anything? " "A book by Henry James," I said. "Henry James?" he asked. "I," he said, "did it on purpose to leave the books at home. Actually, I have some minor writings here with me. But in reality none other than my Pascal ". He never looked me in the face all that time, he walked completely stooped. "Because I closed, - he said, - I closed like a shop closes after the last customer has left". And then: «Here you can make a lot of observations that all turn into frost, into dislike towards oneself. If you want to put it this way: where there are people you have the opportunity to observe. Above all to observe what people do not do, which is what actually kills them ». Here there is not a single thing "in front of which one could take off one's hat". There is no limit to ugliness and the price you pay for everything. "I'm glad you don't like the host's wife," he said. - It could not have been otherwise ». He didn't say anything more specific. Have no mercy, but just let the repulsion work and let it reach its goal, this in many cases is an absolute pride of reason. "That woman is a monster," he said, "here you will meet a whole series of monsters." Especially at the inn ». Who knows if I had the ability to evaluate a character by relating it to another, a capacity "which requires no intelligence, but which only a few people possess?" Constructing a third intermediate character between the two and so on. an exercise that made him pass the time. "There is the possibility, - he said, - that you will wake up during the night. Don't be afraid. It is a bedmate of the host's wife who is spinning and who is not familiar with the house, or is the skinner who is said to be completely blind at night. Fractures and sprains of all kinds have not so far prevented him from slipping into the bed of the host's wife ". According to the painter, the host's wife favors everyone except him. For example, every four or five days he changes the sheets in all rooms except his. She never fills his glass well and if someone asks her for information about her, she makes up the most blatant lies. But he has no proof, so he can't ask her for explanations. I said that I did not believe that the host's wife was telling bad things about him. 'But yes,' he said, 'he talks about me as if I were a dog. He even says I pee in bed. Behind me he hits his index finger on the head to make it clear that I'm crazy. Forget there are mirrors. Most people forget about it. ' She gave him milk with water. "And it's not just my milk that stretches." Not to mention that - according to him - he cooked dog and horse meat. “He told his daughters many years ago that I am an ogre. Since that day the girls have avoided me ». According to him, she had always read his postcards and even opened his letters by holding them over the steam of a pot and gulping down its contents. “She was always up to date on things I had never told her.” Now he wasn't getting any more mail. "It's over forever." He said, “Not to mention that he makes me pay for everything two or three times more because he thinks I'm a rich man. Everyone here believes it. Even the parish priest lives in this illusion and torments me with constant requests for alms. Do I look like I have money? Do I look like a landowner? " "For the peasants," I said, "anyone who comes from the city has money that can be pulled out of their pockets." Above all, it is believed that educated people have money ”. "Do I have the air of a cultured person? - he asked, - the host's wife takes me into account for the things I have never received. And he comes to beg me to pay for the meals eaten by some unemployed during the week. Of course I don't say no. But I should say no. Why don't I say no? She sets everything on deception. Deceive everyone. Even his daughters ». Deception can be a goad for some people. "And also an impulse to act," said the painter.
When I first came to Weng she was not yet sixteen. I know he's eavesdropping behind doors. If I opened a door suddenly, I would crash into his head. But I am careful not to do it. She's a bad dresser. In the handkerchiefs folded by her there are insect spots and even the insects themselves, indeed even worms. On the night between Friday and Saturday, she puts in the oven a huge leavened cake, the so-called "Schlögel", in the interval between two men that she tortures mercilessly. The skinner ignores the existence of a guest downstairs whom she crushes with her breasts in an equally ugly way. His recipes run from mouth to mouth. She is as good at cooking as she is dangerous, as she is depraved. In his storeroom of provisions in the cellar and in the attic, among sacks of sugar and flour, braids of onions, loaves, piles of potatoes and apples, there are the evidence of the crime, the relics of his abjection, like rotten and gnawed men's underpants from mice. "An interesting collection of these filthy relics can be found scattered over there and up there. For her it is a particular satisfaction, in times of scarcity of men, to return from time to time to count these relics and remember their owners. For two years now she has never taken off the keys that allow her to access these precious objects in the attic and in the cellar, and no one but me imagines what ever with those keys she is able to open. ".
As the old men spit it, so the painter Strauch spat out his sentences. I only saw him again for dinner. In the meantime I had sat down in the dining room and watched the bustle of lunch. The painter arrived too late for the host's wife, at past eight: at that time the seats remained occupied only for habitual drinkers. In the room there was a stench - now thick - of sweat, beer and the fabric of overalls. The painter appeared in the doorway, craned his neck to look for a seat and as soon as he saw me, he walked over to me and sat down opposite me. He told the host's wife that he did not want to eat the heated dinner. To bring him some liver pie and roast potatoes. He gave up on soup. For many days he had suffered from lack of appetite, but today he was hungry. "In fact, I was freezing. It wasn't cold, on the contrary, but the föhn, you know. It was inside, you understand, that I was freezing. It is inside that it freezes ».
He does not eat like a beast or like a worker or like someone who has landed there from a primitive world. It is as if every bite makes a mockery of him. The liver pie on his plate was "a piece of a corpse," he said. As he said this he looked at me. But I did not show the repugnance he had expected of me. I always work with the flesh of a corpse and so there is nothing more that repulses me. "All that men eat are corpse parts," he said. I saw how disappointed he was. A childish disappointment left a trace of painful insecurity on his face. Then he spoke of the valor and worthlessness of men. "The bestial element," he said, "which is always lurking in man and which makes us think of the legs of predators, ready - at a single sign - to leap and claw, is that same bestial element that we perceive as we cross the street as hundreds of other people with us, do you understand? " He chewed and said, “I don't remember what I was going to say, only it was malice. I know this. Often of all that we are about to say we just have this feeling, that we were about to say a malice ».