return of "people I tend to get mixed up"

Previous installments in the series.

And here's the current batch:

• Germaine de Staël, George Sand and George Elliot.
• Joachim of Fiore and Cola di Rienzi.

powder is for cheaters

Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life of one who deserved to live for ages to come. And thus when I reflect on this, I am almost tempted to say that in my heart I repent of having adopted this profession of knight-errant in so detestable an age as we live in now; for though no peril can make me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness to think that powder and lead may rob me of the opportunity of making myself famous and renowned throughout the known earth by the might of my arm and the edge of my sword.

—Miguel de Cervantes: Don Quixote.

the early introduction of firearms did its part in making war a democratic pursuit, not only because the strongest castles were unable to withstand a bombardment, but because the skill of the engineer, of the gunfounder, and of the artillerist—men belonging to another class than the nobility—was now of the first importance in a campaign. It was felt, with regret, that the value of the individual, which had been the soul of the small and admirably organized bands of mercenaries, would suffer from these novel means of destruction, which did their work at a distance; and there were Condottieri who opposed to the utmost the introduction at least of the musket, which had lately been invented in Germany. We read that Paolo Vitelli, while recognizing and himself adopting the cannon, put out the eyes and cut off the hands of the captured 'schioppettieri' (arquebusiers) because he held it unworthy that a gallant, and it might be noble, knight should be wounded and laid low by a common, despised foot soldier.

—Jacob Burckhardt: The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy.

(later)

Would to heaven that this accursed engine [the arquebus] had never been invented, I had not then received those wounds which I now languish under, neither had so many valiant men been slain for the most part by the most pitiful fellows and the greatest cowards...

—Blaise de Montluc.

reading while walking

Even if you subscribe to all the usual pieties about the benefits of reading, you have to admit that the physical act of reading, when considered by itself, is stultifying. There you are, sedentary and immobile, your attention fixated into a hinged accretion of quadrangular paper layers, straining your eyes while your muscles turn into mush. If you indulge in the habit for too long, you end up resembling one of H. G. Wells' martians: a pale, big-headed monstrosity with atrophied limbs.

It would be much better to read while performing some physical activity that plunged you back into the world, like walking... a nice blend of mental and physical exertion, a compromise between engaging the text and engaging your actual surroundings. It would involve some dangers, though, like not being able to concentrate enough on the book, or concentrating too much and wandering in front of a moving truck.

But, why not just turn to audiobooks instead, one might ask. Well, audiobooks are great, but listening to them is not exactly reading. If you want random access, or simply to find and re-read some previous passage, they are cumbersome. Plus, when wandering through noisy environments you would have to either cram up the volume—damaging your ears—or isolate yourself from external sounds—which, of course, is another way of not engaging with the world.

I, for one, have convinced myself! I will presently take a walk around the port of A Coruña, a pocket French grammar in hand. If I do not post again, assume I fell off the pier while rehearsing the irregular verbs.

placing into the abyss

R. A. Lafferty, commenting on a portrait of Stilicho (which I haven't been able to track down):

[the painting] It's in several of the old history books, and apparently dates from a century or more after the life of Stilicho. [...] He holds in one hand what appears to be a cucumber; but is probably a small fasces—the buldle of rods, the symbol of authority. In his other hand he holds a scepter with an eagle in the laterna part. On top of the scepter is a replica of himself in the same position, holding the same scepter, on which again is an expressive smudge which would be a still smaller replica of himself holding a still smaller scepter. The box within the box within the box trick is very old.

—R. A. Lafferty: The Fall of Rome.

The french have a wonderful name for this type of recursion in art, heraldry and literature: mise en abyme ("placing into the abyss"). Has Lafferty ever used this technique in his own work? Well... he does like to quote imaginary authorities, and to have the characters tell stories to each other (like in the "Liar's Paradise" episode of "The Devil is Dead"). Some of these may be commentary on the frame story, but I would have to reread them to be sure.

take a walk then write a letter

Two interesting bibliographies:

• Travel and Landscape.
• Secondary Studies of Epistolary Literature.

a copy of me is me

Pharyngula criticizes Ray Kurtzweil's intellectual sloppiness. But the real meat is to be found in the comments section, where one can find a lively discussion about the nature of personal identity.