To a Haggis on Burns Night

It’s Burns Night, the traditional celebration of the birth of Robert Burns, Scotland’s most iconic poet. Often with a traditional Scottish meal, songs, and poetry reading, Burns Night is celebrated across the Scottish diaspora every year on January 25th.

Although I won’t be partaking in a Scottish meal (though I do love me some haggis . . . not really; it’s okay, but I prefer black pudding), I celebrate by sharing with you excerpts from Burns’ poem “Address to a Haggis,” written in 1787.

Related posts on this blog involving Robert Burns’ poetry, language translation, and definitions include:

As with those posts, I have done my best to add word meanings below for the Scots terms. Again I used the Dictionary of the Scots Language as my source.

However, dear students and enthusiasts, I leave you to analyze the first section of this haggis poem to your hearts’ content. Enjoy its text in full through, for example, the link found in a 2017 article about Burns Night from International Business Times. My primary source for the text of the poem is The Complete Poems and Songs of Robert Burns, a gift I received last year.

Address to a Haggis

Opening 3 stanzas

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ yet tak your place,
                        Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
                        As lang’s my arm.

fa’ (v.) – fall
sonsie (adj.) – good, honest, lucky (said esp. of women)
Aboon (prep.) – above, higher than
a’ (pron.) – all
tak (v.) – take
painch (n.) – paunch, belly, stomach
tripe (n., adj.) – tall, thin, ungainly person; slovenly, gangling
thairm (n.) – gut or bowel
weel (adj.) – well
wordy (v.) – worthy
grace (n.) – grace-drink, taken at the end of a meal after grace is said
lang (adj.) – long

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
                       In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
                       Like amber bead.

trencher (n.) – round or square plate or platter of wood or metal (i.e., flatware)
hurdies (n.pl.) – buttocks, hips, haunches of humans and animals
wad (v.) – would

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
                        Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
                        Warm-reekin’, rich!

dight (v.) – clothe, deck or adorn
onie (adj.) – any
reekin’ (adj.) – reeking

The next 3 stanzas share delicious language about competing for a portion of the food, defying foreigners to disdain their feast, and the unpleasant consequences after supper awaiting those who ate too well.

The last 2 stanzas frolic with the feaster as he makes his bloated way home until at last we see the final statement of haggis’s superiority to other refreshments, such as porridge and milk.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
                         He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ hands will sned,
                         Like taps o’ thrissle.

walie (adj.) – fine, excellent; big, strong
nieve (n.) – fist, grip
whissle (v.) – spend? (as in explode?)
sned (v.) – chop (off)
taps (n.pl.) – tufts, as of bird crest feathers
thrissle (n.) – thistle

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
                        That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
                        Gie her a haggis!

wha (pron.) – who
mak (v.) – make
auld (adj.) – old
nae (adj.) – no
skinking (adj.) – pouring, pitcher
jaups (v.) – dash, splash, ripple
luggies (n.pl.) – small wooden dishes or vessels used in serving milk, porridge
gie (v.) – give
haggis (n.) – “A dish consisting of the pluck or heart, lungs and liver of a sheep minced and mixed with suet, oatmeal, onion and seasoning and boiled in a sheep’s maw or stomach.” (also used as an insult, a term of contempt for a person – blockhead, stupid)

And so, what is Burns Night to a haggis? Complete annihilation.


For a recipe and more information, see “What Is Haggis Made of?” at The Spruce Eats. Of course, Burns Night isn’t complete without bagpipes and whisky. Nae bother, we’ll be better organized by next January.

Happy Burns Night–and weekend. . . .

Speaking of weeks and ends, catch the Season 4 finale of Outlander, Sunday, January 27, at 8pm Eastern on STARZ. Episodes guide here.

Traditional haggis. Photo credit Reuters via International Business Times, UK, 2017.

Primary References

Dictionary of the Scots Language. / Dictionar o the Scots Leid. (n.d.). A database supported by the Scottish Government and hosted by the University of Glasgow. Retrieved from http://www.dsl.ac.uk/

Waverley Books. (2011). The Complete Poems and Songs of Robert Burns. Glasgow: The Gresham Publishing Company Ltd. pp. 194-195.

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 3 of 4

After a few weeks’ rest, massages, and chiropractic adjustment, I recovered from a spinal arthritis flare-up in early September. Despite the pain, my strenuous photographic efforts to capture speedy, high-flying objects at the Cleveland National Air Show paid off with a post of my best shots from the day.

In early October, my husband and I took a refreshing vacation to California, visiting my brother’s family, some wine and hard cider makers, Calaveras Big Trees State Park, and, for the first time, Yosemite National Park. I fell ill during my last trip out there in April 2015, but I made it through this one and the rest of October virus free. Health and sense of mission restored, I’m on to the second half of this series.

In text, maps, and photos, Part 1 started with how the Outlander book and TV series inspired and triggered our Argyll adventure; the first post then showcased our dynamic drive toward the Argyll coast. Part 2 featured highlights of our first stops upon reaching the sea: Crinan Canal, the Paps of Jura, and Kilmory Knap Chapel.

The Outlander Season 4 premiere starting November 4th at 8pm EST on STARZ brings long-awaited relief from Droughtlander and takes the saga into the New World. While I’m eager to follow Jamie and Claire on the next phase of their on-screen adventures, my own travel in Scotland still calls me back. Scotland is, after all, the seed of Diana Gabaldon’s wildly popular Outlander book series phenomenon, which last month took the number 2 slot of the Great American Read‘s top novels.

Venturing farther inland for Part 3, this post shares some of my most cherished moments from our long day in Argyll with Àdhamh Ó Broin, Scottish Gaelic Language Consultant for Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books and their STARZ TV adaptation.

Late Morning in Mid Argyll

Third Thread

Kilmory Oib

We had taken East Loch Sween Road into Kilmory, drove south to Kilmory Knap Chapel, and returned on the same path. It was a single-track road, known by road management officials as C42. A Scottish government guide explains that “C-roads, like B-roads, are minor, local routes but are not signposted or shown on maps.” However, OpenStreetMap.org was my source for both names of the road because it’s awesome. Score one against the web of Old World secrets.

Road C42 becomes Achnamara Road toward Barnluasgan, where we tracked back to the southwest on B8025 and soon reached our destination. Kilmory Oib township ruins are the moss-eaten traces of a settlement abandoned in the 19th century. Online satellite maps, even OpenStreetMap.org, indicate no name for the site, though a zoomed-in satellite view on Google Maps offers such age-old markers as a low, road-side fence and two discernible standing stones. It seems you can find the settlement itself only by knowing its name and location beforehand. So much for blasting through Scotland’s secrets.

Of course, we had a secret weapon. Our native Scottish guide Àdhamh brought his insider’s knowledge to our discovery of Kilmory Oib. After reading the placards at the clearing’s opening, I then researched further to inform the visit.

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Google Maps

What’s left of Kilmory Oib lies within North Knapdale Forest, planted 100 years ago in the heart of North Knapdale. Most of the area is managed by Forestry Commission Scotland. On the ground, two lochs and a bed and breakfast neighbor the former township: Loch Barnluasgan to the northeast where the Knapdale Scottish Beaver Trial successfully reintroduced beavers to the area, Loch Coille-Bharr to the east, and the White Rock Bed & Breakfast to the north-northwest. Kilmory Oib is closest to Loch Coille-Bharr, but Loch Sween and the Sound of Jura are also not far away.

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OpenStreetMap. Standing stones, too? See “Stones of Kilmory Oib” (The Hazel Tree blog)

From the parking lot, we walked south up a dirt- and grass-covered path over the modest grade of a hill. At our feet I pointed out a large black beetle scurrying in the direction we headed. Like a child discovering nature for the first time, Àdhamh stopped to inspect it, as if he were stopping to smell the flowers. A true nature lover.

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Portion of placard at the Kilmory Oib site, courtesy of the Dalriada Project

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The path opened onto a clearing in the forest bathed in the rising sun. An early autumn, late morning light in the northern half of the Northern Hemisphere, its brightness shone high enough to illuminate and low enough to dazzle. The sun’s position in the clear sky made a pleasing contrast for photos, and it gave this Ohioan the impression of an earlier hour than it was. A peaceful scene unfolded when we met the clearing strewn with ancient and modern relics.

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After my extensive map research for the trip and before we arrived on site, I had never seen a Scottish or Gaelic place name quite like “Oib.” Even Scottish people will pronounce names slightly differently across regions and time, but some guidelines assist the non-native Gaelic speaker. The consonant is simple: “b” here is pronounced like “p.” The vowel in “Oib” is something either like “up” but with a slightly rounded vowel into the “o” in “hop,” or “oip” as in “voip” but with a bit of a slide toward the long “i” sound in “hi.” In sum, close to “Op” or “Ipe” in English.

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The Forestry Commission explains the meaning: “Usually referred to simply as Kilmory, the township is part of the estate known as Oib, or Oab, meaning bay or inlet in Gaelic” (Source: “Kilmory Oib,” Forestry Commission Scotland (current owner); contents menu includes links to information about a dozen other historic townships). The closest water body is Loch Coille-Bharr, neither bay nor inlet, but Scotland can be such a moist place, I suppose it matters little. A canal, river, burn, or sea, and precipitation, are frequent encounters. See my discussion on the variable labeling of place names in the sections “Dividing a Nation” and “Notes on Area Names” of the post “An Outlander Tourist in Scotland, Part 3.”

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In 2016, the ground brushed with dew and waterlogged besides, its dense green things slowly swallowed and partly camouflaged many of the decrepit stone structures in the morning sun. Some shapes from the low piles of flat stones suggested old livestock pens, now carpeted with moss. Other forms announced cottage or barn walls, spattered with lichens. Ferns and bracken, a russet brethren showing fern its future, rounded out the signs of growth. The layers of life blanket these landmarks of bygone people and preserve the dark, damp earth underneath.

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The Campbell clan owned Kilmory in the 1800s, but due to bankruptcy, ownership passed from Neil Campbell to Neil Malcolm of Poltalloch in 1785. Forestry Commission Scotland is the current owner (“Kilmory Oib”). During our visit, only two other visitors walked nearby and were on their way out when we arrived, but more than plant and fungal life stirred on the site. As it scooched slowly across the jagged stone surface atop a wall close to the trail, a little curl of motion attracted our attention. Again our guide picked up and examined the creature—a fuzzy grey-blue caterpillar with thin white striping and russet-orange bands across the stripes. It wore its own clan’s tartan. With visible signs of fertile land over the buried strata of past farming and fishing communities, could the insect’s glossy wings emerge to echo the plaid? And would it be Campbell, Malcolm or just Clan Butterfly?

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Do you know this species? The caterpillar, not the hand. That’s Àdhamh’s.

Across the grounds, enclosed on one side by a crest of evergreens, some of the narrower end walls of the dwellings remain intact to the apex, like a peppering of stone arrows pointing skyward. They are evidence of the roofs’ gable style of only two slopes, a Dalriadian feature from 18th-century architecture of the southwest Highlands (“The Deserted Townships of Kilmory Oib & Arichonan and Kilmory Mill,” p. 6). Although similar sheltering can be supposed across this collection of buildings, the dearth of surviving walls and roofs leaves mysterious precisely how the structures must have appeared when last they were whole.

Now, one large tree that appeared to be in the cypress family twists its way up through the center of a building space, snug against the west-side escarpment. A fruit tree, too, sidles up to a smaller jagged wall remnant on the township’s opposite end.

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Àdhamh asked me if he could have copies of my snapshots for a story about the site. I was happy to oblige and, from that point, diligently recorded the scene.

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Before leaving, Àdhamh and I became photo subjects for my husband. Leaning on either side of an ancient cross slab (standing stone with a Christian cross on it) next to a water well filled to the ground surface, we struck a handful of cheeky poses.

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It wasn’t the Colosseum, nothing so imposing as Linlithgow Palace or other crumbling Scottish castles. Instead, it was an intimate look at the shadows cast by a deserted set of humble communities. Kilmory Oib is an example of not-uncommon displacement from a not-so-distant Scottish past. It is only one of thousands of places where Scottish tenants were forced out by Scottish landowners, their own clan chiefs, or left from threat of clearance when they had no land rights, funds, or legal recourse. These Highland Clearances occurred over an extended period, lasting from after the final failed Jacobite Rising of 1745 at Culloden Battlefield until well into the 19th century.

To varying degrees for about 100 years, Scottish landlords evicted their tenants, whose families had farmed or fished there for centuries, to make room for more economical sheep farming. Known as infamous by some and controversial by others, the Clearances helped destroy clan culture, shrink the rural population of Scots in the Highlands and Islands, and push them into the Lowlands, out to the coast, or, if they could afford it, out of Scotland altogether. Today, land rights, property ownership, resource management, and conservation remain salient issues in Scotland, especially in rural areas.

Although the exact reasons and timing for Kilmory Oib’s end are uncertain, recent excavation and study of the site have shed some light on the context.

The Kilmory Oib settlement may have been abandoned “not long after the [nearby] Arichonan clearance . . . . [, which] took place in 1848 [as] part of the reorganisation of the estates owned by the Malcolms of Poltalloch, the Oib Estate purchased by them in 1798. The active role played by . . . surrounding settlements, including Kilmory, in the disturbances that accompanied the Arichonan clearance, suggest that this opposition was triggered by the threat of a wider clearance programme in North Knapdale” (Source: conclusions section of The Dalriada Project’s Kilmory Oib, North Knapdale: Data Structure Report,” Roderick Regan, 2008, pp. 11-12, Kilmartin House Museum).

More about the former township’s particular story can also be found at Forestry Commission Scotland’s page dedicated to the site. Tucked away without a landmark on the road nearby, like many long-abandoned settlements, the modesty of Kilmory Oib belies its complex, and partly ancient, history in Argyll.

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Reflecting on our visit stirred my foreigner’s sense of intrigue at a sight so rare in the U.S.: overgrown ruins made of stone. We, too, have ghost towns and run-down urban neighborhoods, but the American city version means exposed rebar, toppled concrete, rusted steel, and broken asphalt. Besides the obvious uniqueness of castle ruins, rural Scotland’s fragments are usually different. The age of Kilmory Oib and its quiet country setting add an irresistible pastoral romanticism to my view of its loss.

But what really is the ruin of a community, a nation, of a dream, an idea, a belief? While the result of misfortune, remnants cultivate a fortitude in shared memory, the roots of a people’s hope for a better future, a way through the challenges that tempt us greatly to give up. Something survives on which to build again. Without those seeds, a glimpse of real alternatives, we capitulate easily.

Without seeing ruins for the living past they represent, our sense of history is stunted along with our capacity for empathy. Our souls are diminished by the very erasure of signs of endings from the past. Without a tangible record, we may doubt, misremember, and completely forget historic events. It may follow, then, that preservation of all sorts of ruins help keep willing hearts awake to see, understand, and consider the needs of others as we prioritize peace and justice alike.

By marking our losses, ruins call us to create a more reasonable and compassionate world. “To all those we have lost . . .” toasts Claire Fraser with a dram of whisky in Outlander STARZ episode 304, “Of Lost Things.”

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Loch-side lunch in Tayvallich

Cutting across mid-Argyll, the Crinan Canal serves as northern border to Knapdale, Tayvallich’s surrounding home, and divides Kintyre Peninsula from the mainland. The canal connects salty Loch Fyne to the Sound of Jura, and Tayvallich lies just south of these intersections, near the middle of the peninsula. See lower left on map below.

Like Crinan Coffee Shop, Tayvallich Coffee Shop gave us a lunch-time view of the inlet, docks, and boats. We could also see the other side of Loch a’ Bhealaich, at the edge of which dwells the village.

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Clockwise from lower left: Tayvallich, Kilmory Oib township ruins, Crinan, A’ Moine Mhòr (The Great Moss), and Dunadd Fort. Yellow bubbles mark my account’s saved locations. Snapshot from Google Maps; darker text added using photo editor program.

Vessels were plentiful as for a busy day but not quite a special event—some at anchor, some docked, of sail and of motor. As I learned from Gazetteer for Scotland, along with the area’s forestry tradition, both fishing and tourism have made up the life blood of the village.

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Loch Sween, another sea loch, feeds the inlet from the east. Though subject to tides, Sween with its castle of the same name is substantial enough to spread its wealth into nooks and crannies like Tayvallich’s. Anglicized from Taigh a’ Bhealaich, the Gaelic name translates into something like “house of the pass” or “house in the valley,” depending on which source you consult. In that valley house’s coffee shop, I ate a lovely omelet before we left for our next destination.

Àdhamh and I discussed place names and poetry along the way. I would ask him to repeat the Gaelic names he rattled off as we passed, and then pronounce them in my turn. At other times, I took more careful note, gathering spellings as well.

Hear Àdhamh and me pronounce and spell the Gaelic name for Tayvallich:
 


In asking my husband and me about our jobs, Àdhamh opened a path to more of our shared interests. He and I are both educators, both artistic in some way, and both happened at the time to be working on a project involving Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland novels. I told him how I’d just started a spin-off novel based on Through the Looking-Glass, and he told me about his work to translate Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland into Scottish Gaelic. Writing a book is hard; I can’t imagine having to translate an entire novel.

At any rate, the three of us all love learning, and Àdhamh and I work with language, literature, poetry, and song. Next time we meet, we’ll have to have a sing-along or something. Later in the day, toward evening, I discovered I would not be equal to a duet with such a voice.

Two years later, I’ve followed a referral he made to a famous Scottish Gaelic nature poem “Moladh Beinn Dobhrain” (“Praise of Ben Dorain”) by Duncan Ban MacIntyre. Like the mountain it praises, the poem, Àdhamh said, is something special. I investigated to find out why and how.

Originally written in Gaelic, published in Duncan Ban MacIntyre’s collected poems (1751), the poem tells the pastoral story of a beloved mountain in what was once northern Argyllshire and Perthshire, the poet’s home region. Today, you can see Beinn Dorain’s almost perfectly conical shape grow larger in your windshield driving the A82 north from Tyndrum toward Bridge of Orchy, as we did on the way to Glencoe two days later.

In the poem, through a first-person speaker, a deer hunt occurs on the mountain, but for sustenance, not sport. The piece is highly descriptive and reads well in a good English translation. I’ve also heard it spoken in Gaelic, which was quite beautiful.

According to a 2016 article in The National, self-described as “The Newspaper That Supports an Independent Scotland,” the poem has rather complex form and soulful content. Like much Scottish poetry, it was constructed to be played and sung rather than simply spoken. An unnamed author declares, “Its shape is essential to its meaning. Composed in the musical structure of a pibroch – in Gaelic the spelling is piobaireachd – the classical music of the Highland bagpipe.”

Identifiable sections of the poem include a main theme in three parts, a second movement that develops each of those, repetition of the main theme, another movement, and so on. Three journeys occur between themes, then a synthesis of all prior elements–a climactic deer-killing scene. The song moves in circles as new material comes into the chronological plot, establishing a reader expectation of renewal and drama.

The prevailing mood, The National argues, is a question for Scottish readers and listeners. Exultation is there, but so are sadness and violence, suggesting wrath. What are the sources and the objects of those emotions? Answers may help decide the role of “Moladh Beinn Dobhrain” in Scottish literary history and politics.

Passionate writers tend to fixate, and in the article they speak with a unified voice. Its title claims a premeditated “manifesto for land reform” on MacIntyre’s part, but The National also admits this is “not explicitly depicted in the poem,” but rather “its historical context implies it.” That’s quite a leap of logic. If every historical context played the predominant role in all of literature, there would be little need or inclination to study it through any other lens, including solely by its own merits and content.

Literary criticism moves us beyond such a limited perspective for 21st-century analysis. Besides, among other relevant facts, Duncan Ban MacIntyre fought on the Hanoverian side of the ’45 Rising, not the Jacobite side. So, historical context argues at least partially the other way in this case. The article then claims an environmental conservationist purpose to the poem, as distinguished from a work praising human or religious subjects. While the content of the poem does focus on nature and wildlife, plus the destruction and loss of a piece of it, Ban MacIntyre also wrote a poem praising the king.

Literature can be interpreted to mean what we wish it to, but perhaps first we must read for ourselves to determine whether a message exists, waxes inherently political, or just depicts such things as the human experience of the interplay between life and death.

Excerpted from Alan Riach’s translation posted at Kettillonia, the cyclical rhythm of the “chorus,” or main theme, is reinforced with internal rhyme in “Praise of Ben Dorain”:

Praise over all to Ben Dorain –
She rises beneath the radiant beams of the sun –
In all the magnificent range of the mountains around,
So shapely, so sheer are her slopes, there are none
To compare; she is fair, in the light, like the flight
Of the deer, in the hunt, across moors, on the run,
Or under the green leafy branches of trees, in the groves
Of the woods, where the thick grass grows,
And the curious deer, watchful and tentative,
Hesitant, sensitive: I have had all these clear, in my sight.

Whatever else the poem may be or mean, however we may appropriate it, at least Àdhamh was right. It is special and deserves more recognition by a wider audience.

As a musical man himself, Scottish Gaelic Language Consultant Àdhamh Ó Broin would have to be keenly aware of Duncan Ban MacIntyre and his iconic song-poem. At our next stop, our host shared some other tunes in the Scottish tradition by playing his bagpipes for us, which he brought along for the occasion.


Mid-Day in Mid Argyll

Fourth Frontier

After lunch in Taigh a’ Bhealaich (Tayvallich), and on more than one occasion that day, I was trapped. As the guys left the vehicle, I remained locked in the back seat of our rental car like a child mistrusted with her own safety. Despite calling out, I had to wait a beat or two for them to realize my plight and then for my husband to figure out the lock situation so as to set me free.

It seems the back doors automatically lock on the 4-door Vauxhall Corsa when the driver closes his door. An odd feature to set as a default, I thought. The first time it happened, I suspected my husband of jumping the gun on locking up before I had a chance to get out, but after the second time he swore he didn’t do it, the nature of the issue became clearer. After my release, it was smooth sailing–almost.

Dunadd Fort, ancient seat of Dalriada Scots

Not quite fit for munro bagging (climbing mountains of a certain height in Scotland), I climbed up Dunadd Fort hill and felt my lungs fighting before I reached the top. It’s not really up that high, but the rugged terrain requires the climber’s legs to stretch farther for most steps than on a smooth grade.

Fortunately, the plant specimens among the uplifted rocks made for a convenient excuse to take photo breaks. The creases and sloping shelves in the rock were lovely, adorned with tufts of still-blooming heather, fern, and wild grasses.

Once the center of the Gaelic kingdom of Dàl Riata, or Dalriada, the artifacts of Dunadd Fort monument tell the tale of the first Scots and the first kings of Scotland, 8th century A.D. But the site was in use as early as the 5th century A.D.

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Archaeological research conducted in the early 1980s helped stretch the history of its use as far back as the Iron Age, and further evidence suggests its importance persisted through the 1500s, the late medieval period. All told, therefore, Dunadd was something more than a monument for 2,500 years.

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Dunadd Fort, fellow visitors with dog

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Fence and gate to Dunadd Fort hill

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“An Dùn Rìoghail” – “The Royal Fortress.” All placards on site provided under stewardship of Historic Environment Scotland.

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In early medieval Scotland, Dàl Riata leaders became kings when they stepped into a stone footprint, still discernible today. This “inauguration stone” is shown in these pictures as item 3.

The hilltop features of some ramparts (2) and a citadel (5), or upper courtyard, loom over the “traces of buildings” (4).

From there, steep cliffs on the far side from the parking lot plunge into the surrounding farmland with cattle and sheep on the plain.

A’ Moine Mhòr

As we looked out over that plain, known as the Moine Mhòr (Great Moss) bog, also a designated national nature preserve, Àdhamh played a few tunes on his bagpipes for us, including “The Piper’s Warning.”

The story goes: A piper is imprisoned at a castle and by playing his pipes warns his beloved son to stay away, lest he too be captured.

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Àdhamh shared the lyrics in English for us, noting that the Highland Scots had no embarrassment about calling fellow men “my love” because they’re so “[expletive deleted] hard.” That is, Highlander men are so manly in the sense of having impervious strength that they fully own what, say, the Sassenach might consider effeminate endearments between them.

Whether this really explained the choice of phrase or Àdhamh just wanted to dispel any suspicions of sexual overtones, I do not know. But it was clear, because he was barely audible and did not smile, that Àdhamh was proud of the Highlander reputation for “hardness,” or hardiness, this bit of his cultural heritage. It made us smile in turn.

Dunadd-Adhamh-bagpiping-pasture_edits-2018-11-01_DSCN3410Dunadd-Adhamh-bagpiping-rocks_edits-2018-11-01_DSCN3427

As the sunshine beamed on, visible in the distance from atop Dunadd Fort was an isolated, ruined cottage Àdhamh admired and dreamed of owning on the Moss. Beyond were lochs and hills; behind those, the west coast. A wide, winding stream reflecting bright blue sky ran through the farmland below the remnants of Dàl Riata’s royal center.

Dunadd-Adhamhs-cottage-Moine-Mhor-edits-2018-11-04_DSCN3444

Starting in the northeast and proceeding past Dunadd and beyond the Moine Mhòr National Nature Preserve, the River Add bulges again, running roughly parallel to the Crinan Canal, as it finds its way to the Sound of Jura at Loch Crinan, a wide-mouthed inlet just east of Crinan Harbour.

Dunadd-river-house-camper-mtns-fort-hill_edits-2018-11-02_DSCN3407

Dunadd was one of my husband’s and my favorite parts of our day. Fellow visitors, one of whom Àdhamh recognized and greeted, and his humble piping at the cliff’s edge made our time at the ancient site extra special.

From the Trossachs to the seaside and curling back inland, so far that day, we had gone to places that offered wide sweeps of panoramic views. Whether from loch side, coastal perch, forested enclave, or ancient hilltop surrounded by vast plain and winding river, we saw the beauty and brushed the mystery of a quiet Argyll countryside. 

Dunadd-vista-winding-river-field-mountains_edits-2018-10-31_DSCN3419


Next Time: Part 4 of 4

The final post in this series follows late afternoon into night of this magical day: from the intrigues of prehistoric stone structures in Kilmartin Glen to the singular charms of our host and Cowal Peninsula’s small village, Clachan of Glendaruel; and from the perils of single-track night driving to a night view over the Kyles of Bute onto the city lights of the mainland. Plus, a surprise encounter from the day after. I hope you’ll join me for the finale.

In case you missed, or miss, the beginning . . .

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 1 of 4

Argyll with Àdhamh, Part 2 of 4


Sources Consulted and Cited

All on-site images in this post were created and edited by C. L. Tangenberg.

Kilmory Oib

Ancient Monuments. “Kilmory Oib Township, cross slab and holy well, west of Loch Coille-Bharr: A Scheduled Monument in Mid Argyll, Argyll and Bute.” (n.d.). AncientMonuments.uk. https://ancientmonuments.uk/124836-kilmory-oib-township-cross-slab-and-holy-well-west-of-loch-coille-bharr-mid-argyll-ward#.W96aFBRRdND

“The Best Books on The Highland Clearances.” (2018). Five Books Expert Recommendations. https://fivebooks.com/best-books/james-hunter-on-the-highland-clearances/

The Dalriada Project. “About.” (n.d.). TheDalriadaProject.org. http://www.thedalriadaproject.org/

— — —. “Archaeology and Landscape.” (n.d.). TheDalriadaProject.org. http://www.thedalriadaproject.org/index.asp?pageid=536848

Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Highland Clearances – Scottish History.” Britannica.com. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Highland-Clearances

Faclair Gàidhlig – Beurla / Gaelic – English Dictionary. (n.d.). http://www2.smo.uhi.ac.uk/gaidhlig/faclair/macfarlane/macfarlane.html

Forestry Commission Scotland. “Historic townships.” (2018). Scotland.forestry.gov.uk. https://scotland.forestry.gov.uk/activities/heritage/historic-townships

— — —. “Kilmory Oib.” (2018). Scotland.forestry.gov.uk. https://scotland.forestry.gov.uk/activities/heritage/historic-townships/kilmory-oib

The Hazel Tree. (2018 August 20). “From Arichonan to Kilmory Oib.” TheHazelTree.co.uk. [blog]. http://www.thehazeltree.co.uk/2018/08/20/from-arichonan-to-kilmory-oib/

— — —. (2015 May 26). “The stones of Kilmory Oib.” TheHazelTree.co.uk. [blog]. http://www.thehazeltree.co.uk/2015/05/26/the-stones-of-kilmory-oib/

“Highland Clearances.” (2018). UndiscoveredScotland.co.uk. https://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/usscotfax/history/clearances.html

Kilmartin Museum
Argyll, PA31 8RQ
Tel: 01546 510 278
museum@kilmartin.org
Scottish Charity SC022744

“Parish of North Knapdale: Details of Parish of North Knapdale.” (2018). Gazetteer for Scotland. http://www.scottish-places.info/parishes/pardetails675.html

Regan, Roderick. (2014 January). The Deserted Townships of Kilmory Oib & Arichonan and Kilmory Mill: Historic Building Surveys. Forestry Commission Scotland. Kilmartin House Museum: Argyll, Scotland. 6. http://kilmartin.org/docs/kilmoryAndArichonanSettlementsSurveyReport.pdf

— — —. (2008 June). Kilmory Oib, North Knapdale: Data Structure Report. The Dalriada Project. Kilmartin House Museum: Kilmartin, Argyll, Scotland. ii, 1, 11-12. http://www.kilmartin.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/Kilmory-Oib-Excavation-DSR.pdf

“Scottish Gaelic learners’ materials on the Internet.” Stuth ionnsachadh na Gàidhlig air an Eadarlìon. http://www.smo.uhi.ac.uk/gaidhlig/ionnsachadh/

Tayvallich

Gaelic-English / English-Gaelic Dictionary. LearnGaelic.net. / LearnGaelic.scot. https://learngaelic.scot/dictionary/index.jsp

“Tayvallich: Overview of Tayvallich.” Argyll and Bute. (2018). Gazetteer for Scotland. www.scottish-places.info/towns/townfirst3579.html

“Tayvallich.” Content from Wikipedia.com, with links to Tayvallich articles at Wikimedia and Wikivoyage. Revolvy.com. https://www.revolvy.com/page/Tayvallich

Dunadd Fort

Historic Environment Scotland. “Kilmartin Glen: Dunadd Fort.” (2018). HistoricEnvironmentScotland.scot. https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/kilmartin-glen-dunadd-fort/

The Landscapes of Scotland, Descriptions 51-60, Scottish Natural Heritage: 52 – Jura, 53 – Knapdale and Kilmartin

Love Argyll. (2018). “Kilmartin Glen, Dunadd and the Crinan Canal.” LoveArgyll.com. https://www.loveargyll.com/kilmartin-glen-dunaad-bronze-age-monuments-ancient-seat-pictish-kings/

“The Scots.” / “Scottish Monarchs.” (2018). EnglishMonarchs.co.uk. http://www.englishmonarchs.co.uk/scots.html

VisitScotland. (2018). “Moine Mhòr National Nature Reserve.” VisitScotland.com. https://www.visitscotland.com/info/see-do/moine-mhor-national-nature-reserve-p333971

Duncan Ban MacIntyre and “Praise of Ben Dorain” / “Moladh Beinn Dobhrain”

“#7 Seat of all seats.” (2016 June 17). Mountain: a podcast about adventure [podcast]. Includes excerpts of “Praise of Ben Dorain” read in Gaelic and English. Interviewer: Christopher Sleight. Readers: Siobhan Anderson, Anna MacQuarrie.  http://mountainpodcast.com/episode/7-seat-of-all-seats/

MacIntyre, Duncan Ban. (2018). Praise of Ben Dorain. [pamphlet]. Description, Extract. Alan Riach, trans. Kettillonia: New Scottish Writing. http://kettillonia.co.uk/pamphlets/poetry/praise-of-ben-dorain-2/

MacLean, H. (n.d.). “On the Gaelic Poetry of Known and Unknown Bards, Published and Traditional.” Sacred-Texts.com. Some parts published 2011. http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/pt4/pt410.htm

Meek, Donald E. (2010, 1997). “The Gaelic Literature of Argyll.” The Association for Scottish Literary Studies: Scottish Literature’s International Voice. https://asls.arts.gla.ac.uk/Laverock-Gaelic_Literature.html

“Not Burns: Duncan Ban MacIntyre and his Gaelic manifesto for land reform.” (2016 Feb 4). The National. www.thenational.scot/culture/14861208.Not_Burns______Duncan_Ban_MacIntyre_and_his_Gaelic_manifesto_for_land_reform/

“Scottish Surnames Meanings & Origins: What Does Your Scottish Last Name Mean?” Thoughtco.com. https://www.thoughtco.com/scottish-surnames-meanings-and-origins-1422406

Argyll and the Isles – General

“4. The Inner Hebrides” at “Top 10: cities and places to visit in Scotland,” The Telegraph, Travel | Destinations – https://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/europe/united-kingdom/scotland/articles/Top-10-cities-and-places-to-visit-in-Scotland/

Argyll and Bute Overview at Gazetteer for Scotland, http://www.scottish-places.info/councils/councilfirst4.html

Argyll and the Isles Tourism Co-operative Ltd (AITC) http://www.exploreargyll.co.uk/about.php

Argyll Guide at Travel Scotland – http://www.scotland.org.uk/guide/regions/argyll-holiday-guide

Argyll, Scotland at The Rough Guides – https://www.roughguides.com/destinations/europe/scotland/argyll/

“Crinan Canal.” https://www.scottishcanals.co.uk/canals/crinan-canal/

Crinan Canal Overview at Gazetteer for Scotland, accessed through Lochgilphead link on the site’s Argyll and Bute Overview page – http://www.scottish-places.info/features/featurefirst1169.html

Destinations and Maps – Argyll & the Isles at VisitScotland – https://www.visitscotland.com/destinations-maps/argyll-isles/

Detailed Road Map of Argyll and Bute, at Maphill.com – http://www.maphill.com/united-kingdom/scotland/scotland/argyll-and-bute/detailed-maps/road-map/

“Population: Where We Live,” at Argyll and Bute Council – https://www.argyll-bute.gov.uk/info/population-where-we-live

Scotland General

Department for Transport. “Roads Classification.” (January 2012). Guidance on Road Classification and the Primary Route Network. p. 6.  https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/315783/road-classification-guidance.pdf

Scottish Government / Riaghaltas na h-Alba gov.scot. “Footnotes.” (2008 October). Rural Road Safety: Drivers and Driving. Part 19. https://www.gov.scot/Publications/2008/10/03140548/19

UndiscoveredScotland.co.uk clarifies how Scottish lands are sliced and how they overlap. Fully orient yourself to where’s where on their Councils, Regions, and Counties page, which links to breakdowns of those three different types of division.

Find out more about how the tourism industry, as well as British and Scottish governments, have labeled things; see the first footnote of An Outlander Tourist in Scotland, Part 3, under the heading “Notes on Area Names.”

OpenStreetMap – https://www.openstreetmap.org/

Google Maps – https://www.google.com/maps

“Scotland” entry page of Academic Dictionaries and Encyclopedias – http://enacademic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/16523

Gáidhlig Dhail Riada. If you are interested in the rich Gaelic heritage of Dalriada and would like to find out more…

Àdhamh Ó Broin – Gáidhlig Dhail Riada

Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6)–Oh, NOW I Get It! Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots

“The Eemis Stane” reconsidered, 1/26/18, via Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry, 6: Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots

Without a complete translation, there can be no complete interpretation. This I realized after re-reading yesterday my post on Hugh MacDiarmid’s poem “The Eemis Stane,” featured January 9 on my blog.

Although I knew the picture was incomplete, I attempted to analyze it anyway. And although I understood much of the poem’s message without full decoding, it is only after making a firm choice of translation between two possibilities originally left in competition, and, thus, better understanding the concepts behind the words, that I see how much difference a complete, more accurate translation makes, especially in poetry.

Accuracy of interpretation suffers when the meaning of individual words remains in doubt, even one or two words. In such a short poem, so economically constructed, indeed every word counts.

By reading again, and by further considering through logic and deduction the context of a certain passage’s uncertain meaning to me, I was able to insert the last major puzzle piece. As I believe I have now come closer to understanding the nature and significance of the poem’s message as a whole, I’d like to share these new revelations with you.

For reference, here’s the original poem and my first translation:

“The Eemis Stane” by Hugh MacDiarmid

I’ the how-dumb-deid o’ the cauld hairst nicht
The warl’ like an eemis stane
Wags i’ the lift;
An’ my eerie memories fa’
Like a yowdendrift.

Like a yowdendrift so’s I couldna read
The words cut oot i’ the stane
Had the fug o’ fame
An’ history’s hazelraw

No’ yirdit thaim.

Translation and Analysis

I attempted my translation from Scots into standard English with the assistance of The Online Scots Dictionary and other sources. Brackets and parentheses indicate points of possible alternate meanings.

At the darkest point of the cold harvest night
The world like an unsteady stone
waggles in the sky;
And my eerie memories fall
Like a snow driven by the wind [or a blizzard].

Like a blizzard so that I couldn’t [(even) have] read
The words cut out in the stone
Had the smoky atmosphere [or moss] of foam [or fame]
and history’s lichen

not buried them.

And this is the essence of what I said about meaning:

Truth in cultural identity and any peace of mind about one’s place in the world or cosmos are obscured both by personal perspective and the half-truths of history. In other words, not even personal memory and thought can rescue truth and justice from history’s muddled layers. . . .

Although “The Eemis Stane” might be interpreted simply as an intimate human struggle, MacDiarmid, like many great poets, stretches his words beyond the individual into a more universal context. We can see this happening foremost in the introduction of the word “history.” Employing a distinct lexical heritage, the poem is likely best understood as a metaphorical portrait of a people and culture’s displaced memory and shaken identity, and the far too common resulting experience of loss, confusion, and emptiness.

There are several reasons why definitively selecting “moss of fame” makes the most sense, and why both “fog/smoky atmosphere” and “foam” do not.

1. Poetically, the translation would have to be very close to “moss of fame” to establish parallelism with the concept and metaphor of “lichen of history.” Each provides a concrete living thing paired with an abstract societal concept. Each image produced is similar to the other in that this concrete living thing obscures in a similar manner to the other, growing on rocks, spreading itself over their surfaces.

Use of connectors: The fact that both moss and lichen are “of” their paired abstract ideas means that those things, fame and history, inherently bring with them these ironically polluting elements. The poet’s choice to join these metaphors so closely in proximity using the word “and” signifies that the distorting natures, or by-products, of fame and history necessarily go hand in hand. In fact, when one considers it further, they are interdependent.

2. The second reason why “fame” is the correct choice is that the words “cut oot i’ the stane” refer to remembrance, part of the point of memorializing being to preserve a legacy, to obtain or solidify some form of fame in the eyes of observers.

3. Crucially, the key reason that unlocked the meaning for me is that the alternative translation creates a conflict in imagery between an active blizzard and lingering fog or smokiness. Physically, such a thing as fog, mist, haze, or smoke would have to be blasted away by the blizzard. They cannot exist in nature in the same space at the same time. They are mutually exclusive. So process of elimination comes in handy here.

4. Finally, combining these pieces of evidence results in a more robust interpretation of message. Look more closely at the behavior of fame and history as depicted in this poem’s parallel metaphors. They not only obscure the truth but also grow continuously like powerful adhesive upon the “unsteady stone,” further destabilizing it, as moss and lichen both grow on a literal headstone or memorial monument.

A distinct tone of cynicism emerges as these negative sides of fame and history appear. The suggestion is that their “growths” continue uninhibited and uninterrupted, with no one and nothing successfully clearing them away to improve the reputation of fame or history and, by extension, of man. They are natural processes but stubborn nuisances as well, insidious and marring or tainting in how they creep in and take over gradually, almost imperceptibly.

At poem’s end, aided by the described effects of fame and history, the final impression the reader receives is quite clear. The speaker condemns the hubris and vanity of a human race that worships and perpetuates both this “moss” and this “lichen,” implying the absence of the opposite qualities because of mankind’s failure to prevent these incursions. Humanity’s alternate course would be to seek and uphold simple, honest, humble truths—the bedrock, as it were, of goodness, integrity, and justice.

Therefore, the poem is an undoubted lament of those particularly incorrigible, wretched human habits that make the world such a precarious, dangerous place for the individual, and its future such a dismal one for all.

What is left to further interpretation is whether the speaker primarily lays blame and scolds the cause or simply reels from and mourns the effects. In other words, is the final question “Can’t you see what you have done?” or “What have you done to me?”?

The former cries out for change while the latter shows a man incapable of finding the words, the power to move beyond suffering–a man whose “eerie memories,” perhaps even of learned language, scatter into fragments on the wind. He forgets how to read at all. The feeling behind the first question is a sense of urgency and some small hope, whereas the second descends into a confused, frightened, and irrevocable despair.

What do you think MacDiarmid is saying?

Are the layers of obscurity, deception, and confusion just too thick after all?

Or, by revealing them, does the speaker become a catalyst for removing them and restoring what lies beneath?

Either way, my question remains, “What then?” Will we like what we find? Do we need it regardless of how we feel about it? Will it matter?

The speaker makes clear that he cannot say. He cannot make out the words, let alone discover their import. He not only cannot provide an answer; he cannot even see to look for it. His impotence blocks even the consideration of possibility.

For that reason, I see the message as one of despair. The speaker describes the fixed laws of the universe—gravity, inertia, the physics of vibration and spinning—as well as the forces of more intimate natures. The blackness, the cold, the blinding weather, the isolation from fellow humans, and the sticky coverings over our past efforts—together they inevitably overpower man, unsteadying the stone on which he lives and making it impossible to see rightly the things around him, one way and another.

So, yes, I think I get it now.

What do you think?


To view or review the original part 6 post, go here.

For all posts in this series, visit my page under the menu tab “Writing Pool,” then “Poetry,” or under “Wild”: Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry.

You can also get to them directly here:

The entire Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry series

  1. Nature Poetry by Famous Poets excerpting Thomas Hardy’s “The Darkling Thrush”
  2. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (1a): “The Sunlight on the Garden”
  3. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (2): Elizabeth Bishop
  4. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (3): Wordsworth’s Daffodils
  5. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (4): Promise of a Fruitful Plath
  6. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (5): Of Mice, Men and Rabbie Burns
  7. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6): Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots
  8. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6)–Oh, NOW I Get It!: Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots
  9. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (7): Black Legacies
  10. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (8): “Corsons Inlet” by A. R. Ammons
  11. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (9): “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”

Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6): Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots

Perhaps it is only when we are released from the stranglehold of the deep freeze that we can once again celebrate cold, snowy art. Today between Hogmanay (New Year’s) and Burns Night (Jan. 25), I bring you a Scottish, though autumnal, chill–the blizzard, the wind, the land, and their combined efforts to confound. Still, may your eyes and heart be open wide to the imagery, the sounds, and the impact that only poetry can deliver.

Recently, I rediscovered the work of a famous poet I was vaguely familiar with: Hugh MacDiarmid, celebrated Scottish poet of the 20th century (1892-1978). Again, I became so fascinated with the Scots language he used to effect his art that I started trying to translate the Scots of one of his poems into standard English. A bit more challenging than “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns, the poem is also more somber and contemplative. A novice in translation for personal interest alone, I am unsure of how well it came out and some of it I couldn’t parse, but I thought the poem interesting enough to share with you.

The poem’s title “The Eemis Stane” translates roughly as “The Unsteady Stone.” If you’ve been following my series on nature poetry, you may have realized by now that sometimes there is a fine line between nature poetry and poetry that uses nature imagery but operates through a different primary theme or mode. Although MacDiarmid’s poem also uses nature imagery, as with many poems, its true subject is more abstract and societal. I believe, though, that all nature poetry need not just celebrate nature; it can also lament it. In that sense, “The Eemis Stane” could legitimately bear the tag “nature poetry.” It would simply need other tags as well.

Following is a bit about Hugh MacDiarmid with a link to more information about the poet, and then the poem in full with my translation and analysis.

According to the Poetry Foundation,

“C. M. Grieve, best known under his pseudonym Hugh MacDiarmid, is credited with effecting a Scottish literary revolution which restored an indigenous Scots literature and has been acknowledged as the greatest poet that his country has produced since Robert Burns.”

“The Eemis Stane” by Hugh MacDiarmid

I’ the how-dumb-deid o’ the cauld hairst nicht
The warl’ like an eemis stane
Wags i’ the lift;
An’ my eerie memories fa’
Like a yowdendrift.

Like a yowdendrift so’s I couldna read
The words cut oot i’ the stane
Had the fug o’ fame
An’ history’s hazelraw

No’ yirdit thaim.

Translation and Analysis

I attempted my translation from Scots into standard English with the assistance of The Online Scots Dictionary and other sources. Brackets and parentheses indicate points of possible alternate meanings.

At the darkest point of the cold harvest night
The world like an unsteady stone
waggles in the sky;
And my eerie memories fall
Like a snow driven by the wind [or a blizzard].

Like a blizzard so that I couldn’t [(even) have] read
The words cut out in the stone
Had the smoky atmosphere [or moss] of foam [or fame]
and history’s lichen

not buried them.

Message of the poem

More about perhaps the nature of history and understanding than about nature itself, here is my interpretation: Truth in cultural identity and any peace of mind about one’s place in the world or cosmos are obscured both by personal perspective and the half-truths of history. In other words, not even personal memory and thought can rescue truth and justice from history’s muddled layers. Alternatively, though less likely, it could mean that only history’s obfuscation of events allows the observant man to see things clearly, as if transgression alone, however unintended, is what urges one’s keen attention to matters. Compounded by this confusion, or perhaps contributing to it, is the timing of the attempt: the darkest point of the night, a metaphor for the hardest moment in life, when you are shaken to your core and too discombobulated to make sense of it.

Means of the message

We can trust the reputable MacDiarmid to use the Scots language precisely, but ambiguity is the primary theme echoed by method across the poem. With compound images and multiple word meanings (fog/smoke/moss, fame/foam), unclear things masked in layers (darkness, fog, eerie memories, blizzard, lichen), and unexpected shifts in visual perspective (in total darkness, harvest night’s earth wobbling in the sky as seen from what vantage point?), the reader feels the speaker’s disorientation.

One example of a mysterious reference, the idea of the “words” cut out in the stone literally suggests either gravestone, monument, or ancient language, but figuratively calls to mind efforts to make one’s mark, the tantalizing nature of age-old mysteries, or a foundation marred or eroded by words and time. Then, stanza 2’s double negative (“couldna” plus “No’”) raises further questions of interpretation.

The speaker’s reaction to the confusion is a lament, with the consistent choice of words that collectively mourn: “how-dumb-deid” (darkest point), “cold,” “nicht” (night), “eemis” (unsteady, unstable, untethered, precarious, tenuous, unreliable), “wags” (wobbles, shakes, waggles, jars, dislocates, disorients), “eerie,” “fa'” (fall), “couldna” (could not), “cut oot” (cut out), “fug” (smoke, haze, fog, moss), and, most obviously, “yirdit” (buried). These account for our mood of sadness, solemnity, and empathetic bereavement.

Unlike the poem’s subject, with the help of such words, its overall impression proves firm, immutable by poem’s end. Although “The Eemis Stane” might be interpreted simply as an intimate human struggle, MacDiarmid, like many great poets, stretches his words beyond the individual into a more universal context. We can see this happening foremost in the introduction of the word “history.” Employing a distinct lexical heritage, the poem is likely best understood as a metaphorical portrait of a people and culture’s displaced memory and shaken identity, and the far too common resulting experience of loss, confusion, and emptiness.


Read more Hugh MacDiarmid, aloud for the music or for the challenge of deciphering, but always for the artfulness of poetry:

For more from my collection of famous nature poetry, see:

square-rock-lichen-Nether-Largie-stone_DSCN3484_eds-2017-12-20

Lichen grows on a rock at the base of a Nether Largie standing stone in Kilmartin Glen, at the heart of Argyll & Bute on Scotland’s west coast. Image © 2016 C. L. Tangenberg


Two weeks later . . .

My eureka moment: Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry, 6–Oh, NOW I Get It! Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots


The entire Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry series

  1. Nature Poetry by Famous Poets excerpting Thomas Hardy’s “The Darkling Thrush”
  2. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (1a): “The Sunlight on the Garden”
  3. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (2): Elizabeth Bishop
  4. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (3): Wordsworth’s Daffodils
  5. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (4): Promise of a Fruitful Plath
  6. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (5): Of Mice, Men and Rabbie Burns
  7. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6): Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots
  8. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (6)–Oh, NOW I Get It!: Hugh MacDiarmid in Scots
  9. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (7): Black Legacies
  10. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (8): “Corsons Inlet” by A. R. Ammons
  11. Famous Poets’ Nature Poetry (9): “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”

Book Review: The Count of Monte Cristo

The Count of Monte Cristo

by Alexandre Dumas, père

Warning: This review and analysis include several spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Style and Substance

The writing in Alexandre Dumas’ historical French novel, relating a 19th-century tale of injustice and revenge, can be long winded. Readers might expect this when noting that an “unabridged” version ranges between 1100 and 1400 pages. With so much space consumed, we might suppose this writer who loved his craft was tempted into ostentation. Perhaps he was.

However, I wouldn’t call his style flowery; a tempted Dumas exhibits self-control. Understated and enticing, the author’s abundant wit, along with great storytelling and readable prose, justify the length of the text. Truly.

I finished this book club selection more than a month before our February meeting, quite the feat considering how often I don’t finish on time. Yes, I started before our last meeting about a single Agatha Christie short story, but never mind.

A suspenseful page-turner for most of its fecund pages, The Count of Monte Cristo kept me reading steadily to learn the fates of characters set aside for long, overlapping periods. My circumstances helped, but Dumas helped more.

Rooted in European history, the settings span a 25-year period of the early 1800s and explore diverse locations from sea and prison to Rome, Paris, and the French countryside. At the story’s fulcrum is the question of political loyalties and their implications. Early shifts in power between Royalists and Bonapartists animate the lever that decides the ground on which central characters begin their journeys.

The plot is intricate and well organized, and the story proves emotionally dynamic, replete with dramatic irony. Rhythmic flow springs from engaging dialogue, which, beside measured descriptive text, renders Monte Cristo a delightful, theatrical melodrama. Its film adaptations attest to this strength with their number.

count-monte-cristo-cast-into-the-sea

“Dantes Cast into the Sea” by French artist Dumont. George Routledge and Sons edition, 1888

Genre, or Who This Book Is For

My first, unspoiled reading never brought tears, drew audible gasps (maybe some silent ones), shocked me, or provoked any wild laughter. In that way, I see it as a steady, well-written, well-told yarn composed of entertaining threads. It is more dark, sweeping Romance in the Gothic tradition than affecting, relatable human drama. This fact tempered my enthusiasm somewhat, as I tend to prefer the latter.

Intrigue, mystery, crime, adventure–all in the particular context of early 1800s Continental politics and cultures–overshadow character complexity and intimacy despite dozens of highly emotional moments. Sadly, there are no kisses lip to lip, let alone sex scenes; sexual suggestiveness is rare and subtle.

Perhaps Victorian in those respects, the book offers some extreme violence, ample cold-blooded murder, and one instance where an unconscious maiden signifies rape. Several incidents are told as stories within the story, but such elements serve to emphasize the grisly tragedies and grotesque fascinations comprising the tale.

Specific Critiques and Praise

Among its flaws, The Count of Monte Cristo tends to telegraph plot points. Thus, prolonged suspense meets the anticlimax of predictable, but satisfying, outcomes. We could attribute this forecasting effect in part to the amount of space and time provided for the reader to guess results correctly, but it is noticeable.

[Second warning: If you’ve never read this book but think you might want to, leave this post now and go read it!]

Still, I felt great moral and literary satisfaction in anticipating the villains’ comeuppance. Then, the collateral damage is realistic and heart rending, dispelling any notion of a surgically precise wrath of God. Lingering questions about the fates of key characters also felt appropriate, particularly concerning Benedetto. As we leave him, we suspect he just might get away with his crimes.

The reader gains significant insight into more than half a dozen characters, sympathizing with their situations. By this method, Dumas succeeds in conveying the imperfect nature of vigilante justice (or any justice) as each major villain meets a punishment that may not match the severity or nature if his crime. The costs of vengeance are dear. Given the paths before these ends, the final choices and turns the antagonists make seem to befit their personalities, also well developed.

By contrast, I found the main character surprisingly underdeveloped for so long a work and despite, or perhaps because of, the different characters he embodies. Edmond Dantès’ journey is remarkable early on and leading into his manifold vengeance. The changes starting to take shape in the climax also work well, but the ending felt rushed. Dantès’ reflections seem insufficient, his remorse and renewed questing half hearted, and his love for his ward lukewarm and a bit convenient.

[Third and final warning: I really mean it this time – Turn back now or skip to the summary below, or suffer the consequences!]

One can imagine Dantès’ moral education continuing beyond the fifth volume of the story, along with the revival of his will to live and start again. I don’t personally need a neatly wrapped ending. Yet, if that emphasis on waiting and hoping was the author’s intent for Dantès as much as for other characters, I would have preferred hints of a more precarious future happiness for our primary hero, more of a sense that the next climb may be just as long and steep as the last.

For Love of Money

Other trouble comes in the author’s apparent emphasis on needing a seemingly limitless fortune to possess true, full freedom and happiness. This notion meets no significant challenge anywhere in the story, which I found strange, if not quite disappointing. Reinforcing this sentiment is the unmitigated misery associated with every example of poverty or even humble means. Dumas might look upon the poor as inherently noble creatures, morally superior, a Romantic vision, but he leaves no doubt that everyone from prince to pauper prefers, and even needs, substantial wealth. Such assumptions irritate.

The exceptions are the slaves the Count owns; Dumas portrays the happiness of Ali and Haydée to be as incandescent as their devotion is supreme. They hardly count, for they are completely dependent, without their own money, and thus without authentic agency. The author seems to doubt that even a single, independent Frenchman could be happy in this time and place without one of the following conditions: possessing great fortune or knowing the security of directly and loyally serving (or being a beneficiary of) a person of great fortune and benevolence, such as the Count of Monte Cristo.

Evidence accrues of the author’s money love. The vast majority of focus characters are members of high society and the wealthy elite, many of superior education, notable beauty, close royal connections, or distinguishing experience. Yet nowhere do riches serve as an obvious corrupting force, except in the most obvious, a priori cases of the antagonists.

The young people cradled in luxury from birth–Albert, Eugénie–adapt swiftly to financial uncertainty, if not to real or projected financial loss. Each is strong of mind, and each charges ahead with definitive plans. Their apparent lack of greed seems plausible, but how long will they last? On the contrary, how will the two most worthy, noble, and innocent characters (hint: not Albert or Eugénie) avoid their lives’ ruination upon acquiring an incalculable fortune?

Currency for the Count

During the rising action, as he operates like some other-worldly creature, at least the Count’s near immunity to the ill effects of being filthy rich seems reasonable. The immensity of the treasure he acquires coupled with the depth of the misery he has suffered accounts for it. There is no room for covetousness, for there is no need. His vision is fixed not on indulging his chosen life of opulence–for his jaded soul can hardly enjoy it–but on using it for convoluted, comprehensive payback.

It is in the name of this sophisticated vengeance for genuine wrongs against him that the Count wields his fortune, education, disguises, and cunning like a four-flanged mace of justice. It is only after his perceived atonement for such absolute revenge that the Count is finally ready to relinquish his wealth and the power and esteem it awarded him. As a result, he believes he needed the money only for the scores he had to settle, but without money going forward, his status and influence will fade.

The question is, Can he indeed adjust to this new reality? For an author whose characters so unilaterally and fervently depend upon prolific capitalism for their happiness, it would seem doubtful. It makes me curious to learn about the life of Alexandre Dumas (of which I currently know nothing), to seek a reason for this.

Revenge? What’s That?

Since the reader never has the chance to observe the changes in either the man who gives away his “first-rate” fortune or those who receive it–changes either in those who lose all they had or in those who squirrel away a buffer against such loss–the consequences of these shifts remain open ended. Despite the age difference between the Count and the younger people, all seem to be of a more flexible generation than their parents are regarding money, status, and survival.

What may be most telling is that none of the villains (1 of the 3 perhaps) truly suffers for very long the consequences of their greed and evil. Each escapes a traditional punishment the reader might think they deserve, whether doing so by their own free will or decidedly not. We never get to see them struggle for any notable duration without money, without status, without family.

They suffer in other ways, many established without the Count’s interference long before he catches up with them; most of it they have done to themselves. The prospect of loss terrifies them and they sustain heavy blows. However, no one reaches, before story’s end, the degree or longevity of deprivation and sorrow that Edmond Dantès has known at their hands.

An epilogue assuring the reader that the evildoers will all receive and experience what they deserve–whether in life or in death–might have been soothing. Without it, we can only guess, “wait and hope” that at least one of them does.

Mercédès

As to patriarchal double standards, I found the Count, if not Dumas, to be harsh in accusing and punishing Mercédès, Edmond’s betrothed before his imprisonment. She is also harsh in judging herself. The woman who becomes Countess de Morcerf, though marrying Edmond’s rival and persecutor, was technically as innocent as Valentine and Maximilien. Disgraced and poor in the end, she is convent bound as her son leaves for military service. The weight of having lost and again losing Edmond is her greatest regret, and rightly so, but it is through no fault of her own in either instance.

Her ignorance and naive perspective of wrongdoing matches Edmond’s as he begins his time in jail, and Mercédès does what she can to atone in the end. Yet the reader is left with the sense that her punishment is deserved, she has not done enough, and she was even a sort of prostitute under the circumstances–all of which is hyperbole. First, how could she have known? Second, what should she have done differently while kept in ignorance?

Mercédès nursed Edmond’s ailing father to his dying day, continued to appeal to the government for news of Edmond, and then made the best of loss and a loveless marriage, sought continuously to better herself, raised a worthy child, and finally relinquished all her ill-gotten gains.

Among all central characters, as Countess de Morcerf, Mercédès alone never seeks to harm anyone, only to save them. More than Haydée, who avenges her father, if not more than Valentine, who avenges no one directly, Mercédès is in fact among the most saintly of the story’s women. Also, because she is so very far superior to both Baroness Danglars and Madame de Villefort, the Countess de Morcerf receives more than unjust treatment.

The unwarranted nature and degree of Mercédès’ eventual suffering approach those of Edmond’s initial suffering. What is that one saying about those we love most? With nothing but vengeful hatred in Edmond’s heart as he enacts his plans, he has doomed his first love, Mercédès, from the start. Perhaps instead of “Frailty, thy name is woman” (Hamlet), the Shakespeare quotation Edmond should have studied and remembered is “The quality of mercy is not strain’d” (Merchant of Venice).

Summary Review

The Count of Monte Cristo is a robust, culturally observant work that explores the mysteries and ironies of destiny. Absorbing characters take shape at a good pace for the story’s length. There is clear, abundant evidence of the skill, the care–in short, the investment–applied by author Alexandre Dumas, père (senior). Although I would have preferred a more detailed look into the title character’s mind and the lessons he learns, the novel, like the Count himself, has earned its place among the classics. I doubt I’ll ever re-read the book entirely, but I imagine returning on occasion to dip into its turbulent, colorful, and ambitious pages.

My rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars.


Translation and Abridgement (No Spoilers)

À propos of length and language, I found no fully reliable, consistently clear, and high-quality English translation among the five versions I sampled while first reading and listening to the story. The Robin Buss translation published by Penguin Classics, though widely preferred and lauded, may be more complete than other unabridged editions, but I found the diction too contemporary, the phrasing overwrought, and the writing generally less elegant than in other editions.

Furthermore, while at times wrinkling my forehead in puzzlement at the Buss translation, I found the text of the Oxford World’s Classics 2008 edition–and even more so of the David Clarke Librivox recording and very similar Gutenberg Project epub ebook–to be more accurate, more logical and appropriate to story context, and more understandable in several instances.

I doubt this divergent assessment has anything to do with my having studied French for 8 years. It probably has more to do with my preferences for archaic diction, unusual syntax, and general clarity. A treasured French study background increased my enjoyment in part due to my understanding of the untranslated French expressions, such as “Pardieu!” (literally “By God” but meaning “Of course!” or “Indeed!”), but any astute reader can gather meaning from context.

Incidentally, David Clarke does a fabulous job with theatricality, French and Italian accents, male and female registers of voice, distinguishing main character voices, clear and consistent projection, and excellent articulation. Aside from occasional mispronunciations, Clarke may have stumbled once or twice in 117 chapters in the Librivox recording. Highly recommended. My having blended listening to recordings with reading ebooks and print copies is largely what allowed me to keep my momentum and finish this massive book quickly.

The Gutenberg file uses the 1888 illustrated (and non-illustrated) George Routledge and Sons edition. I thoroughly enjoyed the illustrations by various French artists of the period provided in the .html version of that file. The claim of Robin Buss’s work in the Penguin Classics translation is the supposed recovery of and return to nuances of the original text that had been lost in earlier editions, and I can see some of that happening as well.

The comparable heft of the Modern Library Classics edition suggests little to no abridgement, but I found it makes noticeable, unnecessary cuts, at least to descriptive text in the few parts I bothered to read.

At any rate, we must allow that some flaws resulting from translation could be due to the original author’s style and diction in French as well. I recommend reading an unabridged edition if you read the book at all. Furthermore, if you are fluent, I feel confident, without having read it myself, in advising you to read the original French instead of a translation into English or other languages. Bien sur! (Pardieu!)


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Book Review: Molière’s Tartuffe

Five-Phrase Friday (28): Roots & Rivers

“Five English phrases” is the “name” of this game, but some day I’ll have to come up with a single word that means the same thing. Maybe quinque-Angli-phrasis. That’s Latin, Latin, and Greek. Nah, it should be something more rhythmic, more elegant–just better.

Both the complex and the simple can be graceful, and at least they’re both usually interesting to us linguaphiles. Complex single words derived from other languages often translate into simpler descriptive phrases in English. Native American peoples and other indigenous cultures have created many such words, and we see it in the Latin-based scientific names of plant and animal species.

English word roots, parts, or loan words may be Greek, Spanish, French, German, Portuguese, Native American, Gaelic, Zulu, Egyptian, Persian, Hebrew, Urdu, Hindi, Swahili, Japanese, Chinese, Slavic, Fijian, or some combination of these or others.

No language that one can learn across cultures, continents, and oceans can ever remain pure in itself. No country made so culturally rich and economically strong by the influx of so many immigrants can claim an authentically singular native tongue. Thus, English reaching out from its origins remains multi-lingual, just as America collecting its masses and individuals has always been so.

In the grand scheme of global language development, the difference between word and phrase dwindles in significance, and in comparing how different languages are constructed, the division of linguistic units may begin to seem rather arbitrary.

Still, while my series fixates on the phrasal unit in English, I might as well enjoy the poetry, mysticism, and general creativity of the descriptive wildlife phrases that equate to the single words naming animals we know.

Certain one-word mammal names have quite appropriate phrasal meanings.

  1. aardvark means “earth-pig” in Afrikaans
  2. elephant – “The Zulu, Tswana and Tsonga names for the elephant all mean ‘the forceful one’, ‘the unstoppable one’.” – source: http://www.krugerpark.co.za/krugerpark-times-2-1-animals-name-18978.html
  3. hippopotamus – Its common name is “river horse,” from the Greek, because it spends most of its time in lakes. The pygmy hippopotamus likes forest streams.
  4. orangutan – “‘Orang’ and ‘utan’ are the Malay words meaning ‘person’ and ‘forest’; the orangutan is literally a ‘person of the forest’.” – source: http://ypte.org.uk/topics/animal-facts
  5. The rhinoceros gets its name through Latin from Ancient Greek: “nose horn”

As you may gather from the examples, words that name less common wild animals stem from a core concept that takes more familiar things and specializes them based on the unique animal’s appearance or behavior. For instance, someone may not be familiar with a hippopotamus outside of Africa, but a horse is a much more common sight and, so, a concept we can use as a foundation for meaning. The complete phrases can seem either fitting or odd depending on one’s frame of reference, but the core concept penetrates.

Even if you don’t know the proper label for an unusual animal, if you start with its most unique features, you may just hit upon a phrase that means the same thing. Close is often close enough. After all, if communication can truly bring about human harmony, and if language’s best purpose is communication, then a shared sense is the key to shared meaning.

pygmy hippopotamus mother and baby. source: pinterest.com via duckduckgo.com.

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Book Review: Molière’s Tartuffe

Le Tartuffe, ou l’Imposteur (Tartuffe, or the Hypocrite)

by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière

Note: In this detailed review, I discuss most significant plot turns, character developments and interactions, and issues of authorship and publication. I also compare English and French versions. These aspects may or may not spoil the book for you.

Another classic for my book club, this 17th-century comic play I read during November in both French* and English**, brushing up on some French vocabulary, switching to English when the going became too cumbersome. My first reading was in college French class. A manageable English read, the piece is relatively light in mood and not of excessive length, with a straightforward plot to match.

In French, Molière demonstrates impressive poetic skill, rhyming the entire work in couplets of roughly 6-foot meter (one more foot than in pentameter, for those learning prosody) and of varying rhythm (i.e., not all iambic). These elements augment the original language’s inherent music.

Certain translations of Tartuffe into English, our group discovered, take liberties with the bawdiness level (raising it) and modulate the degree of rhyming compared to the French version, among differences beyond the universal dilemma regarding works in translation: Some are simply truer to the original than others.

Tartuffe is a play with a societal message—a critique of the false zealot wherever he may rear his head, but particularly within the French religious establishment. It was so effective in touching a nerve in the day that the Church succeeded in convincing King Louis XIV to ban the play, which led to Molière’s significant revisions and redactions. It would be fascinating to be able to read the uncensored version for a clearer picture of Molière’s creative vision and political viewpoint, but alas, it has been lost to history.

Among admirable characters, Dorine shines as the ultimate bold and witty servant; lady of the house Elmire provides subtler moments of comic relief; and her brother Cléante is a great voice of reason advising the rest of the family. A kind of echo of Orgon, the young Damis lacks his father’s severe blindness to the impostor’s potential villainy.

Master of the house, Orgon, like his mother Madame Pernelle, is quite simply a blustering idiot and, I would argue, Molière’s primary satirical target as the French society archetype of the unthinking hothead. So easily and completely duped by vice in the guise of virtue, Orgon extends his obstinacy to the point of dismissing all his family’s concerns and doubting all their testimonies. He must, and does, see for himself.

At last, and late in the play, we come to the title character. Tartuffe represents the hypocritical icon pretending to be a holy pauper whom Orgon has taken in, but it is really Orgon who is taken in by Tartuffe. Using the veneer of Heaven, the impostor insinuates himself to gain power, financial reward, and the sexual conquest of the ladies of the house—the mother through lust and the daughter through marriage—and all right under Orgon’s nose. But like the young couple in love, Mariane (Orgon’s daughter) and Valère, Tartuffe serves merely as the fulcrum on which the household’s foolish zeal and reason rise and fall.

Overall, the action keeps a steady pace, and the dramatic developments are interesting and often amusing, but, primarily a play of ideas, Tartuffe studies the nature of morality and its pretensions in the hands of people. With the rather abrupt surviving ending, the Prince of France is exalted as a practically omniscient god swooping in to solve all conflicts swiftly and at once, dispensing justice against the impostor Tartuffe and supporting his loyal subject Orgon. The ass-kissing on Molière’s part is obvious, if understandable.

Despite this positive turn, with Orgon unchanged and a household saved from itself, it is zeal and emotionality—not reason—that emerge victorious.

Through the main characters’ portrayal, Molière manages to declare mixed results. After all, to adapt Obi-Wan Kenobi’s line from the film Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope, “Who’s the more foolish—the fool or the fool who follows him?” Who is the more dangerous figure? The cowardly, deceitful impostor or the extremist who violently shifts from blind zeal to blind rage in response to him? As layered in vice as Tartuffe is, Molière seems to condemn the latter more than the former. At least Tartuffe has a purpose, a method to his menace, whereas Orgon is aimlessly volatile.

Importantly, rationality, the one true weapon against the cowardly, hidden vice posing as and extolling virtue–that phenomenon the French call l’hypocrisie–arises from neither Orgon nor his Sovereign, but from his policing brother-in-law. As the curtains close, this measured man Cléante, and perhaps to a lesser extent the ill-respected and snarky Dorine, seems forever fated to keep his sister’s husband out of the trouble into which he so easily falls and drags the rest of his family.

If Molière has inserted himself into his most famous work, surely it is in the form of Cléante, but the extent to which post-publication surgery disfigured this apparent face of reason can never be known. Tangible life lessons and social critiques come through nonetheless, as Molière’s Tartuffe trains the discerning reader to think about, if not quite see through, even his own comedy’s “Tartuffery.”

My ratings: 4 out of 5 stars for the French edition*, 3 stars for the English translation**


* Goodreads.com metadata on the French edition I used:

I created this edition on Goodreads.
Le Tartuffe
0.00  ·  rating details  ·  0 ratings  ·  1 review
Paperback, Classiques Larousse – Texte Integral, 200 pages
Published 1990 by Larousse (first published February 5th 1669)
original title Le Tartuffe ou l’Imposteur
ISBN 2038713151

** Goodreads.com metadata on the English translation I used:

TARTUFFE OR THE HYPOCRITE
by Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière, Curtis Hidden Page (Translator), Dagny and John Vickers (Producers)
Average: 3.65 of 5 stars  ·  rating details  ·  19,983 ratings  ·  427 reviews
Released January 2000.
ebook, EBook #2027, 126 pages.
Published October 26th 2008 by Project Gutenberg
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2027 (first published 1664)


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Book Review: The Count of Monte Cristo