Beauty's inventory

It pleases me to relate for my dear readers the following conversation piece from a recent gathering of my MeetUp society, known as the Amateur Shakespeare Society, of which I am both the Supreme Leader and Founder.

Upon this evening, a number of us had been assembled in my house, and some of us were either playing backgammon, or reading the New York Times, skimming over penetrating journalistic accounts of the world’s damnation,. Happily, in the pages of the Art Section my attention was captured by a photograph of some movie actress, “I say, if this isn’t most lovely pair of lips on a woman, then I’m a rotten villain. See for yourself, ladies and gentlemen, if these lips be not some miracle of nature. Oh to have such a deep red too. Such heavenly shade as was never seen before. ” Following my panaegeric upon the lady’s lips, everyone had turned to the said photograph to confirm for themselves the truth of my discovery.

“Aye, no doubt these be the loveliest lips,”---said Mr. Slepovitch.---“They are delicious,”---said Mr. Byrd.---“Marvelous lips. Marvelous. Spectacular. Large but not vulgar,”---said Mr. Brockden.---“Forsooth, they are charming and deserve to be respected by all human creatures,”—said Miss Farquhar.

While my friends were thus admiring the lady’s lips, I had come across another photograph in the newspaper, upon which I was compelled to make the following observation, “Egad, are these eyes not but the orbs of heaven?” I could hardly believe my own luck in having made such splendid discoveries twice in a row. “Aye, and with such lids to them. Do they not flutter like the wings of a cherub? Now, I say, ladies and gentlemen, let us worship these heavenly eyes that belong to this sublunary creature in the photograph.”

“Indeed, I adore her eye,”---said Mr. Slepovitch.—“I love her eyes,”—said Mr.Chatterjee.---“I worship her eyes,”---said Mr. Byrd.---“More beautiful than my own wife’s,”---said Mr. Lishmago.---“Their expression so highly articulated,”---declared Miss Carrington.---“They ought to be set up as models for nature to bestow upon all honest members the fair sex,”---said Miss Farquhar.---“The nonpareil of eyes,”---said Mr. Brockden.

Mr. Lismahago, being highly desirous to satisfy the people in like manner, turned to his newspaper and found one photograph that particularly struck his fancy, for he thus spoke forth, “I’faith, look at this fine chin. I would be a damnable friend indeed if I didn’t show you this chin as you see here in this photograph. How graceful a line is here, what think you? And look how proudly she carries her chin. Have you seen a chin this gorgeous before?” And he identified the photograph where such a chin may be found, to which we had all turned to marvel at its beauty.

“I’ll grant you, a fine, strong chin,”---said Slepovitch.---“No, ’tis only an average chin,”---said Miss Shanka.---“My chin is no doubt superior to this chin here,”---said Miss Farquhar.---“There may be grace, but, alas, little intelligence to it,”---said Mr. Chatterjee.---“A little too much pride in that chin, I’m afraid,”---said Mr. Hutchenson.

It appeared to us that Lismahago was rather vexed by the mixed reception he received, and troubled by his inability to identify real beauty, as I evidently could. So my attention returned to the newspaper, whereupon I endeavored to read several articles about the sorry state of our society. Yet another picture of a lady had suddenly caught my attention, “I beseech you all to have a look at her beautiful nose. Come look, admire its charm, and those delicate nostrils. Upon my word, a woman with a lovelier proboscis lives not among us.” Everyone turned to the place in the newspaper where this nose could be found and, if my words held true, to be properly commended.

“A most handsome nose. Very gentle too,”---said Mr. Slepovitch---“I would give my chin for her nose,”---said Miss Farquahar.---“Splendid. Splendid nose,”---said Mr. Brockden.---“Such nose can not be worth less than four hundred ducats. It may fetch a fine sum of money indeed on the market,”---said Mr. Rosenthall.---“Zounds man, it may fetch five hundred ducats any day,”---said Mr. Lismahago---“What blasphemy. Six hundred ducats for that nose, and not a pfennig less,”---said Slepovitch---“Nay, six hundred and fifty,”---said Brockden.

“Please, gentlemen, cease your knockabouts. We are here to praise beauty, not to appraise her. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, let us raise our goblets high to Lady Beauty.” And so we swallowed our glasses empty---and shortly thereafter the ladies burst forth into much coquettish laughter, while the gentlemen did fraternally start to pat each other on the back, and then proceeded to shake each other’s hands for several merry rounds.

“Gentlemen, let us not forget the marvels of earthly beauty we have here in the flesh,” declared I, indicating all the ladies in the room, with a swarth of my arm, for we were indeed blessed to have upon attendance such beautiful female creatures as Miss Ursula Farquhar, Miss Constantina Carrington, and Miss Betsey Shanka.

“Were lovelier cheekbones ever seen than Miss Farquhar’s? “proclaimed I. “What say you my friends to a drink to Miss Farquhar and her superior cheekbones.” So we all took another hearty gulp of wine to honor Miss Farquhar’s cheekbones.

“And let us not forget Miss Constantina’s hair,” said Lismahago, “and give her hair the proper worship it deserves. Would that you join me in drinking to Miss Constantina’s hair. I confess to being a life-long admirer of that lovely fleece,” finished Mr. Lismahago, and we all took in a thimbleful of wine in honor of Miss Constantina’s beautiful hide.

“Upon my word, if anyone has seen a lovelier pair of elbows than those of Miss Shanka’s, I would surely like to see them.” declared Mr. Rosenthall. “By Gad, I’d wager any man seven hundred ducats a more handsome pair of elbows cannot be found in all Christendom. So let the canakins clink, my friends, in tribute to Miss Shanka’s elbows,” said Mr Rosenthall. We refilled our bumpers with sack, and took in another bibulous round. O'er flowing with the sanguine press, Slepovitch performed a Russian jig to our utmost satisfaction.     

And in such manner did we spend another meeting of our society, in a worshipful inventorying of Lady Beauty’s virtues.         

from Samuel Butler's "Erewhon," chapter XXV "The Book of the Machines"

“For how many emergencies is an oyster adapted?  For as many as are likely to happen to it, and no more.  So are the machines; and so is man himself.  The list of casualties that daily occur to man through his want of adaptability is probably as great as that occurring to the machines; and every day gives them some greater provision for the unforeseen.  Let any one examine the wonderful self-regulating and self-adjusting contrivances which are now incorporated with the vapour-engine, let him watch the way in which it supplies itself with oil; in which it indicates its wants to those who tend it; in which, by the governor, it regulates its application of its own strength; let him look at that store-house of inertia and momentum the fly-wheel, or at the buffers on a railway carriage; let him see how those improvements are being selected for perpetuity which contain provision against the emergencies that may arise to harass the machines, and then let him think of a hundred thousand years, and the accumulated progress which they will bring unless man can be awakened to a sense of his situation, and of the doom which he is preparing for himself.”

From Samuel Butler's "Erewhon," chapter XXIII "The Book of the Machines"

"Surely if a machine is able to reproduce another machine systematically, we may say that it has a reproductive system.  What is a reproductive system, if it be not a system for reproduction?  And how few of the machines are there which have not been produced systematically by other machines?  But it is man that makes them do so.  Yes; but is it not insects that make many of the plants reproductive, and would not whole families of plants die out if their fertilisation was not effected by a class of agents utterly foreign to themselves?  Does any one say that the red clover has no reproductive system because the humble bee (and the humble bee only) must aid and abet it before it can reproduce?  No one.  The humble bee is a part of the reproductive system of the clover.  Each one of ourselves has sprung from minute animalcules whose entity was entirely distinct from our own, and which acted after their kind with no thought or heed of what we might think about it.  These little creatures are part of our own reproductive system; then why not we part of that of the machines?"

Who stole the cookie from the amphora?

From NY Times advice column "Social Qs," published October 3, 2013
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Turning the Table

My husband’s friend made a beautiful coffee table for us as a wedding gift. We have kept it for over a decade, even though it is much too large for our living room. Now we have a toddler, and I am afraid that he will hurt himself by stumbling into the table (even though we baby-proofed the edges). Should we discuss the table with our friend and offer to give it back to him, replace it and say nothing, or just keep it? My husband votes for the last, but he is sentimental. If it matters, we rarely see the friend.

Anonymous, Brooklyn

Dear Anonymous,

You should certainly keep the table, and then make sure to ask favor of your carpenter friend to undo the damage you caused the coffee table when you “baby-proofed the edges.”

Indeed, if you permit this digression, I am opposed to the excessive degrees to which parents go to accommodate their household upon the arrival of a child, hoping to shield little Jonathan from potential collisions and skirmishes with the furniture.  Alas, modern society has erected too many artificial fences, as it were, between a child and the state of nature. If the child’s growth is to be successful, it must be about learning---both through self-experimentation and parental guidance---to examine the natural world around him and to separate the objects of nature into two categories: those that are dangerous and those not.  

Moreover, when nowadays the child proceeds to examine the world through his sense of touch, he soon makes the unfortunate discovery that, instead of natural materials, all household products tend to be constructed of synthetic materials, or natural ones of grossly inferior element.  Instead of mahogany, walnut, or teak, modern furniture is built mainly of that vulgar admixture known as “particle board.”

This appalling trend relates also to society’s increasing preference for electronic over paper books. Yet consider the differences in textures, if you will, between an object made of Morocco leather and one made of high-impact polystyrene (as the scientists call it), of which most electronic gew-gaw casing is made, as well as PVC sewer pipes. Consider also the difference between the smell of buckram or vellum and the smell of a polycarbonate-enclosed smart phone. Alas, the child growing up today is deprived of such pleasures as smelling Morocco leather, or of feeling fustian and linsey-woolsey fabrics; and ‘tis no doubt owing to people like you, who would repudiate as “sentimental” these kind of differences.

Finally, allow me to offer the following simple solution to your problem. I urge that you henceforth devote less time upon various internet-related activities, such as tweetering, facebooking, and emailing, and more upon attending to your child’s living-room perambulations.