Mr Al-Khapoun's Christmas Quiz, 1990

Neither snow nor rain, nor gloom of night, shall stay Mr Al-Khapoun, of the Philistine/Liberace Organisation, from his self-appointed task of making a nuisance of himself to the bookish. Below are ten quotations to be identified, all specially chosen by Mr Al-Khapoun so as to make this task nearly impossible. Last year there was one in French and one in German: this was so unpopular that this year Mr Al-Khapoun has unhesitatingly done it again. He has appended an approximate translation for the German one, but has decided that it would be inappropriate in the case of the French. At least the authors are all fairly well-known, except perhaps in the case of the writer of German, whose is probably best known on account of a film based on one of his works. One of the pieces is a translation: both the original writer and the translator are very famous indeed.

Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow,
Wonderful kisses, so that I became
Crowned above Queens - a withered beldame now,
Brooding on an ancient fame.
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Sie erwiderte, daß sie vor allem das Studium der höhern Mathematik betriebe, in das sie durch Professor Morgagni, den berühmten Lehrer an der Universität von Bologna, eingeführt worden sei. Casanova äusserte seine Verwunderung über ein solches bei anmutigen jungen Mädchen wahrlich ungewöhnliches Interesse an einem so schwierigen und dabei nüchternen Gegenstand, erhielt aber von Marcolina die Antwort, daß ihrer Ansicht nach die höhere Mathematik die phantastischeste, ja man könnte sagen, unter allen Wissenschaften die ihrer Natur nach wahrhaft göttliche vorstelle.
[She replied that she mainly studied higher mathematics, which she had been introduced to by the famous Professor Morgagni of Bologna University. C-- expressed surprise that an attractive girl should be interested in such a difficult and dry subject; but Marcolina answered that in her opinion higher mathematics was the most imaginative and, one might even say, the most truly divine by nature of all sciences.]
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Rouze up, O Young Men of the New Age! set your foreheads against the ignorant Hirelings! For we have Hirelings in the Camp, the Court & the University who would, if they could, for ever depress Mental & prolong Corporeal War. Painters! on you I call. Sculptors! Architects! Suffer not the fashionable Fools to depress your powers by the prices they pretend to give for contemptible works, or the expensive advertizing boasts that they make of such works: believe Christ & his Apostles that there is a Class of Men whose whole delight is in Destroying.
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No mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
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Demeure; il faut choisir, et passer à l'instant
De la vie à la mort, ou de l'être au néant.
Dieux cruels! s'il en est, éclairez mon courage.
Faut-il vieillir courbé sous la main qui m'outrage,
Supporter ou finir mon malheur et mon sort?
Qui suis-je? qui m'arrête; et qu'est-ce que la mort?
C'est la fin de nos maux, c'est mon unique asile;
Après des longs transports, c'est un sommeil tranquille;
On s'endort, et tout meurt. Mais un affreux réveil
Doit succéder peut-être aux douceurs du sommeil.
On nous menace, on dit que cette courte vie
Des tourments éternels est aussitôt suivie.
O mort! moment fatal! affreuse éternité!
Tout coeur à ton seul nom se glace, épouvanté.
Eh! qui pourrait sans toi supporter cette vie,
De nos Prêtres menteurs bénir l'hypocrisie,
D'une indigne maîtresse encenser les erreurs,
Ramper sous un Ministre, adorer ses hauteurs,
Et montrer les langueurs de son âme abbatue
À des amis ingrats qui détournent la vue?
La mort serait trop douce en ces extrémités;
Mais le scrupule parle, et nous crie «Arrêtez.»
Il défend à nos mains cet heureux homicide,
Et d'un Héros guerrier fait un chrétien timide.
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I simply don't care a row of buttons whether it was a goal or not nature alone is beautiful.
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From that day dates the corporate existence of the two great parties which have ever since alternately governed the country. In one sense, indeed, the distinction which then became obvious had always existed, and always must exist. For it has its origin in diversities of temper, of understanding, and of interest, which are found in all societies, and which will be found until the human mind ceases to be drawn in opposite directions by the charm of habit and by the charm of novelty. Not only in politics, but in literature, in art, in surgery and mechanics, in navigation and agriculture, nay, even in mathematics, we find this distinction. Everywhere there is a class of men who cling with fondness to whatever is ancient, and who, even when convinced by overpowering reasons that innovation would be beneficial, consent to it with many misgivings and forebodings. We find also everywhere another class of men, sanguine in hope, bold in speculation, always pressing forward, quick to discern the imperfections of whatever exists, disposed to think lightly of the risks and inconveniences which attend improvements, and disposed to give every change credit for being an improvement.
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For truth . . . those dots mark the spot where, in search of truth, I missed the turning up to F--. Yes indeed, which was truth and which was illusion? I asked myself. What was the truth about these houses, for example, dim and festive now with their red windows in the dusk, but raw and red and squalid, with their sweets and their bootlaces, at nine o'clock in the morning? And the willows and the river and the gardens that run down to the river, vague now with the mist stealing over them, but gold and red in the sunlight - which was the truth, and which was the illusion about them? I spare you the twists and turns of my cogitations for no conclusion was found on the road to Headingley, and I ask you to suppose that I soon found out my mistake about the turning and retraced my steps to F--.
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I stepped from plank to plank,
A slow and cautious way;
The stars about my head I felt,
About my feet the sea.
I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch.
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience.
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The enthusiast for the idea, for reason, values reason, the idea, in and for themselves; he values them, irrespectively of the practical conveniences which their triumph may obtain from him; and the man who regards the possession of these practical conveniences as something sufficient in itself, something which compensates for the absence or surrender of the idea, of reason, is, in his eyes, a Philistine.
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