Dear
Cicero,
One
drop of water is all you need to sound the depth of a well, and if
the light you shine down the shaft is bright enough, you might even
see the ripples. So it is with history. It only takes one story to
drop into your mind for you to realise with sudden awe, the depth of
history, and for most people, that one drop is enough. If that story
stays with them, and they are moved by the veracity or the message of
the tale, then that depth is added to their depth, and
all of their present actions carry with them the depth of the history
that is known through them.
For
others, the well must not only be sounded, it must be explored and
dug deeper. The stack of books on my bedside table now casts a long
shadow across the bed as I excavate the mysteries of the past. All
my dead friends are here with me to help with the work.
A
woman approached me in the market yesterday, a familiar face from the
crowd of parents who gather at the school in the afternoon to pick
their children up from class. I sometimes play music as I sit and
wait, and one day, some weeks ago, this woman sat beside me as I
played. We didn't converse, we were both listening to the music I
guess.
When
she approached me yesterday, she told me that on that previous day
when she had sat beside me, her father had but recently passed, and
that the music reached into her heart and made her feel better. As
she spoke, I could see her tears welling up as the tide swells
beneath the moon, and she could say no more. I thanked her as best I
could, glad that my music had reached her and given her something
good.
Cicero,
how deep is the well of history, and how deep is the well of our
hearts? Is music a language that all can speak, and is the history
of music a parallel mirror to the development of human feeling?
I
have been trying to learn the First Delphic Hymn. This is as far
down as I am able to hear the water droplets in the well of music
history. It is as close as I can get to hearing the music you might
have heard.
Original Delphic Hymn fragment
I
have a little Glockenspiel, a delightful instrument, and despite my
inexperience in learning music from written sources, and despite the
knowledge that the way I am playing the melody is rather different
from the other recordings, I am enjoying the experience immensely.
The scale alone is fascinating, so haunting and dreamy, each
resolution seems to offer deeper mysteries.
I
had thought that I was going to write to you about some music quotes
I've found from other writers. I wanted to discuss the social
attitudes towards music and musicians, but I think I will bring that
up with Plutarch. Now that I have finished reading The Fall of
Athens, I can see that he had a much greater interest in music than
you Cicero.
With
you I would rather talk of friendship. A virtue you share in
praising with the Epicurean philosophers and which you have at length
written about. However, since your essay, 'On Friendship' has yet to
arrive at the book store, I will instead talk of Giraffes. You see,
I've been reading this other book about a Giraffe that was
transported from Egypt to France in 1826 CE. It tells a
fascinatingly detailed story of the journey, along the way talking
about a lot of other related history, including the tale of the
Giraffe that Caesar transported from Egypt to Rome in 46 BCE. He
presented it to the people as part of his triumphal procession
through city, paraded along with “...hundreds of caged lions,
and leopards and black panthers and other strange and dangerous
beasts, baboons and green monkeys, hunting salukis (the world's
oldest breed of domesticated dog), Nile parrots and parakeets,
flamingos and ostriches, slaves and ivory and emeralds and gold and a
great number of elephants bearing torches...”, or so Michael
Allin, author of Zarafa writes. So I decided to look for some
eye witness reports, just to confirm.
Saluki Dogs
Suetonius
remarks of Caesar, that "if anything rare and worth seeing
was ever brought to the city, it was his habit to make a special
exhibit of it in any convenient place on days when no shows were
appointed.” Later emperors were not always so kind, and
giraffes sometimes ended up being killed by lions or gladiators in
the circus.
Cicero,
did you see this Giraffe? The first of its kind to travel so far.
You were in Rome at the time weren't you? You married Publilia that
year. I wonder if it's mentioned in any of your letters, or if you
make reference to it in some other essay or speech. It would have
been a pretty big deal at the time, just as it was still a big deal
in the 1820's when Muhammad Ali, Ottomon Viceroy of Egypt, sent a
Giraffe to King Charles X in Paris, and a second to King George IV in
London. Politically motivated of course, this was not done in the
name of zoology. Ali wanted to curry favour with the European
monarchs to gain their support for, or at least non-interference in
the war he was about to launch on Greece.
The
giraffe sent to England fell ill en route and died in London in 1829,
but during her time in the city, she was cared for with great
attention by King George. A portrait of her shows an amulet around
her neck, containing verses of the Koran, a protection against the
evil eye. The same amulet was worn by her sister, Zarafa, who was
sent to Paris.
Zarafa's
story is longer and more interesting...but...I haven't finished the
book yet, so I can't finish her story for you. There is another tale
I can relate however, of another giraffe making the journey from
Egypt to Florence, in 1486. Sent by the Mameluke Sultan, Quait Bey
to Lorenzo de' Medici as a gift to maintain good relations with the
Christians (or so the history books say). Lorenzo the Magnificent
returned the gift with a white bear.
Saint
Hiliare recounts that the giraffe sent to Florence “...was
associated, sentimentally at least, with the second storeys of the
noble houses of the city...she went every day to take food from the
hands of the ladies of Florence, of whom she became the adopted
daughter; these repasts consisted of several kinds of fruit,
principally apples.”
I
don't know where I'm going with all this...historical wells, music,
giraffes...it hardly matters. I could talk to you about anything.
I'll write more later...
*
* *
A
strange day at work, a bluster, a pre-storm heat blown ahead of a
crumbling reef of clouds.
Then
sunset, like the shining face of God peering through the roof of the
world, beams of brilliant golden-orange-purple-and-white light. My
son and I stare in silent wonder.
Then
evening, band practice at the tavern on Port Road. Food and drink
and dance and laughter and children playing and all the world outside
that room turning and we play on unawares.
Through
the glittering night, the homeward return
Through
deepening darkness to a moonlit valley
Beneath
the shadows of trees, a glimmer of light
Home.
Home.
Did
you see the giraffe Cicero? Was your daughter Tullia there? I
imagine the two of you standing in the crowd watching Caesar's
Triumph, smiling and happy as the wild beasts from foreign lands were
paraded through the streets, as proud soldiers and chained slaves and
plundered treasures and dancers and musicians filled the city roads
for hours. This might have been a happy memory for you and Tullia
together, in the last year of her life.
Before
everything fell apart.
I
will write again soon, dear friend.
With
compassion.
Morgan.
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