Amica

[Barbaria1]

Amica is so good Luna. I still don't get alerts and am always surprised every now and then, like today, to learn I have missed a couple episodes. The story-telling is so rich, not only in its narrative but also in the details of setting, events, places, practices and literary references. This last one is deliciously oblique and mystical.

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 54


I’ve not slept all night, my mind keeps coming back to the words of Eulalia’s poem, why’s she just written so few words to me? ..... What lies hidden in them? ..... And that last sentence, ..... so enigmatic, ..... so out of context, ..... in Latin rather than Greek. ..... What does the intimate fire reveal? ..... Who should the intimate fire reveal? ..... Or what must it reveal? ......Who or what ....? except that I’m the moon..... but what are the stars, that I hide with my light? Is it..... simplifying ..... the fire reveals the stars that are hidden by the moon? ..... or more, or less, ..... but it remains to be understood what are the stars, and and what is the earth ..... and the fire. Simplifying again..... fire reveals the stars above the earth...?

Let's go back to the start, ..... keep calm.... think..... on this sheet of papyrus, so big yet with only a few words, what could be missing - or hiding....? Only other words ....? Ah! ..... The stars ..... the earth ..... what’s that, if it isn’t the papyrus.....? So the fire reveals the words, hidden, on the sheet! ..... Maybe I’ve got there! ..... But fire would destroy the papyrus and everything would vanish in a little blaze..... but if the fire is not to burn ..... it must only illuminate .....hey! ..... I’ve got to look at the papyrus in the light ..... but haven’t I already done that? ..... I couldn’t look at it in the dark ..... but how do I have to look? ..... It says 'intimate fire'.... maybe it means I have to look at the sheet by the light of a lamp? ..... that's it, maybe, ..... to read the message, I’ve got to bring it close to the flame of a candle..... yeah, yeah! ..... But I’ll have to be careful ..... I mustn’t let Rectina see me while I’m trying to 'cook' the papyrus near the flame..... then she might think I’m keeping up a secret correspondence with Eulalia passing on secrets out of her house, when I’ve promised absolute confidentiality. Tomorrow I’ll try, I just have to find the right moment.

Now I must get a little sleep, tomorrow will be a busy day...



And in my mind drift those words:

The stars around the graceful moon
hide again their radiant forms
when full she shines brightest
above the earth .....
intimate fire reveals...


At last I fall asleep, overcome by fatigue.

A sharp noise, like a vase breaking on the ground, wakes me up suddenly. Then wind, a blinding flash, thunder at the same moment - fortunately, it isn’t an earthquake, although many things rattled at the noise. Rectina calls out, scared, I run to her - I sleep in the anteroom next to her bedroom.

'Come, give me a hug! These storms scare me! I always think of the severe earthquake I felt when I was a child!'

I too am very scared, especially by thunder and lightning as sudden as it happens here. The wind’s broken the glass in one of the windows, and now the water’s flooding into the room, driven by the fury of the storm. Even the slave-woman who attends on her rushes in immediately from the next room, we gather like castaways, hugging together on the bed, as if to protect our mistress with our own fragile bodies.

Euken soon comes with other slaves to take us safely to the other side of the villa, that looks towards the mountain. From the gutters torrents of water are overflowing into the pool in the atrium, and eddies of wind hurl spray everywhere from the cascades that gush from the spouts on the roof. We barely manage to protect Rectina from these water-jets, while we try to reach safety on the other side of the villa, as do the other slavegirls aroused from their sleep by the storm. Now we’re all crowded together in a spacious room, in the most sheltered one in the house, while outside in the garden and in the peristyle the fury of elements continues unabated.

Shattereing of broken branches and thuds from tumbling objects, explosions of thunder that boom relentlessly and the continual shaking of the walls, flashes of lightning and howling of the wind, roar of the sea and the crashing of waves breaking on the cliffs below.

A high, shrill cry, a jumbled lament, sighs, groans, prayers, invocations to the gods, like the moaning of an injured dog, and at last silence falls in candlelight, only the hissing of the rain.

An endless time, eyes full of terror, faces pale and frightened, locks of hair dishevelled, children staring, peeping out from where they’re hidden in the scanty dresses of their mothers, we’re only reassured by the presence of our mistress and the warm light of a few braziers in the company of the mute presence of marble busts lined up on shelves along the walls.

Then everything becomes quiet, even the wind, even the rain, even the sea. This small crowd of frightened women finally emerges from the ark that’s given them refuge.

Everywhere there’s water, mud, broken branches and crushed leaves, tiles and broken jars, statues toppled, curtains torn, and cold that penetrates to the bone. The male slaves begin gathering up the rubble, slave-women start cleaning up with mops and rags, trying to get rid of the water that has invaded the villa. Rectina, her personal slave and I go back to her room to find some warm, dry clothes. I look for Eulalia’s letter, it’s miraculously saved, hidden under the wooden lid of the desk. While the slaves are dressing Mistress, I position the sheet near to the light of a candle, closer and closer... tiny writing appears, miraculously, brown, not of ink, it seems to be one with the fibres of the papyrus. I’ve no time to read it now, I’ll do that later when my mistress goes to bed and I’ll have to transcribe the diary for the day....

We spend most of the rest of the day making an inventory of damage: five marble statues to be repaired, a dozen amphorae to throw out, curtains that can be used now only for rags, and the work for the masons, roof-tiles to be replaced, new window panes – Euken tots up the budget for these things, scratching the list of repairs to be made with the tip of a nail on a shard from a smashed amphora. We can’t even guess the amount of damage to the trees in the garden.

Then we go down to the harbour. To the great distress of Rectina, we realize that the sea has washed away most of the sandy shore and the long quay. There were no boats moored there at the time, but many others, surely ones belonging to fishermen of the Herculaneum nearby, are scattered wrecks and shredded sails.

I bend down to pick up the shell of a nautilus, empty, wrested from the depths of the sea by the stormy waves and hurled onto the black sand among the pebbles laid bare by the storm. Another thing, almost like a miracle, is an intact egg of a seabird. I pick it up, but to my surprise I realise that it’s not an egg, it only has the perfect form of one, it’s actually a beautiful stone whose surface gives off coloured reflections, as if a rainbow’s hiding inside it, ready to emerge and spread out in the sky the magic of its colours.

The isle of Nepenthe reminds me of a cloud, a streak of silver above the limitless expanse of sea that still has a purplish hue no different from that of the sky. A wind blowing from the south across the water draws up moisture that collects as thick mist on the island’s flanks and heights ... an air of unreality hangs over everywhere.

After a light dinner I copy the notes I’ve made on wax tablets onto papyrus, showing the date and record of the day. It’s not very long, today Rectina was more scared than talkative. I pick up the letter from Eulalia, but the writing that appeared on the sheet has now gone, I’m amazed, it seems to be something magic, I don’t know how to explain this mysterious fact - and yet I saw the words, I still remember a few: 'The languid-eyed doe has been seized by deerhounds...' What did she mean? Who is the doe? Who are the deerhounds? I think I’ll try exposing the papyrus to the candle again, but not now, Rectina’s nearby. Instead I write a poem that’s suggested itself to send as a reply:

So on this lonely shore
I come to meet you.
Scattered along the shingle strand
lie shells with their rosy lips
shape in the sand
a skeleton so white
mysterious nautilus
its shell worn so
by time and the waves
if it's held close
your priestess ear divines
among the scattering echoes
whence comes the voice
that silences your heart
then, if you search that sound
the echoes sing
entwining with your fears
of what you hear
now only now
will speak the oracle
that whispers in the shell
sea in the shells speaks
with the voice of its god.

 

[Primus pilus]

Amica 54


I’ve not slept all night, my mind keeps coming back to the words of Eulalia’s poem, why’s she just written so few words to me? ..... What lies hidden in them? ..... And that last sentence, ..... so enigmatic, ..... so out of context, ..... in Latin rather than Greek. ..... What does the intimate fire reveal? ..... Who should the intimate fire reveal? ..... Or what must it reveal? ......Who or what ....? except that I’m the moon..... but what are the stars, that I hide with my light? Is it..... simplifying ..... the fire reveals the stars that are hidden by the moon? ..... or more, or less, ..... but it remains to be understood what are the stars, and and what is the earth ..... and the fire. Simplifying again..... fire reveals the stars above the earth...?

Let's go back to the start, ..... keep calm.... think..... on this sheet of papyrus, so big yet with only a few words, what could be missing - or hiding....? Only other words ....? Ah! ..... The stars ..... the earth ..... what’s that, if it isn’t the papyrus.....? So the fire reveals the words, hidden, on the sheet! ..... Maybe I’ve got there! ..... But fire would destroy the papyrus and everything would vanish in a little blaze..... but if the fire is not to burn ..... it must only illuminate .....hey! ..... I’ve got to look at the papyrus in the light ..... but haven’t I already done that? ..... I couldn’t look at it in the dark ..... but how do I have to look? ..... It says 'intimate fire'.... maybe it means I have to look at the sheet by the light of a lamp? ..... that's it, maybe, ..... to read the message, I’ve got to bring it close to the flame of a candle..... yeah, yeah! ..... But I’ll have to be careful ..... I mustn’t let Rectina see me while I’m trying to 'cook' the papyrus near the flame..... then she might think I’m keeping up a secret correspondence with Eulalia passing on secrets out of her house, when I’ve promised absolute confidentiality. Tomorrow I’ll try, I just have to find the right moment.

Now I must get a little sleep, tomorrow will be a busy day...



And in my mind drift those words:

The stars around the graceful moon
hide again their radiant forms
when full she shines brightest
above the earth .....
intimate fire reveals...


At last I fall asleep, overcome by fatigue.

A sharp noise, like a vase breaking on the ground, wakes me up suddenly. Then wind, a blinding flash, thunder at the same moment - fortunately, it isn’t an earthquake, although many things rattled at the noise. Rectina calls out, scared, I run to her - I sleep in the anteroom next to her bedroom.

'Come, give me a hug! These storms scare me! I always think of the severe earthquake I felt when I was a child!'

I too am very scared, especially by thunder and lightning as sudden as it happens here. The wind’s broken the glass in one of the windows, and now the water’s flooding into the room, driven by the fury of the storm. Even the slave-woman who attends on her rushes in immediately from the next room, we gather like castaways, hugging together on the bed, as if to protect our mistress with our own fragile bodies.

Euken soon comes with other slaves to take us safely to the other side of the villa, that looks towards the mountain. From the gutters torrents of water are overflowing into the pool in the atrium, and eddies of wind hurl spray everywhere from the cascades that gush from the spouts on the roof. We barely manage to protect Rectina from these water-jets, while we try to reach safety on the other side of the villa, as do the other slavegirls aroused from their sleep by the storm. Now we’re all crowded together in a spacious room, in the most sheltered one in the house, while outside in the garden and in the peristyle the fury of elements continues unabated.

Shattereing of broken branches and thuds from tumbling objects, explosions of thunder that boom relentlessly and the continual shaking of the walls, flashes of lightning and howling of the wind, roar of the sea and the crashing of waves breaking on the cliffs below.

A high, shrill cry, a jumbled lament, sighs, groans, prayers, invocations to the gods, like the moaning of an injured dog, and at last silence falls in candlelight, only the hissing of the rain.

An endless time, eyes full of terror, faces pale and frightened, locks of hair dishevelled, children staring, peeping out from where they’re hidden in the scanty dresses of their mothers, we’re only reassured by the presence of our mistress and the warm light of a few braziers in the company of the mute presence of marble busts lined up on shelves along the walls.

Then everything becomes quiet, even the wind, even the rain, even the sea. This small crowd of frightened women finally emerges from the ark that’s given them refuge.

Everywhere there’s water, mud, broken branches and crushed leaves, tiles and broken jars, statues toppled, curtains torn, and cold that penetrates to the bone. The male slaves begin gathering up the rubble, slave-women start cleaning up with mops and rags, trying to get rid of the water that has invaded the villa. Rectina, her personal slave and I go back to her room to find some warm, dry clothes. I look for Eulalia’s letter, it’s miraculously saved, hidden under the wooden lid of the desk. While the slaves are dressing Mistress, I position the sheet near to the light of a candle, closer and closer... tiny writing appears, miraculously, brown, not of ink, it seems to be one with the fibres of the papyrus. I’ve no time to read it now, I’ll do that later when my mistress goes to bed and I’ll have to transcribe the diary for the day....

We spend most of the rest of the day making an inventory of damage: five marble statues to be repaired, a dozen amphorae to throw out, curtains that can be used now only for rags, and the work for the masons, roof-tiles to be replaced, new window panes – Euken tots up the budget for these things, scratching the list of repairs to be made with the tip of a nail on a shard from a smashed amphora. We can’t even guess the amount of damage to the trees in the garden.

Then we go down to the harbour. To the great distress of Rectina, we realize that the sea has washed away most of the sandy shore and the long quay. There were no boats moored there at the time, but many others, surely ones belonging to fishermen of the Herculaneum nearby, are scattered wrecks and shredded sails.

I bend down to pick up the shell of a nautilus, empty, wrested from the depths of the sea by the stormy waves and hurled onto the black sand among the pebbles laid bare by the storm. Another thing, almost like a miracle, is an intact egg of a seabird. I pick it up, but to my surprise I realise that it’s not an egg, it only has the perfect form of one, it’s actually a beautiful stone whose surface gives off coloured reflections, as if a rainbow’s hiding inside it, ready to emerge and spread out in the sky the magic of its colours.

The isle of Nepenthe reminds me of a cloud, a streak of silver above the limitless expanse of sea that still has a purplish hue no different from that of the sky. A wind blowing from the south across the water draws up moisture that collects as thick mist on the island’s flanks and heights ... an air of unreality hangs over everywhere.

After a light dinner I copy the notes I’ve made on wax tablets onto papyrus, showing the date and record of the day. It’s not very long, today Rectina was more scared than talkative. I pick up the letter from Eulalia, but the writing that appeared on the sheet has now gone, I’m amazed, it seems to be something magic, I don’t know how to explain this mysterious fact - and yet I saw the words, I still remember a few: 'The languid-eyed doe has been seized by deerhounds...' What did she mean? Who is the doe? Who are the deerhounds? I think I’ll try exposing the papyrus to the candle again, but not now, Rectina’s nearby. Instead I write a poem that’s suggested itself to send as a reply:

So on this lonely shore
I come to meet you.
Scattered along the shingle strand
lie shells with their rosy lips
shape in the sand
a skeleton so white
mysterious nautilus
its shell worn so
by time and the waves
if it's held close
your priestess ear divines
among the scattering echoes
whence comes the voice
that silences your heart
then, if you search that sound
the echoes sing
entwining with your fears
of what you hear
now only now
will speak the oracle
that whispers in the shell
sea in the shells speaks
with the voice of its god.

Pp is now watching this thread Luna and hoping for alerts as you add. He loves language, descriptions. Thank you.

 

[Eulalia]

Luna and I had one of our 'conferences' about the poem.
Luna's based it on one by Curzio Malaparte, blended with images from other writers and her own genius.
I've tried to suggest the sounds of sea, shingle and shell with rhythm, alliteration and onomatopoeia.
We decided it was best without any punctuation, so it can 'flow' as it's read,
without officious marks telling you how to read it.​

 

[Wragg]

This is an incredibly vivid description, Luna, it's like living through it. Amazing

 

[LittleSiss]

This is an incredibly vivid description, Luna, it's like living through it. Amazing

Luna truly has a way with words ... even when I could not translate all of it correctly ... it was dynamic.

 

[Eulalia]

The isle of Nepenthe

I think that description of the sea after the storm is outstanding even by Luna's high standards.
The Isle of Nepenthe is the Classical name for Capri.
In Greek writings, nepenthe was some kind of drug that assuaged grief,
what exactly it was is uncertain.

Linnaeus gave the botanical name Nepenthes to a genus of carnivorous 'pitcher-plants'
that lure insects with sweet-smelling nectar, then trap them and slowly devour them
I don't know why they got that name, they don't do much to assuage the grief of the poor little flies!
and I can't find any record that they were used by humans or have any medicinal properties -
but perhaps Yupar knows more of them, they come from her corner of Asia



(credit - demontroll on deviantart -
yes, that is a Nepenthes sp.!)​

 

[Madiosi]

Amica 54


I’ve not slept all night, my mind keeps coming back to the words of Eulalia’s poem, why’s she just written so few words to me? ..... What lies hidden in them? ..... And that last sentence, ..... so enigmatic, ..... so out of context, ..... in Latin rather than Greek. ..... What does the intimate fire reveal? ..... Who should the intimate fire reveal? ..... Or what must it reveal? ......Who or what ....? except that I’m the moon..... but what are the stars, that I hide with my light? Is it..... simplifying ..... the fire reveals the stars that are hidden by the moon? ..... or more, or less, ..... but it remains to be understood what are the stars, and and what is the earth ..... and the fire. Simplifying again..... fire reveals the stars above the earth...?

Let's go back to the start, ..... keep calm.... think..... on this sheet of papyrus, so big yet with only a few words, what could be missing - or hiding....? Only other words ....? Ah! ..... The stars ..... the earth ..... what’s that, if it isn’t the papyrus.....? So the fire reveals the words, hidden, on the sheet! ..... Maybe I’ve got there! ..... But fire would destroy the papyrus and everything would vanish in a little blaze..... but if the fire is not to burn ..... it must only illuminate .....hey! ..... I’ve got to look at the papyrus in the light ..... but haven’t I already done that? ..... I couldn’t look at it in the dark ..... but how do I have to look? ..... It says 'intimate fire'.... maybe it means I have to look at the sheet by the light of a lamp? ..... that's it, maybe, ..... to read the message, I’ve got to bring it close to the flame of a candle..... yeah, yeah! ..... But I’ll have to be careful ..... I mustn’t let Rectina see me while I’m trying to 'cook' the papyrus near the flame..... then she might think I’m keeping up a secret correspondence with Eulalia passing on secrets out of her house, when I’ve promised absolute confidentiality. Tomorrow I’ll try, I just have to find the right moment.

Now I must get a little sleep, tomorrow will be a busy day...



And in my mind drift those words:

The stars around the graceful moon
hide again their radiant forms
when full she shines brightest
above the earth .....
intimate fire reveals...


At last I fall asleep, overcome by fatigue.

A sharp noise, like a vase breaking on the ground, wakes me up suddenly. Then wind, a blinding flash, thunder at the same moment - fortunately, it isn’t an earthquake, although many things rattled at the noise. Rectina calls out, scared, I run to her - I sleep in the anteroom next to her bedroom.

'Come, give me a hug! These storms scare me! I always think of the severe earthquake I felt when I was a child!'

I too am very scared, especially by thunder and lightning as sudden as it happens here. The wind’s broken the glass in one of the windows, and now the water’s flooding into the room, driven by the fury of the storm. Even the slave-woman who attends on her rushes in immediately from the next room, we gather like castaways, hugging together on the bed, as if to protect our mistress with our own fragile bodies.

Euken soon comes with other slaves to take us safely to the other side of the villa, that looks towards the mountain. From the gutters torrents of water are overflowing into the pool in the atrium, and eddies of wind hurl spray everywhere from the cascades that gush from the spouts on the roof. We barely manage to protect Rectina from these water-jets, while we try to reach safety on the other side of the villa, as do the other slavegirls aroused from their sleep by the storm. Now we’re all crowded together in a spacious room, in the most sheltered one in the house, while outside in the garden and in the peristyle the fury of elements continues unabated.

Shattereing of broken branches and thuds from tumbling objects, explosions of thunder that boom relentlessly and the continual shaking of the walls, flashes of lightning and howling of the wind, roar of the sea and the crashing of waves breaking on the cliffs below.

A high, shrill cry, a jumbled lament, sighs, groans, prayers, invocations to the gods, like the moaning of an injured dog, and at last silence falls in candlelight, only the hissing of the rain.

An endless time, eyes full of terror, faces pale and frightened, locks of hair dishevelled, children staring, peeping out from where they’re hidden in the scanty dresses of their mothers, we’re only reassured by the presence of our mistress and the warm light of a few braziers in the company of the mute presence of marble busts lined up on shelves along the walls.

Then everything becomes quiet, even the wind, even the rain, even the sea. This small crowd of frightened women finally emerges from the ark that’s given them refuge.

Everywhere there’s water, mud, broken branches and crushed leaves, tiles and broken jars, statues toppled, curtains torn, and cold that penetrates to the bone. The male slaves begin gathering up the rubble, slave-women start cleaning up with mops and rags, trying to get rid of the water that has invaded the villa. Rectina, her personal slave and I go back to her room to find some warm, dry clothes. I look for Eulalia’s letter, it’s miraculously saved, hidden under the wooden lid of the desk. While the slaves are dressing Mistress, I position the sheet near to the light of a candle, closer and closer... tiny writing appears, miraculously, brown, not of ink, it seems to be one with the fibres of the papyrus. I’ve no time to read it now, I’ll do that later when my mistress goes to bed and I’ll have to transcribe the diary for the day....

We spend most of the rest of the day making an inventory of damage: five marble statues to be repaired, a dozen amphorae to throw out, curtains that can be used now only for rags, and the work for the masons, roof-tiles to be replaced, new window panes – Euken tots up the budget for these things, scratching the list of repairs to be made with the tip of a nail on a shard from a smashed amphora. We can’t even guess the amount of damage to the trees in the garden.

Then we go down to the harbour. To the great distress of Rectina, we realize that the sea has washed away most of the sandy shore and the long quay. There were no boats moored there at the time, but many others, surely ones belonging to fishermen of the Herculaneum nearby, are scattered wrecks and shredded sails.

I bend down to pick up the shell of a nautilus, empty, wrested from the depths of the sea by the stormy waves and hurled onto the black sand among the pebbles laid bare by the storm. Another thing, almost like a miracle, is an intact egg of a seabird. I pick it up, but to my surprise I realise that it’s not an egg, it only has the perfect form of one, it’s actually a beautiful stone whose surface gives off coloured reflections, as if a rainbow’s hiding inside it, ready to emerge and spread out in the sky the magic of its colours.

The isle of Nepenthe reminds me of a cloud, a streak of silver above the limitless expanse of sea that still has a purplish hue no different from that of the sky. A wind blowing from the south across the water draws up moisture that collects as thick mist on the island’s flanks and heights ... an air of unreality hangs over everywhere.

After a light dinner I copy the notes I’ve made on wax tablets onto papyrus, showing the date and record of the day. It’s not very long, today Rectina was more scared than talkative. I pick up the letter from Eulalia, but the writing that appeared on the sheet has now gone, I’m amazed, it seems to be something magic, I don’t know how to explain this mysterious fact - and yet I saw the words, I still remember a few: 'The languid-eyed doe has been seized by deerhounds...' What did she mean? Who is the doe? Who are the deerhounds? I think I’ll try exposing the papyrus to the candle again, but not now, Rectina’s nearby. Instead I write a poem that’s suggested itself to send as a reply:

So on this lonely shore
I come to meet you.
Scattered along the shingle strand
lie shells with their rosy lips
shape in the sand
a skeleton so white
mysterious nautilus
its shell worn so
by time and the waves
if it's held close
your priestess ear divines
among the scattering echoes
whence comes the voice
that silences your heart
then, if you search that sound
the echoes sing
entwining with your fears
of what you hear
now only now
will speak the oracle
that whispers in the shell
sea in the shells speaks
with the voice of its god.

 

[messaline]

Νεπένθος (ancient Greek Νε-, 'no' and πένθος, «sadness») means the drink that Paris gave to drink in Helena after her abduction to make him forget his homeland in Homer. Women from the Egyptian city of Thebes spent to hold the secret of its composition. In the 'modern' Pharmacology, nepenthes pills contained opium, henbane, and myrrh.

An example of Nepenthes among 150 species ...

Nepenthes tentaculata, Mont Kinabalu, Sabah, Malaisie

Geographic repartition

The name "monkey cups" was discussed in the May 1964 issue of National Geographic, in which Paul A. Zahl wrote:

"The carriers called them "monkey cups," a name I had heard elsewhere in reference to Nepenthes, but the implication that monkeys drink the pitcher fluid seemed farfetched. I later proved it true. In Sarawak I found an orangutan that had been raised as a pet and later freed. As I approached it gingerly in the forest, I offered it a half-full pitcher. To my surprise, the ape accepted it and, with the finesse of a lady at tea, executed a delicate bottoms-up."

 

[Eulalia]

Thanks for the lovely pic Madiosi, and for more on Nepenthe and Nepenthes Messaline -
I'll send Madiosi a few pics of carnivorous plants that might be suitable as cut-outs for manips -
I think our manip artists may see interesting possibilities in these flora, as in the marine fauna!

 

[Madiosi]

Thanks for the lovely pic Madiosi, and for more on Nepenthe and Nepenthes Messaline -
I'll send Madiosi a few pics of carnivorous plants that might be suitable as cut-outs for manips -
I think our manip artists may see interesting possibilities in these flora, as in the marine fauna!

 

[Primus pilus]

I think that description of the sea after the storm is outstanding even by Luna's high standards.
The Isle of Nepenthe is the Classical name for Capri.
In Greek writings, nepenthe was some kind of drug that assuaged grief,
what exactly it was is uncertain.

Linnaeus gave the botanical name Nepenthes to a genus of carnivorous 'pitcher-plants'
that lure insects with sweet-smelling nectar, then trap them and slowly devour them
I don't know why they got that name, they don't do much to assuage the grief of the poor little flies!
and I can't find any record that they were used by humans or have any medicinal properties -
but perhaps Yupar knows more of them, they come from her corner of Asia

View attachment 185686

(credit - demontroll on deviantart -
yes, that is a Nepenthes sp.!)​

We have a small nursery in Australia called Captive Exotics - what a wonderful name - that specialises in Nepenthes sp.
They even have a photo album if anyone is looking for potential backgrounds to work on.

http://captiveexotics.com/

 

[Eulalia]

View attachment 185711 View attachment 185712 View attachment 185718

you're a genius, Madiosi!

We have a small nursery in Australia called Captive Exotics - what a wonderful name - that specialises in Nepenthes sp.
They even have a photo album if anyone is looking for potential backgrounds to work on.

http://captiveexotics.com/

I noticed some of their pictures when I was googling, but didn't follow them up as they've got the name on them,
but I dare say they could be manipulated.
I didn't actually realise it was a nursery, I thought they were from a carnivorous plant club site,
but now I've looked at the site, it is indeed a very good specialist nursery (yes, love the name ).
We have a few carnivorous plants that grow on acid moorland and marshy places in the Forest - sundews and butterworts -
but they're wee sleekit cow'rin timorous beasties compared to the ones in SE Asia and the East Indies.

 

[messaline]

View attachment 185711 View attachment 185712 View attachment 185718

And you're astonished that Messa could prefer roses !

 

[Primus pilus]

you're a genius, Madiosi!

I noticed some of their pictures when I was googling, but didn't follow them up as they've got the name on them,
but I dare say they could be manipulated.
I didn't actually realise it was a nursery, I thought they were from a carnivorous plant club site,
but now I've looked at the site, it is indeed a very good specialist nursery (yes, love the name ).
We have a few carnivorous plants that grow on acid moorland and marshy places in the Forest - sundews and butterworts -
but they're wee sleekit cow'rin timorous beasties compared to the ones in SE Asia and the East Indies.

Pp loves the colourful Scots form of the English language.

 

[Eulalia]

Burns, To a Mouse
Hey, it's Burns nicht on Sunday, I've got my haggis, neeps and tatties - oh and the necessary liquid!

 

[Primus pilus]

Burns, To a Mouse
Hey, it's Burns nicht on Sunday, I've got my haggis, neeps and tatties - oh and the necessary liquid!

I'll raise a glass to him.

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 55


The occasion is propitious, I'll be alone all day and maybe even longer, when my Lady departs in her litter she goes alone, no one, not even her faithful slavegirl, can accompany her. Has she got another secret lover? Where she is going? And when she comes back, seems another woman, taciturn, seemingly sad, perhaps humiliated, apathetic, it takes a few days before she recovers her usual energy.

She departs! I wave her farewell with my hand, and with a little apprehension in my heart, then I go back to the desk, to Eulalia’s letter on which the words that had appeared can no longer be seen. But by that magic, bringing again the flame to the papyrus, the fine writing gradually reappears, the characters magically emerge. 'The languid-eyed doe has been seized by deerhounds...' she might be saying that the slavegirl Nesea, the one from Crete, with big, sweet eyes, has been arrested by the militia of the Imperial Prefect. '... a snake lurks, a raven croaks ...' so there's a spy in the house of Lucius, and one of the male slaves, no doubt seduced by a female spy, has been forced to reveal something, maybe that Nesea was complicit in the escape of the Christians, perhaps she’s a Christian herself.

But why has she written so secretively? Perhaps she’s even afraid for herself, or for Lucius? Is it just by magic that these words appear and disappear? And how do I answer? I don’t know how to perform this miracle! I'm increasingly concerned.

I continue reading, it’s all just as cryptic. Now she’s telling me that no-one can leave the house, except her and the freedman Emidius, and anyone who enters, coming from somewhere else, or who leaves the house to go back where they came from, is checked; all the food-baskets must be inspected, even waste which is put out for the bin-men to collect; everything is controlled to prevent any messages getting in or out. It’s as if a plague has struck the entire house, obliging everyone to stay inside.

She also says something about the Sicilian, it seems that the headless body of a man was found in the waters of the river, but that was certainly staged by the militiamen, they’d have had no difficulty in hiding it, and then pretending they’d found it, so as to have more pretext to investigate a crime that actually they’ve committed themselves.

She advises me to be very cautious, not to trust anyone, to obey Rectina, to always do my exercises in reading and writing. She doesn’t know that I don’t get a moment’s respite (maybe just now), that I’m writing and reading all day! But poor Eulalia – what a horrible situation!

I prepare my answer without mentioning what I’ve read in the message, that’s now becoming less and less visible as the papyrus is cools. But in some way I have to let her know that I’ve read the hidden words interpreting her poetry.

On the tablet of wax I begin: 'My sweet mentor, I miss you very much, but Fortuna wills me to be here, and that my commitments keep me busy and give me the opportunity to encounter so many new things. From a few days before the storm I’ve been in an extraordinary villa, a place where you would be happy to live, with no more homesickness for Athens!


The only pool at the villa is as big as the house of Lucius in Pompeii, more than a hundred paces long, and around there are statues of athletes, gods and animals, set in elegant flower beds with all kinds of flowers and plants. The great peristyle that surrounds it has twenty-five columns on the longer sides and ten on the shorter, its length is two hundred paces, I counted them all!

You enter through the atrium, accompanied by the superintendent, cross the minor peristyle with an indoor garden and a fountain with five female statues of gilded bronze, pouring from a cornucopia a jet of water into the central basin, they are the Danaides, condemned to pour water forever into a leaky tank.

The villa was built by Lucius Calpurnius Piso, father-in-law of Julius Caesar, the patron of Philodemos from Gadara, who was visited here by Virgil and Cicero, and many Greek philosophers and Latin poets.

But the most amazing thing, in addition to the immense rooms decorated with frescoes and marvellous mosaic floors of rare beauty and hundreds of statues of bronze and marble, is the library. It occupies a whole area of the villa, it is so great that it seems like a district of a city. In it are kept thousands of volumes, each placed in order on wooden shelves - a voice calls us, it’s the librarian who comes to us smiling, he is called Claudius Pulcher.

On tables in the library are several rolls laid open, the secretary is recording each one, and Claudius shows us his new acquisitions that will enrich this temple of learning. The secretary reads aloud, 'On Nature, Epicurus, On Wealth, Metrodorus, Against the Lysis of Plato, and Against the Euthydemus of Plato, both by Colotes, On Philosophy, in two volumes, and On Contempt for Popular Opinions, both by Polystratus, 'On Poetry, On Geometry and On Sayings of Epicurus, all by Demetrius of Laconia, On Providence, Chrysippus.'

All the volumes are arranged in numbered wooden boxes, they will have to be moved into the correct sections reserved for them. I quickly read some other titles and authors – Latin ones include Lucretius, Ennius, Varius Rufus, Greek Philodemus of Gadara.

Continuing through the villa, the central part is of two storeys, then looking towards the sea it opens to a large covered terrace, with stunning views of the Gulf.

I am very lucky to be at the service of Rectina, she values me. I'm grateful for all the teachings that I have received from you, I cannot begin to estimate the value of these priceless treasures.


Mentor, bearer of love,
crowned with violets and asters
through lonely nights I know
no soft bed
where love drips
myrrh and honey from your lips.
I wander unceasingly.
Again tonight,
I shall lie barren,
while round me constantly
fly fleeting spectres
longing for you,
naked and in love.

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 56


Rectina hasn’t returned tonight, she’s sent a message saying she’ll be staying away for three days. I’ll have an opportunity to visit Herculaneum in the company of Euken, and I also want to see the jeweller about the strange stone egg that has the colors of the rainbow.

A short ride along the road on a chariot driven by Euken, we leave the horses at the service stables where you can park them temporarily, and proceed on foot through the city streets.

According to the historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the city was founded by Hercules, the Greek hero, who grazed the cattle he’d stolen from Geryon here. It is the pearl of the Gulf, built on a promontory overlooking the sea. Its side-streets run uphill, from sea to the Decumanus Maximus, lined with neat houses with two or three floors. We go down to the beach by a flight of stone steps, where, between boats moored to small wooden piers, a noisy throng of fishermen are unloading woven baskets overflowing with fish. The sand is warm underfoot, facing the sea there are arcades like an aqueduct, and the vaulted openings under the arches serve as boat-sheds, warehouses for nets, and workshops for the repairing boats’ hulls with wood and pitch, ropes, oars, masts and sails. A group of divers are all former slaves who have specialized in salvaging the cargoes of ships that have sunk or in harvesting coral. They select the corals by size and color, and can sell them to merchants for good prices that well repay the risk of their work.

Herculaneum is inhabited almost entirely by freedmen and slaves, you see so many different faces and colours of skin and hair, the children are so beautiful, a mixture of all races living happily together in this city. Most of the inhabitants work as servants of the Roman magnates who own the immense seaside villas. Herculaneum is a small town by comparison with Pompeii, but lively, full of shops, stalls, small markets, fountains, statues, little temples - the largest buildings are the baths outside the town. Near the gymnasium building there are statues of all kinds, a damascened bronze represents Hercules with a lion's skin that is almost silvery, and among them there’s also a sculpture of the Egyptian god Atum (beginner and ender of the world), and a fountain in the shape of tree around which wraps an incredible three-headed serpent from whose jaws gush spouts of water.

Almost all the people we meet on our walk through the streets are wearing elegant clothes, the women display jewellery of all kinds, a girl with red hair and green eyes sports a pair of beautiful earrings, they look like tiny clusters of grapes, the fruits are freshwater pearls on gold thread. Two matrons, accompanied by their slaves, have strands of cowrie-shells woven in their hair, their different status is shown by the different cowries each is wearing - one has those precious ones from African waters, larger and more colourful, while the other is wearing ones of a more uniform colour, less valuable. They are amulets against sterility and venereal diseases. Others wear necklaces of red coral, these are lucky and protect against the evil eye, for coral is the blood of Medusa that’s turned into stone on contact with sea water, a powerful amulet. A young blonde girl wears a 'palla', a wide silk shawl, and a necklace with many pendants, amber, precious stones, rock-crystal, depicting a cupid, a shrimp, a mouse, a small phallus, and other charms. An old woman wears a strange bracelet, two thick bands of gold woven in a mesh, on which is mounted a crescent moon, the symbol of fertility. Maybe even my 'egg' may be transformed into a necklace.


We enter the jeweller’s shop. Euken knows him because he’s often visited Rectina’s villa with his collections of beautiful jewels. A poor girl, a slave like me, should never go into a shop like this! The jeweller approaches smiling, takes me to a table on which is lying on a red cloth covered with jewels of all sorts, asking me what jewellery I want to buy, pointing to a pair of beautiful sapphire earrings, or those two beautiful emeralds, or black pearls, the ring with the ruby, the necklace with amber in which an insect is trapped, or the Egyptian pendant depicting a fly.

But I'm not here to buy, I just want an opinion on the possible value of my little egg and how much it would cost me to fashion it as a pendant mounted on a small necklace. He suddenly turns pale, looks at me with eyes wide with astonishment, his mouth open as if he’s wanting to say something but he can’t pronounce it. He tries to say a few words, stutters, swallows saliva, almost trembling he hands back my miserable little egg, such a poor thing… his face changes colour several times from white to green to bluish purple, to red, to purple, at last he plucks up courage and says:

'I've never seen such a gem! All the gold and jewels that I own are not enough for me to buy ...'

Now I'm about to pass out, but what is this thing?

'... a perfect opal, the gem that encompasses the splendour of all the gems. I've only ever seen one in my whole life, but it was little more than a sliver, a tenth of the size of this, and even that was priceless.'

My legs are trembling, I’m turning pale, I might have risked losing such a fortune – this is an honest jeweller, or perhaps he’s honest because Euken’s told him that I'm the secretary of Rectina, but if he’d offered to me in exchange for it a small cameo, or a piece of coral, I’d have easily been duped!

'If you wish, Ma'am, I could fit it into a small clasp within a golden circlet, to make it a jewel to wear on your forehead ...'

'I must first ask my mistress if I can spend a little of my small allowance ...'

It seems to jar, he keeps calling me Ma'am, while I'm saying I must ask my Mistress!. My heart’s pounding with excitement, now, yes, I feel a warmth enter my body, my cheeks regain their colour, does the goddess Fortuna, does my goddess Luna, want to reward me? I’ve been good, I’ve always obeyed, I’ve never been rebellious, and now they’ve given me this treasure - but how can I convert it into tangible value if, as a slave, I don’t even possess my own body, and if this 'thing' is worth so much no-one can buy it?

I certainly won’t tell anyone that I found it among the pebbles on the beach, or thousands will come to dig there in case by any chance they were still more. Poseidon the sea god brought it there for sure, maybe it was in the cargo of a ship coming from distant lands, perhaps the sailors hadn’t sacrificed to the god and he punished them by taking their lives and their treasures.

I wish the jeweller farewell, promising to return, with exaggerated bows he says goodbye to me, hoping to see me soon. Outside the door I read an inscription, a warning appears:


NIHIL DURARE POTEST TEMPORE PERPETUO
CUM BENE SOL NITUIT REDDITUR OCEANO
DECRESCIT PHOEBE QUAE MODO PLENA FUIT
VENTORUM FERITAS SAEPE FIT AURA LEVIS

Nothing can last forever
When the sun has shone it returns beneath the ocean,
The moon wanes once it has been full,
The violence of the winds often turns to a light breeze.

 

[messaline]

I adore your descriptions, Luna : they're so true that I imagine myself in your scenes ...

...A young blonde girl wears a 'palla', a wide silk shawl, and a necklace with many pendants, amber, precious stones, rock-crystal, depicting a cupid, a shrimp, a mouse, a small phallus, and other charms...

Perhaps she was named ...... Messalina ?

... and what will happen in the future .... the suspens is growing up !