Ramblings About Winter Floristry And Classic(al) Politics

It has been cold and dry enough lately to freeze a rock, figuratively speaking. But I keep in mind that it will be spring in a couple of months, despite the darkish mornings; and fix my eyes on the figurative afterglow of Christmas (like the last yellow trace in the sky after the sun has set) as well as the life and bustle in the streets around the workplace. In the florists' shops there are zinnias and amaryllises in pots and laid in caskets, evergreen bushes with specious dustings of 'snow' furnished by a spray bottle, Christmas roses, white and almost purple cyclamen, azalea shrubs that had white markings on pale pink flowers. The pink, good-luck piggy planters with green micro-clovers? have vanished since New Year's Eve. But, although the hyacinths that were sold beside them haven't shot up far from their bulbs yet, I saw yellow narcissi growing flowers in the U-Bahn shop this evening.

In the U-Bahn train I read again today, and instead of Matthew Arnold I read parts of the introductions to the Res Gestae Divi Augusti by the Emperor Augustus (who, because of his census, was relevant to the Christmas season, at least) and Aristotle's Politics. The Poetics, which I tried to read in the U-Bahn during my 20s, inoculated me against Aristotle for years. But both of these books are of a piece with my continuing French Revolution research. I want to know what political thinkers in the late 18th century read, and how the Roman models and Greek thought on political aims and functions were in contrast to the Ancient Régime.

In the Candide edition that I'd been reading before, the notes argue that, unlike the Revolutionaries, Voltaire (perhaps because as well as a philosophe he was also the not-so-suffering 'millionaire of Ferney,' who did not need great revolts in the socioeconomic order) did not appear to even entertain the idea that the solution to human suffering lies in nobler, more effective forms of government. He believed instead, it appears, that brutality and inequality are the inevitable characteristics of human nature. ("Croyez-vous, dit Martin, que les éperviers aient toujours mangé des pigeons quand ils en ont trouvé? Oui, sans doute, dit Candide. Eh bien! dit Martin, si les éperviers ont toujours eu le même caractère, pourquoi voulez-vous que les hommes aient changé le leur?" (Chapter 21 in Candide, Wikisource)*) Candide's idyll in Peru is a pipe dream that he does not expect to see in reality. I thought this was funny because as an inhabitant of modern Germany I certainly, and perhaps too uncritically, believe that there will be progress, thanks to rationality and good will but certainly rationality, through the government.

But the Res Gestae argues the antithesis, perhaps. The foreword describes in detail how the Romans defined the rights, privileges and power limits of their statesmen. They claimed to ensure that the people's will was represented, and that no one had more power than his due. It is as if the Romans felt that everything could be regulated and bettered with the right governance. But I suppose that the separation of powers was a 'shell game'; people pretended a great deal that everyone had equal chances, but in fact underneath the equal positions, votes, etc., the rules were rigged in favour of the one who ran the game (i.e., to a degree, the Emperor).

It's true I was not fond of Augustus personally after learning about him in the first year of university, and after reading Suetonius's biography, although I've forgotten about the important details why. But I picked up the Res Gestae under the impression that they were Julius Caesar's, put them in my bag for work, and that was that. Anyway, the foreword praises Augustus's straightforward writing style, so that's one thing to expect happily.

Which reminds me of Ron Chernow's far more modern biography of Ulysses S. Grant. Barack Obama recommended it in his year-end summary of his favourite music and books of 2017. So I read a few pages of a preview today.

(I thought of ordering the book in print, but it's over 1,000 pages and not deliverable through the service that the bookshop near work uses. Instead I ordered Fire and Fury in person earlier today.)

I had read a paragraph or two of Grant's memoirs once, and at least didn't remember them unfondly. But Chernow emphasizes that he had a remarkably direct writing style. And that is what the former General and American president had in common** with the Roman Emperor.

Besides, I liked the quotation that Grant — who did not want to vaunt himself and was not loquacious as a rule — 'knew how to be silent in several languages.' It reminded me of my father.

* "Do you believe," said Martin, "that hawks have always been accustomed to eat pigeons when they came in their way?"

"Doubtless," said Candide.

"Well then," replied Martin, "if hawks have always had the same nature, why should you pretend that mankind change theirs?"
(Candide in translation, Tobias Smollett. Wikisource)
** As well as two eyes, two legs, etc.