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De Engels romanschrijver en dichter Thomas Hardy werd op 2 juni 1840 geboren in Higher Bockhampton, bij Dorchester. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2008 en ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2006 en ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2007.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Uit: Tess of the d'Urbervilles
The parson rode a step or two nearer.
'It was only my whim,' he said; and, after a moment's hesitation: 'It was on account of a discovery I made some little time ago, whilst I was hunting up pedigrees for the new county history. I am Parson Tringham, the antiquary, of Stagfoot Lane. Don't you really know, Durbeyfield, that you are the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly family of the d'Urbervilles, who derive their descent from Sir Pagan d'Urberville, that renowned knight who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey Roll?'
'Never heard it before, sir?'
'Well it's true. Throw up your chin a moment, so that I may catch the profile of your face better. Yes, that's the d'Urberville nose and china little debased. Your ancestor was one of the twelve knights who assisted the Lord of Estremavilla in Normandy in his conquest of Glamorganshire. Branches of your family held manors over all this part of England; their names appear in the Pipe Rolls in the time of King Stephen. In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the Second's time your forefather Brian was summoned to Westminster to attend the great Council there. You declined a little in Oliver Cromwell's time, but to no serious extent, and in Charles the Second's reign you were made Knights of the Royal Oak for your loyalty. Aye, there have been generations of Sir Johns among you, and if knighthood were hereditary, like a baronetcy, as it practically was in old times, when men were knighted from father to son, you would be Sir John now.'
'Ye don't say so!'
'In short,' concluded the parson, decisively smacking his leg with his switch, 'there's hardly such another family in England.'
Thomas Hardy (2 juni 1840 11 januari 1928)
Standbeeld in Dorchester
De Franse schrijver Donatien Alphonse François, Markies de Sade, werd geboren op 2 juni 1740 in Parijs. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2008. en ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2007 en ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2006.
Uit: Dialogue entre un prêtre et un moribond
Le prêtre - Où vous entraînent vos erreurs, où vous conduisent vos sophismes! Vous prêtez à la chose créée toute la puissance du créateur, et ces malheureux penchants vous ont égaré - vous ne voyez pas qu'ils ne sont que des effets de cette nature corrompue, à laquelle vous attribuez la toute-puissance.
Le moribond - Ami - il me paraît que ta dialectique est aussi fausse que ton esprit. Je voudrais que tu raisonnasses plus juste, ou que tu ne me laissasses mourir en paix. Qu'entends-tu par créateur, et qu'entends-tu par nature corrompue?
Le prêtre - Le créateur est le maître de l'univers, c'est lui qui a tout fait, tout créé, et qui conserve tout par un simple effet de sa toute-puissance.
Le moribond - Voilà un grand homme assurément. Eh bien, dis-moi pourquoi cet homme-là qui est si puissant a pourtant fait selon toi une nature si corrompue.
Le prêtre - Quel mérite eussent eu les hommes, si Dieu ne leur eût pas laissé leur libre arbitre, et quel mérite eussent-ils à en jouir s'il n'y eût sur la terre la possibilité de faire le bien et celle d'éviter le mal?
Le moribond - Ainsi ton dieu a voulu faire tout de travers pour tenter, ou pour éprouver sa créature; il ne la connaissait donc pas, il ne se doutait donc pas du résultat?
Le prêtre - Il la connaissait sans doute, mais encore un coup il voulait lui laisser le mérite du choix.
Le moribond - A quoi bon, dès qu'il savait le parti qu'elle prendrait et qu'il ne tenait qu'à lui, puisque tu le dis tout-puissant, qu'il ne tenait qu'à lui, dis-je, de lui faire prendre le bon.
Le prêtre - Qui peut comprendre les vues immenses et infinies de Dieu sur l'homme et qui peut comprendre tout ce que nous voyons?
Markies De Sade (2 juni 1740 2 december 1814)
De Sade in de gevangenis, 18e eeuwse gravure
De Deense schrijver Karl Adolph Gjellerup werd geboren op 2 juni 1857 in Roholte. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2007.
Uit: The Pilgrim Kamanita (Vertaald door John E. Logie)
Such was the state of affairs in my home when, one morning, I sat in a large room which lay on the shady side of the house and which was set apart for the transaction of all business matters. For that reason it overlooked the courtyard, an arrangement which enabled me to keep under my own eye everything relating to the administration of my affairs.
Before me stood a trusted servant, who had for a number of years accompanied me on all my journeys and to whom I was giving exact instructions with regard to the taking of a caravan to a somewhat distant spot. Along with these directions I was, of course, describing to him the best mode of disposing of his wares when he got there, the produce he had to bring back with him, the business connections he was to form and other similar matters, for it was my intention to give him full charge of the expedition.
To be sure, my house was less home-like than ever, and one might suppose that I myself would have been glad to embrace every opportunity of roaming about in distant lands. But I was beginning to be somewhat self-indulgent and dainty, and I shunned very distant journeys-not only because of the fatigues to be faced on the way but, above all, on account of the sparing diet to be put up with when actually on the road. Yet even supposing the journey's end reached, with the possibility of making up for lost time and of having the best of everything, there were numerous disappointments to be reckoned with and I, at least, was never able to dine abroad as well as I did at home. As a result, I had begun to send out my caravans under trusty leaders while I remained behind in Ujjeni.
Karl Gjellerup (2 juni 1857 11 oktober 1919)
De Engelse schrijfster Barbara Pym werd geboren op 2 juni 1913 in Oswestry, Shropshire. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2007.
Uit: Jane and Prudence
Jane moved quietly about the church, reading inscriptions on wall and floor, noticing, without realising its significance, the well-cleaned brass. She was just standing in front of the lectern, almost dazzled by the fine brilliance of the birds head, when she heard footsteps behind her and the sound of womens voices, talking in rather low, reverent tones, but nonetheless with the authority of those who have the right to talk in church. One voice seemed louder than the other indeed, when she had listened for a minute or two, Jane decided that the owner of the louder voice was somehow in a superior position to that of the softer one.
Harvest Thanksgiving, we call it, said the louder voice.
Harvest Festival has a rather different connotation, I feel.
There is almost a pagan sound about it.
Oh, yes. The softer voice sounded very demure. Festival is altogether more pagan I could almost see Mr Mortlake in a leopard skin with vine leaves in his hair.
Hush, Jessie, said the louder voice on a reproving note. We must not forget that we are in church. Ah, here are Mrs Crampton and Mrs Mayhew. Perhaps we had better start.
The speakers had now come into view and Jane saw a large woman who gave the impression of being dressed in purple hung about with gold chains, and a smaller younger one in brown with a vase of dead flowers in her hands.
They were greeting two middle-aged ladies in tweed suits carrying bunches of dahlias.
An English scene, thought Jane, and a precious thing.
Barbara Pym (2 juni 1913 11 januari 1980)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Dorothy West werd geboren op 2 juni 1907 in Boston. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 juni 2007.
Uit: The Living Is Easy
When Cleo was twenty, their sex battle began. It was not a savage fight. She did not struggle against his superior strength. She found a weapon that would cut him down quickly and cleanly. She was ice. Neither her mouth nor her body moved to meet his. The open eyes were wide with mocking at the busyness below. There was no moment when everything in her was wrenched and she was one with the man who could submerge her in himself.
(...)
Here in the market was all the maleness of men. This was their world in which they moved without the command of women....Cleo...was jealous of all the free-striding life around her. She had nothing with which to match it but her wits. Her despotic nature found Mr. Judson a rival. He ruled a store and all the people in it. Her sphere was one troublesome child, who gave insufficient scope for her tremendous vitality.
Dorothy West (2 juni 1907 16 augustus 1998)
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