pumpkinstrokemarrow

As always with something French, I learn a few things. For example, in English we have things called adulterine castles. I had forgotten what they were, but Mr G. tells me in short order that they were castles erected without royal permission, particularly during the reign of good king Stephen. Control of castles being a big deal in those days; own the castle and you get to collect the tax in the surrounding area. Some years after Stephen, the young Henry III had trouble of the same sort, but managed to put his chaps into his castles without provoking a civil war. So, going back to the French and on a more domestic note, they have things called adulterine brothers and sisters - the meaning of which is perfectly clear - whereas in English we chose not to be so direct. Step brother is ambiguous and quite charged enough without going the whole hog.

Then that M. Balzac was a very strange fish, rather more strange than the roughly contemporary Dickens and Thackery, although he deployed the same manic energy is his writing as Dickens. He also only managed 50 years to their 70. I was struck to read that he was very struck on visiting Italy to find that the Italians were into enjoying themselves, by comparison with the French, who were into showing off. A finding which fits well with the current presidents of the two countries. Sarkosy likes to wear expensive watches while Berlusconi likes to wear the totty, expensive or otherwise. Amused also that he was very into showing off. Got through many more pots of money than he earned buying items of conspicuous consumption. Fancy books, pots and pictures to adorn the public rooms of his houses with. Some of the balance being made up by rich mistresses.

Which takes us straight back to Troilus and Cressida. In the bad old days, a very popular way to acquire status was to be good at killing people in public. Which in itself was reasonably unpleasant, so you got extra marks for doing it with panache and style. The honour lay mainly in the deed itself, which had to be endlessly renewed, more than in the symbols of the deed. Battle trophies and poems about the deed by the posh poet of the day were all very well when one was old and being eclipsed by younger blood, but the public deed and its public clapping were the things. A way of doing things very close to our own footballers.

But then along came money. Not something that was particularly useful in itself, only in what it could buy. Buying expensive durable artefacts to display in one's home became a more reliable way of acquiring honour than going out and killing people. After all, one might get killed oneself. And gradually the honour transfers to the symbol - the fancy pot - rather than to the underlying deed, in this case the acquisition of money. So M. Balzac can acquire honour, or at least he thinks he can, by displaying fancy pots which he has paid for, if at all, by popping his pictures. And others, much less worthy, could acquire honour merely by displaying fancy pots which they had inherited. No need for any acquisition at all.

And then there is the whole question of what constitutes panache and style in such matters. A question to which the weekend newspapers devote square miles of copy. Do you acquire more honour by following the existing fashion or more by inventing a new one? All a matter of judgement. Clappers are very fickle and need to have their diet varied for the clapping to keep coming. Some decadent types avoid many of these problems by internalising the clappers and the clapping; then they get to be judge and jury. Handy if you are on a desert island, but I guess most of us prefer real clappers to virtual ones. Clearly time for the pub clappers.