Huge Victory for High Verse
impressed the panel of external judges who are always so delighted to see that such events still take place. Each year I am filled with a feeling of great pride to be working with pupils who can lay on such a delicious linguistic feast. I would love the Carthusian to print here all the beautiful verse we heard that evening back in March but since this can’t be so, I wondered if I might at least offer this snippet for Carthusians (and beaks!), young and old (this was this year’s French specialists poem), though it is perhaps not the sort of advice a beak should be handing out. Emily Fox
Verse-speaking Competition Hall LQ 10 Languages (ancient & modern) and are alive and kicking at Charterhouse. This year’s Modern & Ancient Verse-speaking Competition brought many familiar and some new faces to the stage in Hall on 4th March. The chosen texts this year were a challenging collection (there were some very long passages) and real credit goes to all the finalists who recited by heart with such maturity and ease as if they declaimed Homer and Goethe every day. They rose to the occasion and
And for those who sadly abandoned French before encountering the great Victor Hugo, here’s what it means: O young people! Chosen ones! Flower buds of the living world! Masters of springtime and the rising sun. Do not listen to those who say: ‘Be wise!’ Wisdom it is to shun all those dreary faces! Be young, be bright and carefree, alive and passionate, be crazy! O sweet friends, live and love! Take no notice of those mawkish and appalling teachers. You are full of the joys of life and that offends those prigs. Dark, thick unkempt hair, Fresh-faced, firm-footed, bright-eyed and no gaps in your teeth, While they, wrinkled, worn-out and withered, toothless and bald, Are hideous! The sparkle in their wild eyes is envy in mourning crepe. O how I hate the priggish misers! They concoct out of their spite and disgust A wisdom full of boredom and no-nos And, fit for the old, dare dish it up to the young.
Ô jeunes gens! Elus ! Fleurs du monde vivant, Maîtres du mois d’avril et du soleil levant, N’écoutez pas ces gens qui disent: soyez sages! La sagesse est de fuir tous ces mornes visages! Soyez jeunes, gais, vifs, amoureux, soyez fous! Ô doux amis, vivez, aimez! Défiez-vous De tous ces conseillers douceâtres et sinistres. Vous avez l’air joyeux, ce qui déplaît aux cuistres. Des cheveux en forêt, noirs, profonds, abondants, Le teint frais, le pied sûr, l’oeil clair, toutes vos dents: Eux, ridés, épuisés, flétris, édentés, chauves, Hideux; l’envie en deuil clignote en leurs yeux fauves. Oh! comme je les hais, ces solennels grigous! Ils composent, avec leur fiel et leurs dégoûts, Une sagesse pleine d’ennui et de jeûnes, Et, faite pour les vieux, osent l’offrir aux jeunes! Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
‘The Bored Curator’ Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
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Photograph by Edward Mole (P)