The Romanian Poet who wrote in French.
David Johnson May 19, 2024
After the long battle, rest in peace, my heart, Sleep in the midst of carnage as would a proud conqueror,
“Wisdom may cry aloud though none regardeth her“
In the midst of misty forests, towns bustling, emptied monasteries, extinguished glories and ardent longing there lies history. In the midst of learning, bravery, chivalry and vitality, there is history. In stones, wood, parchment, glass and paper, bequeathed to us is our history;
“ The old miracles”
“Only a dying civilization neglects its dead “ said Christopher Dawson and how right and prophetic he was. History is everything, the queen of subjects, the explanator, the confounder, the hope, the despair, custodian of memory and essential consoler.
Amiel said: “The age of great men is going. The epoch of the anthill, of life in multiplicity is beginning “
Rebecca West believed greatness had gone from the world. They were both, of course, absolutely correct. We live in a time that ought to be in perpetual mourning for the gone greatness of the past. Yet a fatally, irredeemably superficial epoch has not time for mourning it is too busy. Never more appropriate was the expression “ getting and spending we lay waste our power “
There is hope however, as sometimes we can remedy this disastrous state of affairs: through the diligent study of history. Sometimes, we can still glimpse or study patches or remnants of times and places that the demon of progress has not obliterated entirely. Therein lies our consolation and our power.
The past has already lived through and survived the best and worst of times and it is ever generous enough to willingly reveal its innermost world – if we choose to seek it. In many ways, the past is indeed superior to the present. The past is wisdom, the present is folly.
