Yesterday's Art

[smokingboot]

Credit: Gardenfullofslugs Instagram

Armed with the above, and a touch of Marcus Aurelius (the uncle we all need) I went exploring in Edinburgh. Found the Catholic Cathedral with its small but devoted congregation. Saw the shrine of St Faustina and that of St Andrew, stayed and thought a while by a statue of St Joseph, patron saint of working people, fathers, and immigrants. Lit a candle. Sometimes wherever you are you have to light a candle.

After the main, and to my ear often unintelligible, mass, I listened to a Polish version being held before the altar of Mary. It was full of Latin and singing. Someone among them had a truly melodic voice which led the others and had a delight in it.

Then I made my way to the nearby National Portrait Gallery to stand for a long time in front of the bust of Sir Walter Scott, absorbed in the sculptor's skill, itself enhanced by lighting and placement. I could see Sir Walter as an ordinary-looking man but there is such quality in the jovial sense of the eyes, the mouth subtly curved with humour and grand intellect. But where is this in the stone? I couldn't point out where the vibe came from. Pics on the net don't do it justice.

Running out of energy, still there was time to pause for old favourites, Mary of Guise so cute and foxy, Mary of Scots of course... but with regard to this latter, one couldn't help wondering again* about her taste. Granted the pretty possibilities among 16th century Scottish nobles may have been limited, still it's astonishing that she picked Darnley. As a child he looked like something out of Lovecraft's Shadow over Innsmouth. I have long considered Darnley to be the original reason for those strange Cult of Dagon eyes that occasionally float to the surface of the Windsor gene pool. Victoria had them, Edward VII had them, George V had them, Edward VIII had them, George VI narrowly skirted them or had very considerate photographers, the late queen seems to have avoided them except with Prince Andrew, and now Princess Beatrice has them. Disturbing.

But this paled into insignificance next to the portrait of Archibald Campbell, 1st Marquess of Argyll. The portrait I saw of him was like this (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archibald_Campbell,_1st_Marquess_of_Argyll#/media/File:The_Marquess_of_Argyll.jpg) except for the colouring (lighting?) which was brighter and showed his eyes as a decided blue. In the painting I saw, someone wrote Archibald's story stark on his face. The artist did not scruple to show him as a very plain if not downright ugly man, but also depicted a sense of his extraordinary cunning, a calculating mind only a fool would underestimate. His gaze gave me that sense of being a useless child and grateful for it; better to be ignored by Archibald Campbell than noticed by him. He made Tywin Lannister seem like Santa. How different to the benign brilliance of Sir Walter Scott!

My senses were over-run too fast and I came home, trying to reassure myself that if the Archibald Campbells of this world are with us always, so too are the Walter Scotts. Then my love and I settled down with good red wine and cheese, and laughing together watched all three Jumanji movies.

* I do this a lot.