Shakespeare is read because he is a human heritage. Human heritage is full of creativity and beautiful poems, but it is also full of sarcasm and gender discrimination, and long, illogical protest sentences and excessive analogies that are out of place in my opinion. Perhaps that was what suited the taste of his era. He is a great writer, but I think he was arrogant enough to choose to change historical facts. Because he favored dramatic effects over the simple truth for which thousands or millions died. I had hoped to find in him an independent thinker, thirsty for the truth, but on the contrary, I found a person who only follows the spirit of his era and indulges in imposing mysteries on the elements of the play to give them an element closer to holiness.

I was interested in the conflict within the royal family between the king and his son on one hand and between the king and those who supported him one day and then turned against him on the other hand. I was very interested in the fictional spiritual journey of Prince Hal. I was very, very interested in the soliloquy that the king gives while waiting for the news of victory in the battle, where he said: "Then, happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

And I was interested in his description of his son's nobility despite all the hardships he causes him when he advises his brother. Perhaps that was one of the most beautiful things I read. He said: "For he is gracious if he be observ'd. He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity; 2780 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint; As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd. Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 2785 When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth; But, being moody, give him line and scope Till that his passions."

And I was very interested in the conversation that took place between the king and Prince Hal before the king's death. I bought my copies from Dar al-Maaref in Alexandria. They are published by the Arab League Educational, Cultural and Scientific Organization affiliated with the University of the Arab States. The book consists of two parts, the first and the second together. It is translated by Professor Mustafa Taha Habib, who has a very refined style in translation. Translating Shakespeare's works has a number of difficulties that all translators face without exception. I think this translator has dealt with the difficulties of the differences between the two languages with literacy and proficiency and succeeded in conveying the intended meanings.

They are well aware that the more they assert that they are not miracle-workers, the greater the likelihood that people will regard them with seriousness. This may seem counterintuitive at first glance. One might expect that claiming to be a miracle-worker would attract more attention and respect. However, in reality, it is often the opposite. By openly acknowledging their limitations and disavowing any pretense of performing miracles, they come across as more honest and trustworthy. People are more likely to believe and listen to those who are upfront about what they can and cannot do. This approach builds credibility and allows them to focus on the real work they are capable of doing. It also sets realistic expectations, which can lead to more positive outcomes and a stronger reputation in the long run.

4.5

Review on StoryGraph

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Well, it doesn't really matter. Honor is what prods me on. But what if honor pushes me away when I move forward? What then? Can honor attach a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or can it take away the pain of a wound? No. So, does honor have no knowledge of surgery? No. What is honor? It's just a word. What is there in that word "honor"? What exactly is that "honor"? It's just air. A fine calculation. Who has it? The one who died on Wednesday. Does he feel it? No. Does he hear it? No. So, is it imperceptible? Yes, to the dead. But won't it live with the living? No. Why? Because slander won't allow it. Therefore, I don't want any of it.

In this passage, the speaker is questioning the value and substance of honor. He wonders if honor is truly meaningful or just an empty word. He poses a series of rhetorical questions to show that honor seems to have no practical use or power. It can't heal a wound or give a person a limb. It's intangible and can't be felt or heard by the dead. And even among the living, it is easily damaged by detraction. The speaker ultimately decides that he wants nothing to do with honor, as he sees it as a worthless concept.

This passage reflects a certain cynicism towards honor and may make us think about the true nature and importance of this often-coveted virtue.

This review is part of a work of fiction: My Way to Canossa, the Blogger's Tale.

Last night, for example, I watched Enrico IV by Luigi Pirandello, starring Marcello Mastroianni and freely adapted and directed by Marco Bellocchio, whom I had never heard of, although according to the IMDB he has a long list of director credits.

Wait a minute. That wasn’t last night—that must have been two nights ago, if you count that night over the Atlantic, those foreshortened hours of fitful half-sleep. Well, it was the last night that counts for me, the last time I slept in a bed.

So that night, Saturday night, two nights ago by the calendar, last night according to my biorhythms, I watched the movie of Enrico IV and then put the DVD on the right end of the shelf, almost all the way over. I put it next to Tom Stoppard’s translation of the same play, which is called Pirandello’s Henry IV. I suppose that’s to help the book-buyer or theatre-goer tell this Henry IV apart from all the other Henry IVs that float around in our historical and literary memory. The last time I checked, by the way, the disambiguation page of Wikipedia listed 15 rulers named Henry IV, 15 guys with that name and numeral. Let’s see if I remember—one Holy Roman Emperor, three kings, six dukes, two burgraves, one count, one prince and one Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights. I might be off by a burgrave or two, whatever those are. I tried to learn the list by heart, at least the aggregate summary, because as I was planning this trip everyone I talked to kept getting mixed up about just which Henry was going to be involved.

Now, the biggest sources of confusion are of course the other kings. We speakers of English, when we hear “Henry IV,” usually think first of the Henry who gave his name to two plays by Shakespeare, which are really about his son, the future Henry V, about the Prince Hal who either squanders his youth or grows into greatness in the company of Sir John Falstaff. Of course the reigning monarch at the time, that would be the English Henry IV, did get a lot of stage time in those plays. As I vaguely recall from a BBC video, he’s the central character in all those boring scenes where some minor knight interrupts a blank-verse political discussion with news of some offstage battle. The high-minded scenes that alternate with the low physical comedy and incomprehensible insults that Falstaff and Hal exchange while drinking in Mistress Quickly’s tavern, the scenes we all wait for, if the right actor is playing Falstaff.

I get the impression that for continental Europeans, this particular confusion actually happens to a character in Pirandello’s play. Their default Henry IV is a different king, it’s Henry of Navarre, the moderate Protestant who switched to Catholicism to take the throne of France in 1594, pissing off all the extremists of both sides during his life but becoming a hero to moderates everywhere after his death, if we moderates can be said to have heroes. (Speaking as a moderate, I would answer with a definite “yeah, sure, in a way.”)

And we can’t forget Henry IV of Castile, Isabella’s older half brother and predecessor, a big athletic guy with a broken nose but politically weak and seriously turned off by his wife, his cousin Blanche of Navarre, a marriage that was eventually annulled on the grounds of sexual dysfunction caused by some kind of spell or curse. Not much of a king, but what a great situation for a telenovela. I figure that we’re going to see Henry the Impotent on the Encore!!! Network sometime very soon. A big macho guy who is either gay or addicted to brothels or both, arranged incestuous marriages being negotiated or defiled on a daily basis, an inquisition into an unconsummated matrimony, witchcraft, and a clever little sister who will soon grow up to be half of the most powerful power couple of 1492, maybe the greatest power couple of all time, Ferdinand and Isabella. How could it miss?

And then there’s our Henry. I mean the Henry who is Bertha’s husband, Conrad’s father, and the principal subject of the writings of Lambert and Bruno—and, I guess, now of my own, if you can call this writing. So anyway our Henry, the one who’s out there on a motorcycle someplace, I mean the Holy Roman Emperor, the King of the Romans, the King of Italy, and the King of Burgundy, that Henry. Well, he has the distinction of being at the top of the chronological list, which is to say, of being the first Henry (or Enrique or Heinrich or Enrico) to have the Roman numeral IV attached to his name. Of course those numerals got attached later on, so in the 11th Century sure you would just say “King Henry” or “the Emperor” and everyone would assume you just meant “the one who is alive now.”

Anyway, Pirandello’s play isn’t really about Henry and his trip to Canossa as such, but instead it’s about an Italian nobleman who thinks he’s Henry, or at least acts that way, because twenty years before the action of the play he was riding in a carnival pageant when he fell off a horse and banged his head on a rock, and ever since that accident he has been forcing everyone around him to act out a goofy costume drama. It’s basically a cosplay game, which I guess was a hobby only the very rich could afford in the early 20th century. For this guy, this madman, the life of Henry IV and what happened at Canossa provides a juicy set of characters ready for role-playing. The role he’s picked for himself is Henry, the German king who has come to Italy to beg forgiveness from the Pope, and the other big role, the romantic lead, you might say, is Matilda, his beautiful Italian cousin, the ally of the Pope and the leader of the papal armies. But of course Matilda is a lot more than just an opposing general. She’s the real object—in this story, anyway—of Henry’s quest. Which is to say that Pirandello’s madman—or his fake madman, it’s kind of complicated—still has a crush, after all these years, on the woman he has cast to play Matilda of Canossa.

Several characters feel obligated to point out that there’s no historical evidence of any romantic or sexual goings-on between the original Henry and the original Matilda, and of course those characters are right—there’s absolutely no evidence. But still I think that Pirandello is on to something—after all these centuries (800 plus years in Pirandello’s case, more than 900 in mine) the sexual tension between Henry and Matilda is part of the story. Or at least, part of the fascination. Let’s see, Matilda was four years older than Henry…. Did they ever? In some castle when they were kids? Would they ever, if they had the chance? I think that’s the kind of thing that anyone with even a moderate level of sexual curiosity starts thinking when you read a few books about what happened at Canossa.

So I put the DVD and the book by Stoppard and Pirandello about seven-eighths of the way over, almost all the way toward the right end of my Canossa shelf, next to the DVD boxed set of The Meek Shall Inherit, you know, that Encore!!! Network telenovela about Bertha of Savoy, the one that that stayed pretty much historically accurate until it got to the end of the first season—spoiler alert—the decapitation scene. Because of that season finale—well, yeah, and then the entire rest of the show, in which Bertha becomes Bertha the Great, the first Holy Roman Empress to really rule—that I decided to place The Meek Shall Inherit on the right end of my shelf.

You see, my shelf is ordered, left to right, roughly on a scale of scholarly respectability. Trustworthy, reliable, and well-researched on the left end and outrageous, outlandish, and unfettered on the right. (If you want to see a correspondence with a certain political spectrum, that’s your problem—my system began with me putting the more believable books closer to my reading chair, even though I’d often end up reaching for more entertaining works at the other end.)

This is one of my favourite plays - so, five stars.

However, when considering it as a version, for me, it falls short in terms of lacking some of the elegance that the original play possesses.

Nonetheless, it still manages to have some enjoyable Stoppard verbal moments that add a certain charm.

The play, in its original form, likely had a grace and sophistication that this particular version doesn't quite capture.

Perhaps it's the way the dialogue is presented or the overall pacing of the story.

Despite these shortcomings, the presence of those unique Stoppard verbal flourishes makes it an interesting and somewhat entertaining experience.

It's as if the play is a diamond that has lost a bit of its sparkle but still retains enough of its original allure to be captivating.

Overall, while it may not be a perfect rendition, it still has its merits and is worth experiencing for fans of Stoppard's work.

"Lascià l'amaro in bocca" is an Italian expression that means "to leave a bitter taste in the mouth." It can refer to a situation or experience that leaves a negative or unpleasant feeling.

This phrase can be used in many different contexts. For example, if someone has a bad experience at a restaurant, they might say that the food or service "left a bitter taste in their mouth." Or, if a person has an argument with a friend and the relationship is strained as a result, they might feel that the situation has "left a bitter taste" in their heart.

The idea of something leaving a bitter taste can also be more metaphorical. It could refer to a memory or a thought that continues to linger and cause discomfort. In this sense, "lascià l'amaro in bocca" can be seen as a reminder to try to let go of negative experiences and move on, rather than dwelling on them and allowing them to sour our outlook on life.

Overall, "lascià l'amaro in bocca" is a powerful and evocative expression that captures the essence of a negative or unpleasant experience. By being aware of this feeling and learning to deal with it in a healthy way, we can strive to maintain a more positive and fulfilling life.

Madness, humour, multiple personalities and the masks we wear - these are the major themes that this play so richly embodies.

Madness is explored in a profound and thought-provoking way, as the characters' actions and behaviors often seem to verge on the brink of insanity. It makes us question what is truly rational and what lies beyond the boundaries of our understanding.

Humour, on the other hand, provides a lighthearted contrast to the darker themes. It injects moments of levity and entertainment, making the play not only intellectually stimulating but also enjoyable to watch.

The concept of multiple personalities adds another layer of complexity to the story. The characters seem to have different facets to their personalities, constantly evolving and changing, leaving us to wonder which is the "true" self.

Finally, the masks we wear is a theme that is both universal and timeless. We all put on different masks in different situations, hiding our true selves from the world. This play forces us to confront this reality and consider the consequences of living a life behind a mask.

Together, these themes create a powerful and engaging play that will leave a lasting impression on the audience.

My second favourite book by Pirandello is truly a masterpiece. In this work, he delves into the concept of madness in a way that is both brilliant and beautiful. The author's unique perspective and writing style make the exploration of this complex theme truly captivating.

Pirandello's ability to bring the characters and their inner turmoil to life is remarkable. The story unfolds in a way that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat, constantly wondering what will happen next.

This book is not only a great read but also a thought-provoking exploration of the human psyche. It makes you question your own perception of reality and the thin line that separates sanity from madness.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys literature that challenges their thinking and takes them on a journey of self-discovery. It is a must-read for fans of Pirandello and anyone interested in exploring the darker side of the human experience.

"Qué bueno es lo amé" is a beautiful expression that conveys the idea of how wonderful it is to have loved. Love is a powerful emotion that can bring joy, happiness, and fulfillment to our lives. When we love someone or something, we open ourselves up to a world of possibilities and experiences.

Love can take many forms, such as romantic love, platonic love, or love for a hobby or passion. Each type of love has its own unique characteristics and can have a profound impact on our well-being. Whether it's the love we feel for a significant other, the love we have for our friends and family, or the love we have for a particular activity, it all adds meaning and purpose to our lives.

In conclusion, "Qué bueno es lo amé" reminds us of the importance of love in our lives. It encourages us to embrace love and all that it has to offer, and to cherish the memories and experiences that come with it. So, let's continue to love deeply and passionately, and to appreciate the beauty and wonder that love brings.

I have a strange relationship with Pirandello.

I like what he writes, the themes he deals with, and how he weaves the stories.

There is always a "but" that I can't explain, however.

Anyway, the ending is surely emblematic: a man who decides to take refuge in madness rather than have to do with the reality that surrounds him.

This ending makes me think deeply about the nature of reality and the human psyche.

Does Pirandello suggest that reality is too harsh and unbearable, so that madness becomes a kind of escape?

Or is he simply showing us the complexity and ambiguity of the human condition?

I'm not sure, but I know that Pirandello's works always leave me with a lot to think about.

His writing style is unique, and his stories often have a profound impact on me.

Even though I have this strange "but" in my relationship with him, I still appreciate his works and the insights they offer into the human experience.

Perhaps one day, I will be able to fully understand and explain that "but" that lingers in my mind.

Until then, I will continue to explore Pirandello's works and try to uncover their hidden meanings.

Read this.

Technically, it is a reread for me. The reason is that I have already read Enrico IV in Italian. However, this was the very first time that I had read the one by Stoppard.

What's more, this Stoppard version has a really nice modern tone to it. It manages to maintain the feeling of the original play while also bringing in a contemporary touch.

This combination makes it a truly interesting and engaging read. It allows the reader to experience the classic story in a new and refreshing way.

The modern tone helps to make the play more accessible to a wider audience, while still respecting the essence and spirit of the original work.

Overall, reading this Stoppard version of Enrico IV has been a great experience for me. It has deepened my appreciation for the play and has shown me how a classic can be reinterpreted and updated in a successful way.