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Helen (jugar)

Helen (jugar)


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Helen es una tragedia griega de Eurípides (c. Por lo general, se cree que se realizó por primera vez en la Gran Dionisia de 412 a. C. y fue parte de la trilogía que incluía la obra perdida de Eurípides. Andrómeda. Helena relata una versión inusual del mito de Helena de Troya en la que un señuelo fantasma, un eidolón, reemplaza a Helena en Troya mientras la verdadera Helena espera el final de la Guerra de Troya en Egipto. Desde su primera actuación, Eurípides Helen ha desconcertado y fascinado: en su Thesmophoriazusae, realizada el año siguiente a la de Eurípides Helen, El dramaturgo cómico griego Aristófanes parodiaba a la “nueva Helena” (verso 850). Hasta el día de hoy, los académicos continúan debatiendo muchos aspectos de la Helena de Eurípides, incluida su discordante yuxtaposición de lo cómico y lo devastador, su relevancia contemporánea y su mensaje sobre la naturaleza de la verdad y la realidad.

Eurípides

Eurípides, nacido alrededor del 484 a. C., fue el más joven de los tres trágicos atenienses considerados "canónicos" desde la antigüedad (los otros dos son Esquilo y Sófocles). De las aproximadamente 90 obras que compuso durante su vida, 18 sobreviven en su totalidad (una de las tragedias transmitidas bajo su nombre, Rhesus, se considera casi universalmente como espurio). Por lo tanto, hay más obras de Eurípides que sobreviven que las de Esquilo y Sófocles juntas, lo que demuestra que, después de su muerte, Eurípides pronto eclipsó en popularidad a sus dos predecesores.

Incluso durante su propia vida, Eurípides fue conocido como el más aventurero y vanguardista de los grandes trágicos.

Se sabe muy poco sobre la vida de Eurípides, y la poca información que tenemos está oscurecida por la fábula y la fantasía. Nació en una familia de sacerdotes hereditarios en la isla de Salamina, cerca de Atenas. Se decía que se había casado dos veces, aunque ambos matrimonios terminaron de manera amarga. De uno de sus matrimonios, tuvo tres hijos, uno de los cuales también se convirtió en un trágico. Sobre todo, Eurípides tenía fama de haber sido un recluso, famoso por vivir en una cueva en Salamina (que se convirtió en un santuario para él después de su muerte). Finalmente, se retiró a la corte del rey Arquelao de Macedonia, donde murió en el 406 a. C.

Eurípides nos es más conocido a través de sus obras. Estos se realizaron en varios festivales, principalmente Dionysia y Lenaia, en enormes teatros al aire libre. La mayoría de las obras de Eurípides se representaron en Atenas para el público local y turístico, aunque algunas de sus obras se habrían producido en otros lugares: en Macedonia, donde Eurípides pasó los últimos años de su vida, o Sicilia, donde aparentemente fue muy popular. Incluso durante su propia vida, Eurípides fue conocido como el más aventurero y vanguardista de los grandes trágicos. Sin embargo, esto no siempre se tradujo en éxito. Durante una carrera que abarcó medio siglo (Eurípides produjo su primera trilogía alrededor del 455 a. C. y continuó componiendo tragedias hasta su muerte), Eurípides ganó el primer premio solo cuatro veces durante su vida (una quinta vez póstumamente). Por otro lado, se decía que Esquilo había salido victorioso 13 veces y Sófocles 18. Las tragedias de Eurípides, llenas de desesperación, novedad y cuestionamientos implacables, a veces se consideraban sensacionales e incluso impías. Pero la fama y la popularidad de Eurípides crecieron después de su muerte, mientras que la de Esquilo y Sófocles declinó. Hoy hay quienes piensan en Eurípides como el más grande de los trágicos atenienses.

El mito

El mito de Helena es posiblemente más conocido por las epopeyas homéricas, la Ilíada y el Odisea, que generalmente se cree que datan del siglo VIII o VII a. C. En el Ilíada, encontramos a Helena en Troya viviendo con su amante París: había llegado a la ciudad después de huir de su marido, el rey espartano Menelao, y durante diez años Menelao y los griegos luchan por recuperarla. En el Odisea, la Guerra de Troya ha terminado con la caída de Troya y el regreso de Helena a Esparta con Menelao.

¿Historia de amor?

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Entre Homero y Eurípides, muchos autores volvieron a contar episodios del mito de Helena. El matrimonio de Helena y la guerra de Troya parece haber sido descrita en el pseudo-Hesiódico. Catálogo de Mujeres (fragmentos 23a, 197-204 M-W), probablemente compuesto en los siglos VII o VI a. C. Safo (c. 620-570 a. C.), describió en uno de sus poemas cómo Helen abandonó a su marido y a su familia cuando zarpó con París (Safo 16). El propio Eurípides, en su tragedia Mujeres de Troya del 415 a. C., representó el encuentro de Helena con el amargado Menelao después de la caída de Troya.

En Eurípides Helen, nos enfrentamos a una versión del mito en la que Helen nunca va a Troya.

Pero en Eurípides Helen, nos enfrentamos a una versión del mito en la que Helen nunca va a Troya. Según esta tragedia, Helen había sido llevada a Egipto mientras los dioses le daban a París un fantasma diseñado a su semejanza. Fue por el fantasma que se libró la Guerra de Troya. Mientras tanto, Helen pasa 17 años esperando en Egipto a Menelao. Al principio, ella está bajo la protección del rey egipcio Proteus, pero después de que Proteus muere, se ve obligada a esquivar constantemente los avances del hijo de Proteus, Teoclymenus, quien exige que se case con él. Cuando Menelao llega a Egipto después de diez años de guerra y siete más de vagabundeo, Helen finalmente se reencuentra con su esposo. Aunque perseguidos por el obstinado Teoclymenus, los dos logran un atrevido escape con la ayuda de la hermana de Theoclymenus, Theonoe, y regresan a casa juntos.

Aunque gran parte de esta extraña historia es de Eurípides, algunos elementos ocurren en autores anteriores. los Odisea describe algunos de los vagabundeos de Menelao y Helena después de la guerra de Troya, así como su desvío en Egipto para consultar el profético Proteo (4.351-592). Probablemente fue una versión de esta historia homérica que Esquilo usó en su obra de sátiro perdido. Proteo, realizado junto con el Oresteia trilogía del 468 a. C. Pero el mito de que Helena nunca fue a Troya y que la guerra se libró por un fantasma parece haberse originado con el poeta Stesichorus del siglo VI a. C. Según Platón (428/427 - 348/347 a. C.), Stesichorus había escrito un poema llamado Helen que describía la relación adúltera de Helen con Paris. Poco después de componer este poema, Stesichorus se quedó ciego. Al darse cuenta de que había ofendido a Helena, Stesichorus inmediatamente compuso un segundo poema: un Palinodia (literalmente, "canción invertida") - en la que se retractó de la primera y explicó que Helen nunca navegó a Troya en absoluto (Fedro 243a-b). Ni Stesichorus ' Helen ni su Palinodia sobrevive, aunque Platón cita algunas líneas clave de este último (Fedro 243a7-b1):

Esta historia no es cierta: no subiste a los barcos bien asentados, no llegaste a las torres de Troya (mi traducción)

Aparentemente, en Stesichorus ' Palinodia Helena es inocente, permaneciendo leal a su esposo Menelao mientras la guerra se libraba por un fantasma (ver también Platón, República 586c). Por corregir su error, Stesichorus, según cuenta la historia, recuperó rápidamente su visión.

Finalmente, alrededor del 450 a. C., una generación antes de la de Eurípides. Helen estrenada - el historiador Herodoto (c. 484 - 425/417 a. C.) publicó su Historias, en el que da su versión del mito de Helena: Helena se fugó con París, pero cuando los dos se detuvieron en Egipto, el virtuoso rey Proteo reconoció su crimen y detuvo a Helena con él hasta que pudiera ser devuelta a su legítimo marido. Mientras tanto, los griegos navegaron a Troya para recuperar a Helena. Al no creerles a los troyanos cuando les dijeron que Helena no estaba allí, los griegos saquearon la ciudad solo para descubrir que los troyanos les habían estado diciendo la verdad después de todo. Finalmente, los viajes de Menelao lo llevaron a Egipto, donde encontró a su esposa y la llevó de regreso a Esparta (113-19).

Eurípides Helen mezcla y combina estas diferentes versiones del mito. Pero algunos detalles, como el hijo de Proteo, Teoclymenus, por ejemplo, son casi con certeza su invención. Y, como siempre, la forma en que Eurípides despliega sus fuentes y lo que hace con el mito está enteramente determinada por su genio inimitable.

Caracteres

La obra se desarrolla en Egipto antes del palacio. El altar en medio de la orquesta (el escenario) probablemente representaba la tumba de Proteo.

Los personajes, en orden de aparición, son:

  • Helena (esposa de Menelao)
  • Teucer (guerrero griego, de Salamina)
  • Coro de mujeres espartanas cautivas
  • Menelao (rey de Esparta)
  • Anciana (guardiana del palacio)
  • Siervo (de Menelao)
  • Theonoe (profeta, hija de Proteus, hermana de Theoclymenus)
  • Theoclymenus (rey de Egipto, hijo de Proteus, hermano de Theonoe)
  • Mensajero (sirviente de Teoclymenus)
  • Dioscuri (hermanos de Helena)

Trama

Prólogo: La obra comienza con Helena, de pie ante la tumba del difunto rey Proteo en Egipto. Helena se presenta y proporciona la historia de fondo: 17 años antes, París había nombrado a Afrodita como la diosa más bella en un concurso (el Juicio de París) y, a cambio, se le prometió la mano de Helena en matrimonio; París navegó a Esparta, pero la diosa Hera, enojada por haber perdido ante Afrodita, creó un fantasma a semejanza de Helena para dárselo a París; mientras tanto, la verdadera Helena fue llevada a Egipto por Hermes, donde fue protegida por el rey Proteo. Durante estos últimos 17 años, dice Helen, ella ha mantenido su castidad obedientemente, incluso después de que Proteus murió y se vio obligada a rechazar las búsquedas maritales de su hijo Theoclymenus. Aunque sabe que su nombre ha sido manchado por el fantasma que la reemplazó, Helen está decidida a defender su virtud y espera reparar su reputación algún día:

... aunque mi nombre sea injuriado en Grecia, mi cuerpo no será avergonzado aquí. (66-67, tr. Kovacs)

Cuando Helen llega al final de su discurso, entra el guerrero griego Teucer. Aún con la impresión de que la Helena fantasma era real, está confundido y enojado por encontrar otra Helena en Egipto. Helen no le revela su identidad, pero le pregunta si tiene noticias sobre los griegos y la guerra de Troya. Teucer revela que la madre de Helen, Leda, se suicidó, sus hermanos Castor y Polideuces habían desaparecido y su esposo Menelao se presume muerto. También explica que ha sido exiliado de su tierra natal, Salamina, y está buscando el consejo del profeta Theonoe. Helena le advierte que debe irse de inmediato, ya que el nuevo rey Teoclymenus mata a todos los griegos que encuentra. Sale Teucer.

Parodos: Entra el Coro. Ellos y Helen lamentan que, aunque Helen es inocente, su nombre sigue siendo condenado entre los griegos.

Episodio 1: En un intercambio con el coro, Helen considera sus acciones y jura morir si Menelao está realmente muerto. El coro la insta a que consulte a Theonoe primero. Todos salen para hacerlo.

Entra Menelao, vestido con harapos. Se jacta de ser el conquistador de Troya y explica que después de siete años de vagabundeo ha naufragado en Egipto. La fantasma Helen, a quien todavía cree que es la verdadera Helen, ha sido escondida en una cueva con los pocos de sus hombres que han sobrevivido. La Anciana lo detiene en una escena cómica y le informa que Helena de Esparta está en Egipto. Menelao se va confundido:

¿Qué voy a hacer con esto? Me enteré de nuevos problemas tras los viejos: vengo trayendo a la esposa que tomé de Troya, y está en una cueva, y sin embargo, hay otra mujer, con el mismo nombre que mi esposa, que vive en esta casa. Dijo que la mujer era la hija de Zeus. ¿Hay algún hombre llamado Zeus a orillas del Nilo? No, solo hay uno, el que está en el cielo. ¿Y dónde diablos hay una Esparta, excepto donde el Eurotas fluye a través de bancos de hermosos juncos? Tyndareus es el nombre de un hombre, no de dos. ¿Qué otras tierras se llaman Lacedaemon y Troy? No sé qué hacer con eso. (483-99, tr. Kovacs)

Helena y el Coro regresan, después de consultar a Theonoe y enterarse de la inminente llegada de Menelao a Egipto. Al principio, Helena huye del harapiento Menelao, pero pronto lo reconoce y se revela. Menelao, cuestionando la naturaleza de la realidad, se niega a creer que ella es la verdadera Helena hasta que su Sirviente revela que el fantasma de la cueva acababa de exonerar a Helena y desapareció en el aire. Helena y Menelao se reencuentran, y Menelao señala que la Guerra de Troya se libró por una ilusión. Pero Menelao no tiene barco, y la pareja se da cuenta de que no podrán salir de Egipto sin la ayuda de Theonoe: Theoclymenus todavía quiere casarse con Helena y matará a Menelaus si descubre quién es.

Entra Theonoe; Helena y Menelao le suplican su apoyo. Theonoe promete no revelar la identidad de Menelao a su hermano y guardar silencio sobre su intento de escapar. Después de que ella se va, Helen diseña un plan de escape: un funeral en el mar simulado para el Menelao "muerto".

Stasimon 1: El Coro llora a los que murieron en la Guerra de Troya. Cuestionan la naturaleza de los dioses y las razones de la guerra.

Episodio 2: Entra Teoclymenus. Helena presenta a Menelao, pero miente sobre su identidad, presentándolo como un griego náufrago que vio morir a su marido en el mar. Helena promete que se casará con Teoclymenus si le permite celebrar un funeral en el mar para Menelao. Teoclymenus accede a la petición de Helena.

Stasimon 2: El Coro canta el mito de Deméter, que perdió a su hija Perséfone y fue a buscarla. Afirman, extrañamente, que Helen una vez ofendió a Deméter.

Episodio 3: Helena y Menelao (ahora heroicamente vestidos con una nueva armadura) terminan de negociar los preparativos para el funeral en el mar con Teoclymenus. Helen explica que debe ir con los demás y que Menelao debe estar al mando del barco. Teoclymenus concede; Helena y Menelao parten después de que Menelao ora a Zeus por el éxito de su empresa.

Stasimon 3: El Coro imagina el glorioso regreso de Helen a Esparta.

Episodio 4: Un Mensajero se apresura al palacio y le dice a Teoclymenus que Helena y Menelaus lo han engañado; han matado a los marineros egipcios, se han apoderado del barco y están de camino a Esparta. Theoclymenus está furioso y está a punto de matar a su hermana Theonoe por no advertirle de la traición; el Coro intenta impedirlo. Los Dioscuri aparecen como dei ex machina y revelar que todo lo que sucedió fue parte del plan de Zeus. Helena se convertirá en un dios como ellos, y Menelao irá a las Islas de los Benditos cuando muera. Teoclymenus acepta aceptar este resultado.

Análisis

Uno de los temas más importantes de la obra es la diferencia entre realidad e ilusión. La premisa de la tragedia es que la Guerra de Troya se libró por una Helena fantasma mientras la Helena real estaba en Egipto. Significativamente, la realidad y la ilusión son en este caso indistinguibles: todo el mundo piensa que la Helena fantasma es la Helena real, incluido el marido de Helena, Menelao (hasta que, es decir, el fantasma desaparece). Helen a menudo lucha con el conflicto entre su propia inocencia y la culpa que implica su nombre:

Y para la lucha contra los troyanos me presentaron a los griegos como un premio de guerra (aunque no era yo, sino solo mi nombre) (42-43, tr. Kovacs)

Eurípides Helen también reflexiona sobre la moralidad y las razones de la guerra. Este fue un tema contemporáneo importante: cuando la tragedia se produjo alrededor del 412 a. C., los atenienses y espartanos habían estado en guerra durante casi dos décadas (la guerra del Peloponeso). En el 413 a. C., los atenienses sufrieron un gran revés después de que una gran fuerza que habían enviado a Siracusa como parte de la Expedición a Sicilia fuera prácticamente aniquilada hasta el último hombre. Muchos atenienses miran a Eurípides Helen hubiera simpatizado con Menelao, que recuerda a sus hombres que murieron en la guerra y en el mar:

Podemos pasar lista de los que perecieron y los que escaparon de los peligros del mar y llegaron a casa sanos y salvos con los nombres de sus compañeros muertos. (397-99, tr. Kovacs)

También es de interés la representación de Menelao y la nacionalidad espartana. Menelao se pone en ridículo cuando intenta, sin éxito, abrirse paso a empujones por delante de la anciana para entrar en el palacio, es notablemente obtuso cuando se trata de comprender cómo la verdadera Helena había sido reemplazada por un fantasma, y ​​él habría estado completamente indefenso. contra Teoclymenus si no fuera por Helena. Esta caracterización parece reflejar un estereotipo ateniense que interpretó a los espartanos como unos patán toscos y poco inteligentes. En realidad, Menelao aparece en un puñado de obras de Eurípides (Andrómaca, Mujeres de Troya, etc.), y se le retrata como igualmente estúpido en todos ellos. La astuta Helena, por otra parte, ha sido comparada por algunos con el general y estadista ateniense Alcibíades. Por tanto, es posible leer Eurípides Helen como una obra de gran actualidad, que refleja las sombrías realidades de la guerra griega a finales del siglo V a. C.

Por devastador que sea todo esto, también hay momentos de alivio cómico, como la escena en la que Menelao es alejado del palacio por la Anciana. La tragedia también tiene un final "feliz", con Helena y Menelao navegando juntos hacia Esparta. Esto puede parecer sorprendente para muchos lectores modernos y, de hecho, para la mayoría de las tragedias antiguas más conocidas (El libro de Esquilo Agamenón, Sófocles Edipo Rey y Antígona, Eurípides ' Medea) no terminan con una nota feliz. Pero es un error creer que todas las tragedias atenienses fueron asuntos miserables y tristes. De hecho, la idea de que la tragedia debe ser triste se desarrolló gradualmente, a través de la influencia de siglos de dramaturgos (como Séneca y Shakespeare) y críticos literarios (como Aristóteles). En la Grecia clásica, las tragedias podían ser felices o incluso divertidas, y esto no las hacía menos trágicas, y ciertamente no las convertía en comedias o romances.


Helen (Play) - Historia

Comentario: Se han publicado algunos comentarios sobre Helen.

Traducido por E. P. Coleridge

HELEN, esposa de MENELAUS
TEUCER, un guerrero griego, que luchó en Troya
CORO DE MUJERES GRIEGAS CAUTIVAS, asistiendo a HELEN
MENELAO, rey de Esparta
PORTRESA DE TEOCLIMENO
PRIMER MENSAJERO
SEGUNDO MENSAJERO
THEONOE, hermana de THEOCLIMENO
TEOCLIMENO, rey de Egipto
SIERVO DE TEOCLIMENO
EL DIOSCURI

Ante el palacio de TEOCLIMENO en Egipto. Está cerca de la desembocadura del Nilo. Se ve la tumba de Proteo, el padre de TEOCLIMENO. HELEN se encuentra sola ante la tumba.

Déjame invocar, lloroso Philomel, que acecha bajo el frondoso escondite en tu lugar de canto, el más melodioso de todos los cantores emplumados, ¡oh! ven a ayudarme en mi canto fúnebre, trinando a través de tu garganta leonada, mientras canto los lastimosos aflicciones de Helena y el destino lloroso de las damas troyanas sometidas a la lanza de Acaya, el día en que llegó a sus llanuras uno que se precipitó con extranjeros. remo a través de las olas veloces, trayendo a la raza de Príamo desde Lacedemonio a ti su desventurada esposa, Helena, -incluso París, desafortunado novio, con la guía de Afrodita.

Y muchos aqueos han exhalado su último suspiro en medio de las estocadas de los lanceros y el granizo de piedras precipitadas, y han ido a su triste final porque estas sus esposas se cortaron el cabello con dolor, y sus casas se quedaron sin una esposa y una de los aqueos, que tenía un solo barco, encendió un faro resplandeciente en Eubea, ceñida por el mar, y destruyó por completo a muchos de ellos, haciéndolos naufragar


"Ramona": la historia de un clásico

Aproximadamente cada siglo, surgirá una historia que tiene tanta importancia social y emocional que se convierte primero en un clásico y luego ... en un icono. La trágica historia de Ramona y su amante Alessandro es una de esas historias. Al igual que Romeo y Julieta, Cumbres borrascosas, e incluso una fábula más moderna como El gran Gatsby, “Ramona” se ha plantado en nuestra conciencia cultural de una manera única. Cuando la novela "Ramona" de Helen Hunt Jackson se publicó por primera vez en 1884, fue lanzada contra la mentalidad del público como una ola del océano contra un bote de remos. No se podía ignorar la pura gravedad de su mensaje. Se convirtió en un éxito de ventas instantáneo y, como "La cabaña del tío Tom" lo había hecho una generación antes, no solo cambió la forma en que las personas veían el mundo fuera de su propia zona de confort, sino que le dio al ciudadano promedio una mirada a una cultura que antes solo tenían. escuchado el rumor de. Entretejido en el romance de "Ramona" hay un vistazo a la trágica historia de los pueblos nativos del sur de California. Más que una simple historia de amor, es una historia cuyo mensaje es tan importante hoy como lo era cuando la novela llegó al escenario público por primera vez.

Vea más fotos históricas de & # 8220Ramona & # 8221 de la Colección de la Biblioteca Pública de Hemet. Helen Hunt Jackson fue una de las escritoras más populares de su época. Aunque durante la mayor parte de su vida había rehuido los importantes problemas políticos y sociales de finales del siglo noventa, en 1879 Jackson emergió repentinamente, en lo que pareció un destello de conciencia civil, como uno de los principales defensores de los derechos indígenas en Estados Unidos. Ella pidió cambios en las políticas indias del gobierno y documentó sus acciones abiertas en un libro de 1881 titulado "Un siglo de deshonra". Jackson describió con vívidos detalles los tratados rotos, los asesinatos brutales y las políticas gubernamentales engañosas que se habían convertido en la norma para los nativos americanos. Forzados a permanecer en las reservas, las enfermedades y la muerte pronto cobraron su precio. Los indios americanos se dirigían hacia la extinción. Las Naciones Unidas hoy no tendrían ningún problema en llamar a estas prácticas institucionales "genocidas". La señorita Jackson escribió sobre su profunda simpatía por los nativos: “A veces me sorprende que el Señor no llueva fuego y azufre en esta tierra para castigarnos por nuestra crueldad con estos indios desafortunados”.

Desafortunadamente, aunque su trabajo de no ficción puede haber tenido el peso de su pasión detrás de él, no fue un gran éxito literario e hizo poco por cambiar la visión estereotipada de los indios y su forma de vida en la mente del público estadounidense. Necesitaba un enfoque más fresco. Decidió que no bastaba con informar, tenía que entretener. Y así nació la historia de “Ramona”. Y la idea de que se pueden ganar más corazones con pura emoción que con información detallada resultó correcta. Y el éxito de la novela no solo transformó la forma en que la gente veía el tema de los derechos de los indígenas en Estados Unidos, sino que creó una visión romántica de California que aún perdura en la actualidad. El libro nunca se ha agotado. Y se han creado muchas películas y versiones de televisión a lo largo de los años, pero es la "Ramona" que uno experimenta aquí cada primavera, con el telón de fondo de nuestras hermosas colinas onduladas y cielos turquesas, la que realmente siente la presencia y el espíritu de la historia. Simplemente tienes que venir a la obra, la obra oficial al aire libre de California, mientras se encamina hacia su centésima temporada consecutiva, para apreciar la maravilla que realmente es "Ramona", como historia y como un elemento icónico en la historia de California.

Foto tomada frente al Mission Inn, Riverside


Helen es la hija mayor de William y Myrtle Simmons. Cuando estaba en la escuela secundaria, se enamoró de Charles y se casaron nada más terminar la escuela secundaria. Charles quería vivir el "Sueño Americano" y se convirtió en un exitoso abogado mientras Helen lo apoyaba como esposa cocinando y limpiando. Helen lidió con el estrés de Charles a lo largo de los años que estuvieron casados. Estos dolores de cabeza incluyeron mudar a su madre a un hogar y el estrés general que causó sus dos abortos espontáneos con sus hijos. Helen, criada como una cristiana devota, apoyaba a su esposo y lo amaba incondicionalmente, pero notó que su comportamiento hacia ella cambiaba con cada centavo que ganaba en el bufete de abogados. Ella escribe en su diario sus frustraciones y su ira incrustada hacia él.

Helen estuvo casada con Charles McCarter durante 18 años. Durante este tiempo, Charles abusó verbal y físicamente de Helen en privado, creando la ilusión de un matrimonio perfecto a puerta cerrada. Charles puso a la madre de Helen, Myrtle, en una enfermería. Su excusa fue que ella no era parte del "Sueño Americano". En las versiones de la película y el juego, se reveló que la estaba engañando con una mujer llamada Brenda Johnson. En la versión cinematográfica, el padre de Charles, Daddy Charles, y su difunta madre, Pauline, no se ven ni se mencionan, pero están presentes en la obra.

Charles le pagó a Orlando, un camión de reparto, para que se llevara sus pertenencias y la llevara a otro lugar. Furiosa, echó a Orlando de la camioneta y condujo hasta la casa de Madea, donde se quedó. Más tarde, Madea tuvo una comida al aire libre invitando a su familia y a todos en el vecindario. Fue entonces cuando volvió a ver a Orlando. Al ver que su primo, Brian, lo invitó, donde los dos se enfrentaron inicialmente, Helen hace un gesto de perdón que los lleva a presentarse formalmente. Orlando poco a poco se siente atraído por ella mientras está en la parrillada de Madea.

A medida que pasan las semanas, ve a Helen trabajando en un restaurante con un nuevo corte de pelo durante abril. Él pide un "Número 4" y ella comenta "No tenemos" Número 4 "en este restaurante. Él solo pide un café en lugar de la comida. Antes de que ella se vaya, hace un complemento sobre su nuevo corte de pelo diciendo: "Me gusta mucho el nuevo corte de pelo, mucho." Dice cautelosamente, dice gracias antes de casi tropezar con algo tratando de alejarse rápidamente. Continúa revolviendo su cabello mientras se aleja siendo consciente de sí misma en su cumplido. Esto lo hace reír mientras él sabe que se está construyendo una atracción mutua entre ellos.

Durante una noche lluviosa de mayo, cuando Helen estaba cerrando el restaurante, Orlando viene a recogerla mientras espera afuera, habiendo sido enviada por Brian. Ella finalmente acepta después de declinar inicialmente y los dos se dirigen a Chaundra's. Ella se ha vuelto más cautelosa y fuerte desde el incidente con Charles mientras le pregunta sobre él y cuáles son sus intenciones para llevarla a cenar. Ella finalmente se calma cuando sus respuestas parecen legítimas. Él le pide que baile, lo que inicialmente ella rechaza, pero finalmente acepta. Gradualmente se siente atraída, pero aún vigilada debido a lo que sucedió con su lucha anterior con él y los eventos con su ex esposo Charles.

Intimidad de Helen y Orlando

A lo largo de las semanas, ella y Orlando comienzan a pasar mucho tiempo juntos. Tuvieron varias citas diferentes, ya que se los puede ver caminando juntos, relajándose junto al estanque, incluso teniendo peleas de almohadas y luego compartiendo besos. Una noche en una fecha específica de agosto, Orlando confiesa que ama a Helen mientras cenan. Más tarde esa noche, le pregunta a Helen si ella siente lo mismo. Aún cauteloso de afirmar sus sentimientos, él le asegura que no abusará de cómo se siente, pero que tiene que escucharlo. Ella afirma que ella también lo ama. A la mañana siguiente, Helen se despierta para lavarse y nota un anillo en su mano. Cuando se da vuelta, encuentra a Orlando parado allí y le propone matrimonio. Helen parada allí incrédula y muy emocionada de su propuesta es interrumpida por lo que vio en las noticias detrás de él en el televisor.

Helen y Brian están junto a Brenda escuchando sobre la condición de Charles. Cuando el médico pregunta quién es la esposa, Brenda responde rápidamente: "Pronto seré", lo que enfureció a Helen. El médico le pregunta a Brenda si deberían intentar revivir a Charles, a lo que ella responde que no. Helen intercepta rápidamente y, como sigue siendo su esposa legalmente, le dice al médico que haga lo que pueda por Charles. Helen y Brenda entablan una discusión que Brenda abandona abruptamente después de que Helen le grita.

Helen procede a golpear a Charles.

Ella se lleva a Charles a casa y cuando él puede hablar, continúa siendo verbalmente abusivo, lo que Helen se defiende. Su reivindicación va en forma de verdades físicas a brutales que él no la ha escuchado afirmar, ni siquiera durante su matrimonio. Charles comenzó a darse cuenta de lo hiriente que había sido con ella y comenzó a pronunciar las palabras: "Lo siento". Helen lo llevó a la iglesia un día y fue salvo.

Aun así, sentía algo por Orlando y estaba herida. En la cena familiar con Madea, ella le dice a Charles que siempre lo amará y que siempre serán amigos, pero que está enamorada de Orlando. Ella le da los papeles del divorcio y el anillo, lo besa en la frente y se va a buscar a Orlando.

Encuentra a Orlando, aparentemente todavía dolido por su partida inesperada, y dice que solo lo quiere. Quiere asegurarse y pregunta: "¿Cómo lo sabes, Helen?" Ella repite lo mismo que él le dijo una vez cuando le confesó su amor con lágrimas en los ojos: "Te llevo en mi espíritu, rezo por ti más de lo que rezo por mí, y si estás fuera por más de un hora no puedo dejar de pensar en ti, tu sonrisa, cuando sonríes mi mundo está bien ". Él vuelve a proponerle matrimonio y ella acepta como quiso al principio. Se abrazan y besan, luego él la levanta y les grita a sus compañeros de trabajo: "¡Esta mujer de aquí quiere casarse conmigo, ya! ¡Quiere casarse conmigo!" Todos los compañeros de trabajo aplauden y animan mientras camina con Helen en sus brazos.


La ciudad de Helen tiene una sensación perfecta de pueblo pequeño

Cuando visite Alpine Helen, se sentirá como si hubiera retrocedido en el tiempo. Esta pintoresca zona está inspirada en un antiguo pueblo alpino alemán. Los callejones empedrados y las torres sinuosas te harán sentir como si hubieras dejado los estados. Aquí, también podrá disfrutar de una amplia variedad de tiendas, restaurantes y entretenimiento.

Esta encantadora zona celebra algo durante todo el año. Hay festividades del 4 de julio, las Noches de Verano de Baviera, Winefest y una carrera anual de globos aerostáticos que es emocionante para toda la familia. Para un país de las maravillas invernal, asegúrese de visitar Alpenfest que comienza cada Día de Acción de Gracias y se extiende hasta diciembre.

Imagen cortesía de Shutterstock

El más popular de los festivales de Alpine Helen, sin duda, es su Oktoberfest. De hecho, el Oktoberfest en Helen es el más largo del país y dura casi seis semanas desde mediados de septiembre hasta finales de octubre. ¡Es cerveza alemana, mocosos, bebida, canciones, polcas y todos los pantalones de cuero que podrías pedir! ¿Quién dice que un pueblo pequeño tiene que ser aburrido?

Para unas vacaciones perfectas con un sentimiento de ciudad pequeña que le ofrece a usted y a todo su grupo algo divertido para hacer, unas vacaciones en cabaña en Helen es justo lo que necesita. Aquí encontrará la combinación perfecta de diversión y relajación. Reduzca la velocidad por un tiempo y disfrute de unas vacaciones que realmente lo alejen de todo.


Imagen cortesía de Unsplash


Una breve historia de Helena de Troya

El título revela poco sobre esta comedia negra estadounidense contemporánea. Sólo en el sentido más vago está Helena de Troya presente en la historia de la infeliz y adolescente Charlotte.

Esta obra en cuatro actos está influenciada por el rostro que lanzó mil barcos hasta el punto de que a Charlotte se le asigna una tarea escolar sobre el tema y su vida, o más exactamente la de su difunta madre, tiene similitudes con la del modelo griego.

Charlotte es un patito feo de quince años cuya madre, memorablemente hermosa, llamada Helen, acaba de morir. En una serie de escenas cortas, tiene encuentros uno a uno con familiares, amigos y conocidos que rayan en lo surrealista, pero pintan la imagen de una chica tímida que acepta la vida y la muerte.

Su padre, interpretado por John Sharian, es casi monosilábico, por lo que palabras como OK parecen un bocado. Él se preocupa por su hija, pero le cuesta entenderla o comunicarse con ella. No está solo, ya que el público tiene que tomar decisiones conscientes sobre si algunas escenas están ocurriendo en su cabeza o en su vida.

Her best (and only) friend Heather, wittily portrayed by Jaimi Barbakoff, is so totally an airhead valley girl who uses her friend like an ego-boosting doll. Even worse, insecure Franklin (Ryan Sampson) is a geeky boy who has learned to ignore Charlotte, and Freddie (Christian Brassington) is a wet dream of a quarterback who loves himself to distraction.

The funniest moments in a very funny play come in scenes involving Gary the careers teacher. In two scenes, the tables are reversed. First, Charlotte goes hilariously overboard on her sole career choice of porn star while Gary gulps and dissembles. Next time around, she announces that she wants to be a nun while he tells her that she should be a porn star and that, anyway, there is little difference between the two.

Charlotte is a mixed-up girl who longs to trade teen acne for her mother's peerless beauty. In true 21st Century style, she tries to buy the admiration that the beautiful get genuinely. Her method is a combination of loud attention-seeking and no commitment sex.

The play achieves no real resolution, although eventually father and daughter begin to communicate properly. It is held together by an excellent performance from very promising RADA graduate Andrea Riseborough who is making her professional stage debut.

Under Gordon Anderson's direction, she allows the strange teen to become surprisingly sympathetic and assists in making this lively play show what life is like for an ugly, unhappy teenager today.


Keller, Helen — Story of My Life: Part 6

“In the story of my life here presented to the readers of The Ladies’ Home Journal, I have tried to show that afflictions may be looked at in such a way that they become privileges.”

by Helen Keller, Cambridge, 1902

I TRUST that the readers of THE LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL have not concluded from the chapter on books in the preceding number of the magazine that reading is my only pleasure for my pleasures and amusements are as varied as my moods.

More than once in the course of my story I have referred to my love of the country and out-of-door sports. When I was quite a little girl I learned to row and swim, and during the summer, when I am at Wrentham, Massachusetts, I almost live in my boat. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to take my friends out rowing when they visit me. Of course, I cannot guide the boat very well. Some one usually sits in the stern and manages the rudder while I row. Sometimes, however, I venture out without the rudder. It is such fun to try to steer by the scent of watergrasses and lilies, and of bushes that grow on the shore. I use oars with leather bands, which keep them in position in the oar-locks, and know by the resistance of the water when the oars are evenly poised. In the same manner I can also tell when I am pulling against the current. I like to contend with wind and wave. What is more exhilarating than to make your staunch little boat, obedient to your will and muscle, go skimming lightly over glistening, tilting waves, and to feel the steady, imperious surge of the water!

I ALSO enjoy canoeing, and I suppose you I will smile when I say that I especially like it on moonlight nights. I cannot, it is true, see the moon climb up the sky behind the pines and steal softly across the heavens, making a shining path for us to follow but I know she is there, and as I lie back among the pillows and put my hand in the water I fancy that I feel the shimmer of her garments as she passes. Sometimes a daring little fish slips between my fingers, and often a pond-lily presses shyly against my hand. Frequently as we emerge from the shelter of a cove or inlet I am suddenly conscious of the spaciousness of the air about me. A luminous warmth seems to infold me. Whether it comes from the trees which have been heated by the sun, or from the water, I can never discover. I have had the same strange sensation even in the heart of the city. I have felt it on cold, stormy days and at night. It is like the kiss of warm lips on my face.

My favorite amusement, I think, is sailing. Last summer I visited Nova Scotia and had opportunities such as I had not enjoyed before to make the acquaintance of the ocean. After spending a few days in Evangeline’s country, about which Longfellow’s beautiful poem has woven a spell of enchantment, Miss Sullivan and I went to Halifax, where we remained the greater part of the summer. The harbor was our joy, our paradise. What glorious sails we had to Bedford Basin, to McNabb’s Island, to York Redoubt and to the North-West Arm! And at night what soothing, wondrous hours we spent in the shadow of the great, silent men-of-war. Oh, it was all so interesting, so beautiful ! The memory of it is a joy forever.

One day we had a thrilling experience. There was a “regatta” in the North-West Arm, in which the boats from the different warships were engaged. We went in a sailboat along with many others to watch the races.

Hundreds of little sailboats swung to and fro close by, and the sea was calm. When the races were over, and we turned our faces homeward, one of the party noticed a black cloud drifting in from the sea, which grew and spread and thickened until it covered the whole sky. The wind rose, and the waves chopped angrily at unseen barriers. Our little boat confronted the gale fearlessly with sails spread and ropes taut, she seemed to sit upon the wind! Now she swirled in the billows, now she sprang upward on a gigantic wave, only to be driven down with angry howl and hiss. Down came the mainsail. Tacking and jibbing, we wrestled with opposing winds that drove us from side to side with impetuous fury. Our hearts beat fast, and our hands trembled with excitement not fear for we had the hearts of vikings, and we knew that our skipper was master of the situation. He had steered through many a storm with firm hand and steady eye. At last, cold, hungry and weary, we reached our pier amid the shouts and salutes from the large craft and the gunboats in the harbor. All the seamen in the harbor were applauding the master of the only little sailboat that ventured out into the storm.

I AM writing this chapter of my story in one of the loveliest nooks of one of the most charming villages in New England. Moreover, Wrentham is associated with nearly all of my joys and sorrows. For many years Red Farm, by King Philip’s Pond, the home of Mr. J. E. Chamberlin and his family, was my home. I remember with deepest gratitude the kindness of these dear friends and the happy days I spent with them. The sweet companionship of their children meant much to me. I joined in all their sports and rambles through the woods and frolics in the water. The quaint prattle of the little ones and their pleasure in the stories I told them of elf and gnome, of hero and wily bear, are pleasant things to remember. Mr. Chamberlin initiated me into the mysteries of tree and wildflower, until with the little ear of love I heard the flow of sap in the oak and saw the sun glint from leaf to leaf.

I have many tree-friends in Wrentham. One of them, a splendid oak, is the special pride of my heart. I take all my other friends to see this king-tree. It stands on a bluff overlooking King Philip’s Pond, and those who are wise in tree lore say it must have stood there eight hundred or a thousand years. There is a tradition that under this tree King Philip, the heroic Indian chief, gazed his last on earth and sky.

I had another tree-friend, gentle and more approachable than the great oak — a linden that grew in the dooryard at Red Farm. One afternoon, during a terrible thunderstorm, I felt a tremendous crash against the side of the house and knew, even before they told me, that the linden had fallen. We went out to see the hero that had withstood so many tempests, and it wrung my heart to see him prostrate who had mightily striven and was now mightily fallen.

But I must not forget that I was going to write about this summer in particular. As soon as my examinations were over Miss Sullivan and I hastened to this green nook, where we have a little cottage on one of the three lakes for which Wrentham is famous. Here the long, sunny days have been mine, with all thought of work and college and the noisy city thrust into the background. In Wrentham we catch echoes of what is happening in the world. Now and then we have heard of the cruel fighting in the far-away Pacific, and have learned of the struggles going on between capital and labor. We know that beyond the border of our Eden men are making history by the sweat of their brows when they might better make a holiday. But we little heed these things. Here are lakes and woods, and broad daisy-starred fields and sweet-breathed meadows, and they shall endure forever.

People who think that all sensations reach us through the eye and the ear have expressed surprise that I should notice any difference, except possibly the absence of pavements, between walking in city streets and in country roads. They forget that my whole body is alive to the conditions about me. The rumble and roar of the city smites the nerves of my face, and I feel the ceaseless tramp of an unseen multitude, and the dissonant tumult frets my spirit. The grinding of heavy wagons on hard pavements and the monotonous clangor of machinery are all the more torturing to the nerves if one’s attention is not diverted by the panorama that is always present in the noisy streets to people who can see.

Some of the Joys of Country Life

HERE in the country one sees only Nature’s fair works, and one’s soul is not saddened by the cruel struggle for mere existence that goes on in the crowded city. Several times I have visited the narrow, dirty streets where the poor live, and I grow hot and indignant to think that good people should be content to live in fine houses and become strong and beautiful, while others are condemned to live in hideous, sunless tenements and grow ugly, withered and cringing. The children who crowd these grimy alleys, half clad and underfed, shrink away from your outstretched hand as if from a blow. Dear little creatures, they crouch in my heart and haunt me with a constant sense of pain! There are men and women, too, all gnarled and bent out of shape. I have felt their hard, rough hands and realized what an endless struggle their existence must be — no more than a series of scrimmages, thwarted attempts to do something. Their life seems an immense disparity between effort and opportunity. The sun and the air are God’s free gifts to all, we say but are they so? In yonder city’s dingy alleys the sun shines not, and the air is foul. Oh, man, how dost thou forget and obstruct thy brother man, and say, “Give us this day our daily bread,” when he has none! Oh, would that men would leave the city, its splendor and its tumult and its gold, and return to wood and field and simple, honest living! Then would their children grow stately as these noble trees, and their thoughts sweet and pure as these wayside flowers.

What a joy it is to feel the soft, springy earth under my feet once more, to follow grassy roads that lead to ferny brooks where I can bathe my fingers in a cataract of rippling notes, or to clamber over a stone wall into shambling green fields that tumble and roll and climb in riotous gladness!

Next to a leisurely walk I enjoy a “spin” on my tandem bicycle. It is splendid to feel the wind blowing in my face and the springy motion of my iron steed. The rapid rush through the air gives me a delicious sense of strength and buoyancy, and the exercise makes my pulses dance and my heart sing for gladness.

Whenever it is possible my dog accompanies me on a walk or ride or sail. I have had many dog friends — huge, tawny mastiffs, soft-eyed spaniels, wood-wise setters and honest, homely bull terriers. At present the lord of my affections is one of these bull terriers. He has a long pedigree, a crooked tail and the drollest “phiz” in dogdom. My dog friends seem to understand my limitations perfectly and always keep close beside me when I am alone. I love their affectionate ways and the eloquent wag of their tails.

No Lack of Amusements on Rainy Days

WHEN a rainy day keeps me indoors I amuse myself after the manner of other girls. I like to knit and crochet I read in the happy-go-lucky way I love, here and there a line or perhaps I play a game or two of checkers or chess with a friend. I have a special board on which I play these games. The squares are cut out, so that the men stand in them firmly. The black checkers are flat and the white ones curved at the top. Each checker has a hole in the middle in which a brass knob can be placed to distinguish the king from the commons. The chessmen are of two sizes, the white being larger than the black, so that I have no trouble in following my opponent’s manoeuvres by moving my hands lightly over the board after a play. The jar made by shifting the men from one hole to another tells me when it is my turn.

Frequently when I happen to be all alone and in an idle mood I play a game of solitaire, of which I am very fond. I use playing-cards marked in the upper right-hand corner with braille symbols which indicate the value of the card. If there are children around, nothing pleases me so much as to frolic with them. I find even the smallest child excellent company, and I am glad to say that children usually like me. They lead me about and show me the things they are interested in. Of course the little ones cannot spell on their fingers but I manage to read their lips. If I do not succeed, they resort to dumb show. Sometimes I make a mistake and do the wrong thing. Then a burst of childish laughter greets my blunder, and the pantomime begins all over again. I often tell them stories or teach them a game, and the winged hours depart and leave us good and happy.

Museums and art-stores are also sources of pleasure and inspiration. Doubtless it will seem strange to many, that the hand unaided by sight can feel in the cold marble action, sentiment, beauty and yet it is true that I derive genuine pleasure from touching great works of art. As my finger-tips trace line and curve they discover the thought or emotion which the artist has portrayed. I can feel in the faces of gods and heroes hate, courage and love, just as I can detect these sentiments in living faces I am permitted to touch. I feel in Diana’s posture the grace and freedom of the forest and the spirit that tames the mountain lion and subdues the fiercest passions. My soul delights in the repose and gracious curves of the Venus and in Barré’s bronzes the secrets of the jungle are revealed to me.

A medallion of Homer hangs on the wall of my little study, conveniently low, so that I can easily reach it and touch the beautiful, sad face with loving reverence. How well I know each line in that majestic brow — tracks of life — and bitter evidences of struggle and sorrow those sightless eyes seeking, even in the cold plaster, for the light and the blue skies of his beloved Hellas, but seeking in vain that beautiful mouth, firm and true, and tender. It is the face of a poet, and of a man acquainted with sorrow. Ah, how well I understand his deprivation — the perpetual night in which he dwelt.

“O dark, dark, dark amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day!”

In imagination I can hear Homer singing, as with unsteady, hesitating steps he gropes his way from camp to camp — singing of life, of love, of war, of the splendid achievements of a noble race. It was a wonderful, glorious song, and it won the blind poet an immortal crown, the admiration of all ages.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in their marble gods and goddesses.

A Good Play is a Real Treat

ANOTHER pleasure, which comes more rarely than the others, is going to the theatre. I enjoy having a play described to me while it is being acted on the stage far more than reading it, because then it seems as if I were living in the midst of stirring events. It has been my privilege to meet a few great actors and actresses who have the power of so bewitching you that you forget time and place and live again in the romantic past. I have been permitted to touch the face and costume of Miss Ellen Terry as she impersonated our ideal of a queen and there was about her that divinity that hedges sublimest woe. Beside her stood Sir Henry Irving, wearing the symbols of kingship and there was majesty of intellect in his every gesture and attitude and the royalty that subdues and overcomes in every line of his sensitive face. In the king’s face which he wore as a mask there was a remoteness of grief which I shall never forget.

I also know Mr. Jefferson. I am proud to count him among my friends and go to see him whenever I happen to be where he is acting. The first time I saw him act was while at school in New York. He played “Rip Van Winkle.” I had often read the story before, but I had never felt the charm of Rip’s slow, quaint, kind ways as I did in the play. Mr. Jefferson’s beautiful, pathetic representation quite carried me away with delight. I have a picture of old Rip in my fingers which I shall never forget. After the play Miss Sullivan took me to see him behind the scenes, and I felt of his curious garb and his flowing hair and beard. Mr. Jefferson let me touch his face so that I could imagine how he looked on waking from that strange sleep of twenty years, and he showed me how poor old Rip staggered to his feet. I have also seen him in “The Rivals.” Once while I was calling on him in Boston he acted the most striking parts of “The Rivals” for me. The reception-room where we sat served for a stage. He and his son seated themselves at the big table, and Bob Acres wrote his challenge. I followed all his movements with my hands and caught the drollery of his blunders and gestures in a way that would have been impossible had it all been spelled to me. Then they rose to fight the duel, and I followed the swift thrusts and parries of the swords and the waverings of poor Bob as his courage oozed out at his finger-ends. Then the great actor gave his coat a hitch and his mouth a twitch, and in an instant I was in the village of Falling Water and felt Schneider’s shaggy head against my knee. Mr. Jefferson recited the best dialogues of “Rip Van Winkle,” in which the tear came close upon the smile. He asked me to indicate as far as I could the gestures and action that should go with the lines. Of course, I have no sense whatever of dramatic action and could make only random guesses but with masterful art he suited the action to the word. The sigh of Rip as he murmurs, “Is a man so soon forgotten when he is gone?” the dismay with which he searches for dog and gun after his long sleep, and the comical irresolution with which he signs his contract with Derrick, or rather, has it signed for him — all these seemed to be right out of life itself that is, the ideal life, where things happen as we think they should.

Going to the Theatre for the First Time

I REMEMBER well the first time I went to the theatre. It was twelve years ago. Elsie Leslie, the little actress, was in Boston, and Miss Sullivan took me to see her in “The Prince and the Pauper.” I shall never forget the ripple of alternating joy and woe that ran through that beautiful little play, or the wonderful child who acted it. After the play I was permitted to go behind the scenes and meet her in her royal costume. It would have been hard to find a lovelier or more lovable child than Elsie, as she stood with a cloud of golden hair floating over her shoulders, smiling brightly, showing no signs of shyness or fatigue, though she had been facing an immense audience. I was only just learning to speak, and had previously repeated her name until I could say it perfectly. Imagine my delight when she understood the few words I spoke to her!

Is it not true, then, that my life with all its limitations touches at many points the rich, exuberant life of the World Beautiful? Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.

Would that I could enrich this sketch with the names of all those who have ministered to my happiness! Some of them would be found written in our literature and dear to the hearts of many, while others would be wholly unknown to most of my readers. But their personal influence, though it escapes fame, shall live immortal in the lives that have been sweetened and ennobled by it.

The beneficent kindness of my friends has touched my life “like a summer wind laden with a thousand invisible seeds, that, dropping everywhere, spring up into flowers and fruit.” All that I hold sweetest, all that I hold most precious, I owe to my friends. In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beautiful privileges and made it possible for me to walk serene and happy in the shadow cast by my deprivations.

Those are red-letter days in our lives when we meet, around the corner of the street of life, people who thrill us like a fine poem, people whose hand-shake is brimful of unspoken sympathy, and whose sweet, rich natures impart to our eager, impatient spirits a wonderful restfulness which, in its essence, is divine. The perplexities, irritations and worries that have absorbed us pass like unpleasant dreams, and we wake to see with new eyes and hear with new ears the beauty and harmony of God’s real world. The solemn nothings that fill our every-day life blossom suddenly into bright possibilities. In a word, while they are near us we feel that all is well. Perhaps we never saw them before, and they may never cross our life’s path again but the influence of their calm, mellow natures is a libation poured upon our discontent, and we feel its healing touch, as the ocean feels the mountain stream freshening its brine.

Phillips Brooks and the Key to Heaven

I COUNT it one of the sweetest privileges of my life to I have known and conversed with many men of genius. Only those who knew Bishop Brooks can appreciate the joy his friendship was to those who possessed it. As a child, I loved to sit on his knee and clasp his great hand with one of mine, while Miss Sullivan spelled into the other his beautiful words about God and the spiritual world. I heard him with a child’s wonder and delight. My spirit could not reach up to his, but he gave me a real sense of joy in life, and I never left him without carrying away a fine thought that grew in beauty and depth of meaning as I grew. Once, when I was puzzled to know why there were so many religions, he said: “There is one universal religion, Helen — the religion of love, Love your Heavenly Father with your whole heart and soul, love every child of God as much as ever you can, and remember that the possibilities of good are greater than the possibilities of evil and you have the key to Heaven.” His life was a happy illustration of this truth. In his noble soul love and widest knowledge were blended with faith that had become insight.

Bishop Brooks taught me no special creed or dogma but he impressed upon my mind two great ideas — the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, and made me feel that these truths underlie all creeds and forms of worship. God is love, God is our father, we are His children therefore the darkest clouds will break, and though right be worsted, wrong shall not triumph. I am too happy in this world to think much about the future except to remember that I have cherished friends awaiting me there in God’s beautiful Somewhere. In spite of the lapse of years, they seem so close to me that I should not think it strange if at any moment they should clasp my hand and speak words of endearment as they used to before they went away. Since Bishop Brooks died I have read the Bible through also some philosophical works on religion, among them Swedenborg’s “Heaven and Hell” and Drummond’s “Ascent of Man,” and I have found no creed or system more soul-satisfying than Bishop Brooks’s creed of love. I knew Mr. Henry Drummond, too, and the memory of his strong, warm hand-clasp is like a benediction. He was the most charming and delightful of companions. He knew so much, he had conquered so much, he had seen life from so many sides that it was impossible to feel dull or despairing in his presence.

Three Famous Men — Three Good Friends

DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE is one of my very oldest friends. I have known him since I was eight, and any love for him has increased with my years. His wise, tender sympathy has been the support of Miss Sullivan and me in times of trial and sorrow, and his strong hand has helped us over many rough places and what he has done for us he has done for thousands of those who have difficult tasks to accomplish. He has filled the old skins of dogma with the new wine of love, and shown men what it is to believe, live and be free. What he has taught we have seen beautifully expressed in his own life — love of country, kindness to the least of his brethren, and a sincere desire to live upward and onward. He has been an inspirer of men, and a mighty doer of the Word, the friend of all his race — God bless him!

I have already written of my first meeting with Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. Since then I have spent many happy days with him at Washington and at his beautiful home in the heart of Cape Breton Island, near Baddeck, the village made famous by Charles Dudley Warner’s book. In Doctor Bell’s laboratory or in the fields on the shore of the Great Bras d’Or, I have spent many delightful hours listening to what he had to tell me about his experiments, and helping him fly kites by means of which he expects to discover the laws that shall govern the future airship. Doctor Bell is conversant in many fields of science and has the art of making every subject he touches interesting, even the most abstruse theories. He makes you feel that if you only had a little more time, you, too, might be an inventor. He has a humorous and poetic side, too, which is charming and his dominating passion is his love for children. He is never quite so happy as when he has a little deaf child in his arms. His labors in behalf of the deaf will live on and bless generations of children yet to come and we love him alike for what he himself has achieved and what he has evoked from others.

I remember well the first time I saw Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes. He had invited Miss Sullivan and me to call on him one Sunday afternoon. It was early in the spring, just after I had learned to speak. We were shown at once to his library where we found him seated in a big armchair by a cheerful open fire which glowed and crackled on the hearth, thinking, he said, of other days. “And listening to the murmur of the river Charles,” I suggested. “Yes,” he replied, “the Charles has many dear associations for me.” There was an odor of print and leather in the room which told me that it was full of books, and I stretched out my hand instinctively to find them. My fingers lighted upon a beautiful volume of Tennyson’s poems, and when Miss Sullivan told me what it was I began to recite

“Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!”

But I stopped suddenly. I felt tears on my hand. I had made my beloved poet weep, and I was greatly distressed. He made me sit in his armchair while he brought different objects of interest for me to examine, and at his request I recited “The Chambered Nautilus,” which was then my favorite poem. After that I saw Doctor Holmes many times and learned to love him. His mind was like a rich orchard, the ripe fruit of which dropped continually as he talked. Every remark had a spicy flavor of its own, and his conversation quickened my thoughts on many subjects.

One beautiful summer day, not long after my meeting with Doctor Holmes, Miss Sullivan and I visited Mr. Whittier in his quiet home on the Merrimac. His gentle courtesy and quaint speech won my heart. He had a book of his poems in raised print from which I read “In School Days.” He was delighted that I could pronounce the words so well, and said that he had no difficulty in understanding me. Then I asked many questions about the poem and read his answers by placing my fingers on his lips. He said he was the little boy in the poem, and that the girl’s name was Sally, and more which I have forgotten. I also recited “Laus Deo,” and as I spoke the concluding verses he placed in my hands a statue of a slave from whose crouching figure the fetters were falling, even as they fell from Peter’s limbs when the angel led him forth out of prison. Afterward we went into his study, and he wrote his autograph for my teacher and expressed his admiration of her work, saying to me, “She is your spiritual liberator.” Then he led me to the gate and kissed me tenderly on my forehead. I promised to visit him again but he died before the promise was fulfilled.

Meetings with Many Literary Men

DURING the two years I spent in New York I had many opportunities to talk with distinguished people whose names I had often heard, but whom I had never expected to meet. Most of them I met first in the house of my good friend, Mr. Laurence Hutton. It was a great privilege to visit him and dear Mrs. Hutton in their lovely home, and see their library and read the beautiful sentiments and bright thoughts gifted friends had written for them. Mr. Hutton introduced me to many of his literary friends, greatest of whom are Mr. William Dean Howells and Mark Twain. I have also met Mr. Richard Watson Gilder and Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman. They were all gentle and sympathetic, and I felt the charm of their manner as much as I had felt the brilliancy of their essays and poems. I knew Mr. Charles Dudley Warner, and once he brought to see me the dear poet of the woodlands — Mr. John Burroughs. I could not keep pace with all these literary folk as they glanced from subject to subject and entered into deep dispute, or made conversation sparkle with witticisms. But they spoke many gracious words to me, which I keep among my heart’s choicest treasures. Mr. Gilder told me about his moonlight journeys across the vast desert to the Pyramids, and I read from Mark Twain’s lips one or two of his good stories. He has his own way of thinking, saying and doing everything. I feel the twinkle of his eye in his hand-shake. Even while he utters his cynical wisdom in an indescribably droll voice, he makes you feel that his heart is a tender Iliad of human sympathy.

Women Whose Friendship is Cherished

THERE are a host of other lovely people I met in I New York: Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, editor of “St. Nicholas,” and Mrs. Riggs (Kate Douglas Wiggin), the sweet author of “Pansy.” I received from them gifts that have the sweet concurrence of the heart, books containing their own thoughts, soul-illumined letters and photographs that I love to have described again and again. But there is not space to mention all my friends, and indeed there are things about them hidden behind the wings of cherubim, things too sacred to set forth in cold print. It is with hesitancy that I speak even of Mrs. Laurence Hutton, who has oftenest advised and helped me in my progress through college. I have one friend to whom I am deeply indebted. He is known for the powerful hand with which he guides vast enterprises, and his wonderful abilities have gained for him the respect of all. Modesty crowns his achievements he goes about doing good, silent and unseen. Again I touch upon the circle of honored names I must not mention but I would fain acknowledge the generosity and affectionate interest with which he is making it easier for me to overcome the difficulties of college.

I have many far-off friends whom I have never seen. Indeed, they are so many that I have often been unable to reply to their letters but I wish to say here that I am always grateful for their kind words, however insufficiently I acknowledge them. A friendly letter or a hearty hand-shake gives me genuine pleasure. It may be only the clinging touch of a child’s hand, but there is as much potential sunshine in it for me as there is in a loving glance for others. I have often been asked, “Do people not bore you?” I do not understand what that means. I suppose their calls would occasionally seem inopportune if I thought of it but I never think of it. The touch of a hand may seem an impertinence, while that of another is like a benediction. I have met people so empty of joy that when I clasped their frosty finger-tips it seemed as if I were shaking hands with a northeast storm. Others there are whose fingers have sunbeams in them their grasp warms my heart.

“I Am as Happy as You Are”

MY STORY is now told, and I hope, kind reader, you are convinced how little able I was to write it. I live in my own way the life that you do, and I am as happy as you are. The outward circumstances of our lives are but the shell of things. My life is pervaded by love as a cloud by light. Deafness is a barrier against intrusion, and blindness makes us oblivious to much that is ugly and revolting in the world. In the midst of unpleasant things I move as one who wears an invisible cap.

Sometimes, it is true, a sense of isolation infolds me like a cold, white mist as I sit alone and wait at Life’s shut gate. Beyond there is light and music and sweet companionship but I may not enter. Fate, silent, pitiless, inexorable, bars the way. Fain would I question his imperious decree for my heart is still undisciplined and passionate but my tongue will not utter the bitter, futile words that rise to my lips, and they fall back into my heart like unshed tears. Silence sits immense upon my soul. Then comes Hope with sweet, sad smile and whispers, “There is joy in self-forgetfulness.” So I try to make the light in others’ eyes my sun, the music in others’ ears my symphony, the smile on others’ lips my happiness.


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Helen Mirren sexy pictures

Her family changed their surname to Mirren when Helen was just nine years old. Helen appeared in plays such as Antony and Cleopatra and Macbeth. Her movie career began with Caligula and then went on to continue in The Long Good Friday, Excalibur, and Cal.


A Brief History of Helen of Troy

G rowing up is hard to do, and it is harder still for Charlotte, an American high school student whose mother has died leaving her with her morose, emotionally clumsy father, who tells Charlotte that, unlike her beautiful dead mother: "You're just not very pretty honey." With those words ringing in her ears Charlotte sets out to be as beautiful, beloved and desired as Helen of Troy - a project that involves using lots of "product" to clear her acne, trying to get the local geek to have sex with her, giving a blow job to the school jock, and telling the bewildered school guidance counsellor that she plans a career in porn.

"I was made for sex," she declares, looking about 10 as she sits awkwardly in her frumpy shorts and over-sized T-shirt. This girl on the loose is dangerous - to herself and others - and things pretty soon turn ugly as fantasy and reality, Charlotte's self-image and how others really see her collide in emotional car-crash fashion. People get badly hurt.

Mark Schultz's script has a rich vein of teen-movie sassiness. Some of the best scenes are between the dowdy Charlotte and her glammed up (imaginary) best friend, Heather, a prom-queen good-looker with the best boyfriend, the best dad, the best holidays and the worst possible advice. But Gordon Anderson's production doesn't always successfully juggle the delicate balance between the comedy and the grim reality of Charlotte's home life, and the evening would be less confusing if fantasy and reality were more clearly delineated.

Despite some good performances, particularly from Andrea Riseborough as the gawky Charlotte and John Sharian as the dad who dare not touch his daughter, the production lets the audience off the emotional hook, and the message - that beauty is only skin-deep and a once-a-week application of fake tan doesn't make you any happier - is no more profound than anything peddled by Hollywood or teen chick-lit.


Show Stoppers: A Brief History of Rude and Disruptive Behavior in Theater

Helen Mirren bows at the curtain call during the press night performance of 'The Audience' at the Gielgud Theatre on Mar. 5, 2013, in London.

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Last week, Helen Mirren won an Olivier Award—the West End’s most prestigious accolade—for her portrayal of Queen Elizabeth II in the play The Audience. And during a weekend performance of the show, she gave an impromptu performance as a Queen not at all amused. Como El Telégrafo diario reports, Dame Helen went outside at intermission to loudly scold a group of nearby drummers whose playing could be heard in the theater. (The drummers were parading to promote a May 26 gay festival called As One In The Park and had stopped right outside the stage door.) And yes, Mirren was dressed in full costume while she gave delivered her royal dressing-down. One of the parade organizers told the Telegraph that seeing Mirren as the Queen “cussing and swearing” was “a new one.”

That may be so, but the circumstances aren’t that new at all. The pesky percussionists are part of a long-ish history of dramatic disturbances, one that is— not surprisingly—dominated by mobile phones.

May 31, 2006: A cell phone goes off during a matinee of The History Boys on Broadway. The late Richard Griffiths—who had also shamed owners of ringing mobile phones during previous interruptions when the play ran in London—stops the show and starts a scene over from the beginning, warning the audience that he would only do so once.

June 21, 2009: Patti LuPone, in concert in Las Vegas, sees someone in the audience taking pictures. She stops the show and asks what’s going on out there, but receives no response. And it’s not her first time at that particular rodeo: earlier in 2009, during a Broadway performance of Gypsy, she stopped the show when someone else tried to take a picture.

Sept. 23, 2009: A cell phone goes off during a performance of A Steady Rain on Broadway…and, minutes later, goes off again. Stars Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig stop the play to admonish the offender—and the entire incident was caught on video.

December 2011: While headlining in Ricardo III in Sydney, actor Kevin Spacey does double duty as noise enforcer: first, admonishing (while in character) the owner of a cell phone and, during a later performance, shining a laser pointer at audience members who were talking amongst themselves.

Jan. 10, 2012: A cell phone goes off during a performance of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony at the New York Philharmonic. Conductor Alan Gilbert stops the performance and asks the phone’s owner to shut off the device, even though the man at first reportedly denies that the offending iPhone marimba was coming from his pocket.

Mar. 22, 2012: A cell phone goes off during the emotional climax of Death of a Salesman on Broadway, during which actress Linda Edmond completes the show’s final monologue.

Nov. 11, 2012: An audience member seated in the balcony at a performance of Grace on Broadway vomits into the orchestra. Stars Paul Rudd and Michael Shannon reportedly continue with the show, perhaps raising the volume a bit, but joke about it during the curtain call.

December 2012: Patti LuPone seems to have changed her tactics. Although an audience member at her play The Anarchist tries to use an iPhone app as a hearing aid and ends up creating a screeching feedback sound, she lets the show go on.

As for the London drummers, they stopped their Saturday noise-making and appear to have taken no offense. After all, all publicity is good publicity—and they’re promoting press coverage of Mirren’s outburst on the As One In The Park Facebook page.


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