Saint George - 17. The Dragon's Dance

But history must take its course and after six days the moment had come when all of the people, in great excitement, had taken their places on the now flower-decked stands and other equally adorned lookouts.
Down there, the princess, fettered to her stake, deadly pale and trembling with fear.
That did not bode well.
The people felt disappointed.
Had they been doing their utmost to brighten the place to this end? Had they enjoyed themselves so much, all week, in anticipation of this? Of a spectacle this poor?
Was that, supposedly, the bloom of the royal blood? They recalled others who had stayed the course magnificently unto the bitter end, daughters of shepherds, bakers and butchers. And how their families on the grandstand had sympathized, an example for all.
And now, behold this family sitting over there. Heads all down. Bet they will not even watch, presently.
The people were getting annoyed.
The start of the music and, within moments, the monster’s appearance in the distance were barely able to dent their irritation.
How is it ever going to engage with such a bundle of nerves? they wondered.
On its approach, however, it became apparent that to him this offering was indeed something special. It had preened itself to perfection, its colours brighter and its shine more radiant than ever.
Coming closer, it raised itself, standing erect, and was now walking on its hind legs like a human. Once in front of the princess it made a courtly bow, almost to the ground.
By doing so, was it bent on teaching the people a lesson? That they should continue to respect their royal family?
After its bow, which failed to stir any reaction from the princess, the monster cast a searching glance around and then it did something it had never done before. Raised on its hind legs it made a couple of dancing-steps. At once, any remaining vestiges of annoyance disappeared. Expectation had been roused afresh.
And it went on. In the direction of the orchestra it made the telling gesture of gladiators which was promptly understood. A slowly stepping melody commenced and what the people were now to watch was the Dizzy Dance of the Dragon. Its tail it draped on its left foreleg to give an impression of a partner, the grin never leaving its jaws. Back and forth and then around it went. Gradually, it increased the pace - or was it on the director’s behalf? - and lo, now it was even making figures! It let go of its tail and reeling around, it made it whirl about him in a wide circle. Now and then, it curled it over its head and danced right underneath. And how its colours sparkled with all its scales ashine.
When, at last, it blew the final whistle, the exalted public gave it a standing ovation. Only the princess and the VIP box for whom this performance was apparently meant, too, remained still.
The beast, now again on all fours, seemed unprepared for this, shook its head dejectedly and slowly approached the girl. No shrinking away or resistance was to come from her, paralysed as she was by fear and terror.
Once upon her, it began to undress her with ever so soft a claw. A modiste couldn’t have taken off a garment from a noble client more carefully than it was disrobing her now.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 16. The Princess

Into this state the nation had now come and one is to wonder what would jolt this already over-excited people with a still heavier excitation. What on earth might thereto still happen?
And yet it happened. One day, the whole nation was immersed into a daze of great rejoicing. All around was singing, dancing, drinking and kissing. What could be the cause of this common bliss?
The lot had befallen the king’s daughter!
It was as if everyone had hit the jackpot; as if the envy of ages, at once, had met with full satisfaction.
For the whole week, the revelling never ended.

The king who had presided at every council meeting where decisions to this end had been taken, including this latest one, now could hit himself over it. Never for a single moment, had he considered his little daughter and even if he had, he would have brushed aside the very thought, instantly, in the firm conviction that the people would never allow his princess to be eaten.
In this, how wrong he would have been. Every street had been festooned. From every dwelling, there was music and singing. Nobody was working. The stands had been turned into the likeness of flower gardens.

And the young princess herself?
To her, the role of a prima donna had nothing special to offer. The most gorgeous dresses and the most sumptuous meals, they had been her birthright. And the attention, everywhere, had been more of a nuisance to her than a joy.
She felt utterly miserable. Although she and her family were as much moved by the emotions on the stands as everybody else, never had she, like her father, entertained the idea that it could happen to her personally.

Aside from being highest in station, she also was one of the most beautiful girls in the land. To think of these slender arms, this slim neck, these newly budded breasts, soon to become feed for that horrible monster; that by next week, it would be lying at the bottom of its lake digesting them, she couldn’t bear it. But she was unable to think of anything else; she simply had to, caressing every part of her young body as if bidding them a farewell and giving them solace for what lay in store for them.

The daze got no hold on her. On the contrary, she was all but overwhelmed with sorrow, onto the brink of insanity.
Her family was crying all the time.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 15. Sacrifice

Families with daughters subject to the lottery were no less festally disposed than others. And in the girls who might fall a victim no trace of fear or depression ever showed either. They were so many, the chance of being picked by lot looked negligible and hardly counted against the pleasures in store.
Actually, it was a lottery with one single blank.
And even if you became the chosen one, at any rate, you still had a week in which the whole community's attentions would focus on only you and it would end in a show of your own sacrifice with its excess of suspense. Suspense already had mingled with lust to such degree that, somehow, terror gave way to temptation.
A motion, to surcharge stands and seats to the benefit of bereaved families, a kind of blood money, therefore, was turned down haughtily by all families combined.
After registrations had been completed, computations proved that this weekly sacrifice would hardly burden the population. The birthrate needed to be raised only slightly to compensate for the loss.

But let’s not mar this story by extensive descriptions of what to this nation, then, meant its greatest amusement, the highlights of life.

How was the dragon doing?
It manifested itself as a perfect mime, went the whole way, exploited every opportunity it was offered by the varying behaviour of its victims. It demonstrated its mastery by the way it knew, even in this macabre game, this awkward poise on the edge between caress and laceration, how to draw on humour, how, sometimes by the subtlest of gestures, to make the spectators roar with laughter.
Besides, time and again, it showed a perfect feeling for when the audience started to grow impatient and found it should now indeed come to business.

And what with the girls?
For a whole week they deported themselves as prima donnas. They could take their pick from the most precious of clothes, the finest of delicacies and wherever they came they were held in high esteem.
One of them got an idea of a game of ‘dragon’ by way of rehearsal. A good friend of hers was ‘dragon’. It didn’t take long for this game to come into vogue. Soon, men took up the dragon part as well. In those cases, endings became genuinely erotic. People of all ages could hardly wait to play along.
Usually, the week induced into them such a daze of wellbeing that they entered the arena still in its thrall.

And the relatives?
Those felt entitled to partake in the prima-donna status of their daughter or sister and reluctant to spoil her finest hour they, too, rendered themselves up to the daze, more or less.
Even so, an outburst of grief now and then, on the grandstand mostly, in plain sight of everyone.

And the fiancés?
They were proud all week and on the grandstand they fell, willy-nilly, into so ardent a state of excitement that most of the time they were unable to contain it.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2012 - 2013
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

The Gardener and Death

A Persian nobleman:

This morning, my gardener pale from fright,
‘Master, one moment, please’, came running inside.

‘In yonder rose-bush I was cutting shoot after shoot
And when I turned and looked, grim Death there stood.

I was appalled and by the other way I fled,
But still descried his hand casting a threat.

Master, your horse, and with godspeed let me ride
To Ispahan, which I may reach ere fall of night.’

This afternoon – long after he had sped -
In the park of cedars, Death it was I met.

‘Why,’ thus I asked, while he stood waiting there,
‘Did you, this morn, give my servant such a scare?’

Smilingly came his reply: ‘No threat, for sure, it was
That sent your gardener fleeing. Surprised I was

To find, in early morn, here still at work a man
Who, this same evening, I am to take in Ispahan.’


English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, 'De Tuinman en de Dood' by P.N.van Eyck (1887-1954)
who took the theme from Jean Cocteau's 'Le grand écart'.

Compare a different translation by Kate Ashton which, afterwards, I happened upon at a blog called 'Books Do Furnish A Room'.

Saint George - 14. The Dragon's Bride

Who knows how many times the corrupting breath had been drifting across the town already, saturating its alleys and invading its dwelling-places. In any case, the sad fact must be told that everybody craved an escalation of suspense.
And so it came to pass that the Council took a decision even more monstrous than the monster itself. As it was providing the public with so much pleasure, they decided to treat the beast from now on to the tenderest titbit they could procure, a virgin of between twelve and eighteen. All of these should presently be registered and every time, whom it had to be would be chosen by lot.
This decision engendered a festive mood all over town. It promised a world of new, impetuous sensations. Not only because disposing of a girl - the more so, when she was pretty - would have a far more smashing impact but besides, the erotic element was to enter the scene. Shudders wouldn't be merely running down the spine, henceforth, the entire body would be involved. The deepest layer of feelings was burrowed.
And imagine the possibilities!
Would the beast be sensitive to feminine beauty? Would it approach its meal in the manner of a suitor?
For the first time, there was an opportunity to descry something of the inner beast, that it might give away a glimpse of its soul.
And the girls, how might they proceed? Would they play nice to him to soften his mood? And would he let them have their way, at least for a while? Or would they be screaming their heart out?
The prisoners always had been offered naked. With girls, this wasn't suitable. But how then? In their plain clothes? Or in a festive gown? Like a bride?
And would he peel it off beforehand? He could hardly eat them dress and all. Some remembered calling him 'the Convivant', in the early days. In this context, that would obtain a different meaning entirely. What an opportunity for the beast to put on a great show!
And there was another side to it as well. For the first time, sensations were no longer restricted to the mere protagonists. To the dragon's bride, as she was presently called, there was also her family. Her father and mother, the brothers and sisters and possibly, a fiancé. How would they bear themselves? To spy on their demeanour, wouldn't that be a special sensation? All that was happening within such a family now became a public affair to which the whole community was setting its heart on.

It was further decided that lots would be drawn on Sundays so that the family appointed by fate could spend six full days on preparations and the amplest of partings. It goes without saying that during these days such a family would be for ever in the public eye and that a fiancé, if any, would be under constant scrutiny from every perspective conceivable.
For these closest relatives the most outstanding places were reserved on the grandstand and by this arrangement, not only were they procured the best view of the spectacle below but also could they themselves be watched even better by everybody else.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Saint George - 13. Curtain-call

Don't ask for the scenes among the prisoners at drawing lots. The emotions of their relatives simply got lost in the entire community's mammoth shudder that reduced everything else to sheer insignificance. Should this be called a mass hysteria?
Nor ask for details of the performance itself. Their fleeing, the attempts at resistance, their injuries and when at last they were crunched, what was to be heard thereof.
As of today, this would only evoke disgust.
Incidentally, there had been one who didn't flee at all, who didn't resist and never uttered a sound. He just stayed down, without a stir, as if saying 'come and eat me,' like a bread roll.
A hoot of scorn went up from the audience. For a moment the monster stood undecided and by its next move captivated all hearts. It looked around, went to a coppice nearby, broke off a bough and sharpened the torn end with its fangs. It then returned to the crouching figure and laid the weapon down within his reach. Quick as lightning the man now jumped at his last opportunity, or whatever he thought it to be, seized the stick and stormed the dragon, aiming at its eye. Poor soul, to the other he meant nothing but a sparring partner. However, it all but saved the show.

When the last prisoner had been consumed, though, a new decision had to be made. How to proceed from here on? To fall back on sheep was doomed from the start. Not a living soul would turn up at such a turn off. To let it starve then or, even worse, to insidiously waylay the beast and seek its destruction by joint assault? This also, was out of the question. For at present the monster had become a popular figure, it procured the top entertainment of the week and when only properly fed it wouldn't harm anyone.
And wasn't it even beautiful! The bright colours of its head, the sheen on its claws and scales, the agile movement of its armoured body. It should be kept safe, this much was settled too.
Besides, it appeared that people no longer felt ashamed of their feelings, that they dared openly confess to how luscious they found these shivers running down their spine, men as much as women. During an offering, it sometimes happened that by their common mood the population as a whole was elevated to a state of unity, which a pious congregation may now and then reach under influence of an inspiring pastor.
They even went so far as to grant the beast a curtain-call for acts of striking cruelty. From pure elation, they couldn't forgo exchanging glances often still radiant, while on their way home.

English translation by Ronald Langereis © 2009
from the Dutch, "Sint Joris" by Belcampo, 1983

Dan Brown - The Lost Symbol

I just finished Dan Brown's latest, The Lost Symbol. Three nights of terrific reading, and reviving old memories of the 1960s and 70s 'taser' novels by Colin Wilson, like The Mind Parasites and The Space Vampires.
It's all there, Masons, underground passageways, demons and darkness, as well as the idea of putting at work the powers of the mind in lock-step with others to move mountains or, in the case of Wilson, no less than the moon itself!
I liked all of Dan Brown's cliffhangers, but at their austere and breath-taking level of suspense, the particular qualities of the bogey is what's making the difference for me.
In his first novel, Digital Fortress, the bad guy is still a scientist, rather a stereotype of the over-ambitious, whereas Deception Point featured the blood-hounding Mute, Angels and Demons had its sadist Arab and The Da Vinci Code the hampered Monk.
Though the three of them are mere vehicles of violence, answering to a secret Master, the Mute is just a hired killer and the Monk a pathetic freak, whereas the Arab, indeed, is an embodiment of Evil, doing the job to satisfy his own pathological cravings and thus, a genuine creep. Therefore, I preferred Angels and Demons beyond the other novels on behalf of this convincingly spine-chilling character.

The demon of The Lost Symbol, though a freak of his own merit and a ruthless killer to that, equals the Arab in occult knowledge and malice, but beats him by far on the application of modern gadgetry and psychological trickery. Besides, he's self-employed. The disclosure of his true identity is a moment of shocking revelation.
The narrative starts with the familiar pattern of the telephone call at an ungodly hour, the rush by plane to a place of renown and the confrontation with a ghastly crime, shrouded in mystery. What is of note, however, the meeting of the hero and the local heroine-to-be remains long overdue. Whereas in the earlier thrillers, they're growing more and more close, so that at the last page they can't wait to spend the night as close as can be, in The Lost Symbol they happen to be old friends, who do embrace, incidentally, under emotional duress for support and consolation, but never in a way as to kindle the flame of passion. It may be their age.
Even the demon has taken precautions to avoid temptations of the flesh, a fact that doesn't harm his menacing powers, but puts him at a disadvantage with his Arab counter-part in Angels and Demons, whose sexual prowess, indeed, proved a convincing tool for rousing utter dread and desperation.
So, in the end, the only thing stirring is not the magic stick, but solely the spirit.