The Plato Papers (7 page)

22

Sparkler:
The children are always eager to listen to him. Do you see the way they flock towards him when he appears?

Madrigal:
Only because he is as small as they are. Yet soon enough they will reach the age when they must paint their features upon the Wall. Do you recall when you and I and Plato took our sticks of coloured light and traced our outlines upon the stones?

Sparkler:
Did Sidonia paint herself holding a lamp?

Madrigal:
I cannot remember. But I do recall that she erased some of her face. Yet, even so, everyone could tell by her features from what parish she came.

Sparkler:
And then Plato depicted himself wearing the cap of feathers—

Madrigal:
The cap of the city fool.

Sparkler:
And holding out a script of glass.

Madrigal:
He might have been anticipating his own fate.

Sparkler:
Or, as he would say, his fate had happened already.

Madrigal:
That is precisely the kind of thing he tells the children. Oh, there is the daughter of Ornatus. Look. She is laughing. No doubt Plato is talking once more about Mouldwarp.

Sparkler:
But where is the humour in these ancient practices? Truly, they make me shudder.

Madrigal:
You have to admit that they have their funny side. Who would have thought, for example, that our ancestors would look upwards for guidance?

Sparkler:
Ridiculous. Was that in Mouldwarp or in Witspell?

Madrigal:
Mouldwarp, I think. It is all rather confusing.

Ornatus:
Sparkler and Madrigal, hail and farewell.

Madrigal:
Where are you going in such a hurry? To meet your daughter?

Ornatus:
Plato has chosen a new theme. He is about to begin at the clerk’s well.

Sparkler:
Unfortunately, Ornatus, we are both a little tired. We will have to rely upon you for a report.

23

We have acquired some information about the actors and comedians of past ages, but our knowledge has been greatly increased by the chance survival of a comic handbook entitled
Jokes and Their Relation to the
Unconscious
. The meaning of ‘unconscious’ is by no means clear, but it may be related to the idea of drunkenness, which even in our own time is the object of laughter. The joke book itself is the work of a clown or buffoon who was billed as Sigmund Freud—no doubt pronounced ‘Fraud’ to add piquancy to his stage character. In this volume he has compiled examples of what he calls ‘significant nonsense’, with comic routines concerning people who forget names or misread words, who use the wrong set of keys or knock over pots of black dye. Clearly Freud himself was an incomparable gamester, and it is easy to imagine him reciting these absurd misadventures with a serious face.

His act would have been described as ‘smutty’ or ‘bringing out the blue bag’ and, with its emphasis upon sex, it was a well-known aspect of the primitive theatre. His ‘lingo’ was in turn based upon the confrontation between audience and performer, with the continual use of Freud’s famous catchphrase—‘I think I should be the judge of that!’—as the signal for more laughter.

But the most hilarious examples of Freudian repartee took place when his partner, Oedipus, appeared on the stage. This ‘fall guy’ or ‘straight man’ may have been some relic of the old pantomimic tradition, since he wore loose white robes and displayed that glum expression characteristic of the pantaloon. He also adopted a peculiarly rapid and sliding walk known to devotees as ‘the Freudian slip’. He would try unsuccessfully to use it every time Freud began to question or ‘analyse’ him with a number of delightfully absurd questions.

‘Are you repressing something, Oedipus?’

‘Of course not. I am standing very upright, as the soldier said to the nursemaid.’

‘Now now, Pussy. None of your nonsense here. Tell me, what is your opinion of chair legs and train tunnels?’

‘Rather out than in, as the bishop—’

‘I think, Puss, you are beginning to prove my point.’

‘Don’t talk to me about points. Not after last night.’

‘How do you feel about long noses?’

‘I’ve never felt one in my life!’

‘Come now. That’s no answer to one of my famous analytical questions.’

‘Well then, Sigmund, I will tell you the honest truth. I think that they should be blown.’

‘Oedipus, you must have been a very funny child.’

‘Funny? I had them screaming. Especially mother.’

This dialogue known as ‘chaff’ or ‘patter’ must have reduced the Mouldwarp audience to tears of laughter, especially when Freud steps forward to inform them that ‘it is all the fault of my friend’s unconscious’—i.e. that he is drunk.

It has often been noted that the people of Mouldwarp were preoccupied with sexual activity at the expense of all other principles of life; there is even some evidence to suggest that they identified themselves in terms of their sexual orientation. No. There is no cause for embarrassment. Our purpose is to understand, not to lay blame.

Nevertheless, despite—or even because of—their obsession with sexual practice it is likely that they laughed as heartily at Freud’s antics as we do. We salute him, therefore, as a great comic genius of his age.

24

Sidonia:
Have I interrupted your recital, Plato?

Plato:
No. Not at all. I have ended with a flourish.

Sidonia:
I wanted you to be the first to hear the wonderful news.

Plato:
Oh? What is it?

Sidonia:
A great pole has been found at the corner of Lime Street and Leadenhall. It came out of the earth so quietly and quickly that it might not have been buried at all.

Plato:
If it was found at the corner of Leadenhall, then it must be the great maypole that stood on the site for many hundreds of years. It was the centre of our city’s festivity and celebration.

Sidonia:
And there are words upon it, partly defaced but still visible. I noted them down.

Plato:
What is this? ‘Ove Arup and Partners. For the Lloyd’s Building.’

Sidonia:
I admit that I was puzzled. That is why I came to you.

Plato:
If it is in the same location, then it must be the maypole. Everything in our city’s history tells us that the first and original shape never dies.

Sidonia:
So?

Plato:
The Lloyd’s Building must have been the name given to the maypole. Ove and Arup and Partners were the deities guarding it.

Sidonia:
Can that be true?

Plato:
There can be no doubt.

25

Plato:
There can be no doubt. Can there?

Soul:
It’s no good asking me. I have nothing to do with knowledge, certain or uncertain. I am all love and intuition.

Plato:
If you love me, then you will tell me. Can I be sure of what I say? Sometimes I feel that it is all pretence, and that I should take doubt like a dagger and plunge it into me. When I am wounded, then I might speak the truth.

Soul: Ouch.

Plato:
You think I am being extravagant?

Soul:
I take the long view in such matters. Whatever is good for you is right.

Plato:
But surely you understand? You are the one who gave me my restlessness. My nervous fear.

Soul:
Why should I be blamed? You are what you are. I am part of you, I admit it, but I really cannot bear all the responsibility.

Plato:
So you are ashamed of me.

Soul:
Not at all. I do not always enjoy your arguments, but I find them necessary. When you give expression to your thoughts, you help to define me. Is that selfish?

Plato:
We were taught that the pattern of birds in flight was also an image of their soul. I suppose that you and I bear the same relationship.

Soul:
And we, too, are part of the soul of the world. Then beyond that—well, it becomes more mysterious.

Plato:
So you will never leave me?

Soul:
A body without a soul is an impossibility, although I admit that there are times when I long to ‘sup above’. But of course I would never deprive you of your—how shall I put it?—your spirit.

Plato:
Thank you. You lend me courage.

Soul:
It is not a loan. It is a gift. You may need it soon.

Plato:
You intrigue me.

Soul:
Hush. Look into your heart now and speak to the citizens about the wonders of creation.

26

The ancient myths of creation are of the utmost interest to those of us who study the poetry of past ages. It was believed, for example, that a god called Khnumu fashioned a great egg in which all of creation resided; another deity, Ptal, then broke the egg with a hammer and life spilled out. This was known as the ‘big bang’, from which the universe was supposed continually to expand. Of course the poets of creation did not realise that what they considered to be flying outwards was, in reality, the retreat or recession of their own divine energy. They had, as it were, taken a hammer to their own brains.

From an ancient city named Babylon we have evidence of a creation song which is altogether more convincing. The two forces of light and darkness, otherwise called god and dragon, fight for mastery; god slays the dragon, but even in his death agonies darkness is able to sow the seeds of confusion in an otherwise enlightened universe. This was ‘chaos theory’, in which the dragon’s mouth became known as a black hole or, in another myth, dark matter. Such legendary creatures as the white dwarf and the brown dwarf also appear in these wonderful sagas. Their central purpose has, perhaps, become clear to you? The singers and prophets of antiquity had such little faith in their own powers that they felt compelled to invoke some great and distant source from which they had come. The knowledge that everything, past and future alike, exists eternally—this was not given to them.

That very interesting mythographer, Mennocchio, suggested that the four elements of the early myths— earth, air, fire and water—were once congealed together in a mass of putrefaction; that the worms who burrowed through it were the angels, and that one of those angels became God. This became known as the ‘wormhole theory’, which prompted much elaborate speculation. It was exceeded in inventiveness only by the story of ‘superstrings’, which can be tentatively dated to the civilisation that first propounded the music of the spheres. These ‘strings’ also appeared in other myths which emphasised the role of harmony and symmetry in the creation of the universe. When such fables were recited to the populace, we may imagine the ritual accompaniment of many instruments. It may seem peculiar to us that our earliest ancestors always looked back to some mythical point of origin, but no doubt our own speculations would have puzzled them. We now realise that creation occurs continually. We are creation. We are the music.