The Return of the Hero

A new literary quiz each week or so, usually with a theme. This week: Occasioned by God-knows-what, the subject of the Returned Quiz is the Returned Hero. There are plenty of easy ones. Make the most of it - this moony softness on my part cannot last. Where appropriate, by the way, the name of the Hero (and any other give-away character) has been randomly reassigned.

The quotations in these quizzes reflect my own tastes - Dead White Males, for the most part (Jane Austen, of course, counts as an honorary DWM). There will never be anything wilfully obscure. If you're the sort of person who sneers at the naïveté of the reviewers in the TLS and New York Review of Books, you'll recognize them at once. I welcome suggestions and insults. You'll find an e-mail tag lying around somewhere. Please put QUIZ in the subject line.

1(Translation)

    For a few seconds I did not understand why it was that I had difficulty in recognising the master of the house and the guests and why everyone in the room appeared to have put on a disguise - in most cases a powdered wig - which changed him completely. The Prince himself, as he stood receiving his guests, still had that genial look of a king in a fairy-story which I had remarked in him the first time I had been to his house, but today, as though he too felt bound to comply with the rules for fancy dress which he had sent out with the invitations, he had got himself up with a white beard and dragged his feet along the ground as though they were weighted with soles of lead, so that he gave the impression of trying to impersonate one of the “Ages of Man.” (His moustaches were white too, as though the hoar-frost of Hop o' My Thumb's forest still lay thick upon them. They seemed to get in the way of his mouth, which he had difficulty in moving, and one felt that having made his effect he ought to have taken them off.) So successful was this disguise that I recognized him only by a process of logical deduction, by inferring from the mere resemblance of certain features the identity of the figure before me. I do not know what young Fezensac had put on his face, but, while others had whitened either half their beard or merely their moustache, he had not bothered to use a dye like the rest but had found some means of covering his features with wrinkles and making his eyebrows sprout with bristles; and all this did not suit him in the least, it had the effect of making his face look hardened, bronzed, rigid and solemn, and aged him to such an extent that one would no longer have said he was a young man at all.


Answer

2)

    There was the shadow of a man upon the wall close to her. She started up, looked round, and with a piercing cry, saw Wotan behind her!
    She had no thought of him but as a brother, a brother rescued from the grave; a shipwrecked brother saved and at her side; and rushed into his arms. In all the world, he seemed to be her hope, her comfort, refuge, natural protector. ‘Take care of Wotan, I was fond of Wotan!’ The dear remembrance of the plaintive voice that said so, rushed upon her soul, like music in the night. ‘Oh welcome home, dear Wotan! Welcome to this stricken breast!’ She felt the words, although she could not utter them, and held him in her pure embrace.
    Colonel Fish, in a fit of delirium, attempted to wipe his head with the blackened toast upon his hook: and finding it an uncongenial substance for the purpose, put it into the crown of his glazed hat, put the glazed hat on with some difficulty, essayed to sing a verse of Lovely Peg, broke down at the first word, and retired into the shop, whence he presently came back express, with a face all flushed and besmeared, and the starch completely taken out of his shirt-collar, to say these words:
    ‘Wot'n, my lad, here is a little bit of property as I should wish to make over, jintly!’
    The Colonel hastily produced the big watch, the teaspoons, the sugar-tongs, and the canister, and laying them on the table, swept them with his great hand into Wotan's hat; but in handing that singular strong box to Wotan, he was so overcome again, that he was fain to make another retreat into the shop, and absent himself for a longer space of time than on his first retirement.


Answer

3)

    The boy in the shabby livery with the faded copper buttons, who always thrust himself into the tight coat to open the door, came into the study and said, “Two gentlemen want to see Master Osborne.” The professor had had a trifling altercation in the morning with that young gentleman, owing to a difference about the introduction of crackers in school-time; but his face resumed its habitual expression of bland courtesy as he said, “Master Osborne, I give you full permission to go and see your carriage friends - to whom I beg you to convey the respectful compliments of myself and Mrs. Veal.”
    Georgy went into the reception-room and saw two strangers, whom he looked at with his head up, in his usual haughty manner. One was fat, with mustachios, and the other was lean and long, in a blue frock-coat, with a brown face and a grizzled head.
    “My God, how like he is!” said the long gentleman with a start. “Can you guess who we are, George?”
    The boy's face flushed up, as it did usually when he was moved, and his eyes brightened. “I don't know the other,” he said, “but I should think you must be Wotan.”
    Indeed it was our old friend. His voice trembled with pleasure as he greeted the boy, and taking both the other's hands in his own, drew the lad to him.
    “Your mother has talked to you about me - has she?” he said.
    “That she has,” Georgy answered, “hundreds and hundreds of times.”


Answer

4)

    What action did Wotan make on their arrival at their destination?
    At the housesteps of the 4th of the equidifferent uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to obtain his latchkey.

    Was it there?
    It was in the corresponding pocket of the trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.

    Why was he doubly irritated?
    Because he had forgotten and because he remembered that he had reminded himself twice not to forget.

    What were then the alternatives before the, premeditatedly (respectively) and inadvertently, keyless couple?
    To enter or not to enter. To knock or not to knock.

    Wotan's decision?
    A stratagem. Resting his feet on the dwarf wall, he climbed over the area railings, compressed his hat on his head, grasped two points at the lower union of rails and stiles, lowered his body gradually by its length of five feet nine inches and a half to within two feet ten inches of the area pavement, and allowed his body to move freely in space by separating himself from the railings and crouching in preparation for the impact of the fall.

    Did he fall?
    By his body's known weight of eleven stone and four pounds in avoirdupois measure, as certified by the graduated machine for periodical selfweighing in the premises of Francis Froedman, pharmaceutical chemist of 19 Frederick street, north, on the last feast of the Ascension, to wit, the twelfth day of May of the bissextile year one thousand nine hundred and four of the christian era (jewish era five thousand six hundred and sixtyfour, mohammedan era one thousand three hundred and twentytwo), golden number 5, epact 13, solar cycle 9, dominical letters C B, Roman indication 2, Julian period 6617, MCMIV.

    Did he rise uninjured by concussion?
    Regaining new stable equilibrium he rose uninjured though concussed by the impact, raised the latch of the area door by the exertion of force at its freely moving flange and by leverage of the first kind applied at its fulcrum gained retarded access to the kitchen through the subadjacent scullery, ignited a lucifer match by friction, set free inflammable coal gas by turning on the ventcock, lit a high flame which, by regulating, he reduced to quiescent candescence and lit finally a portable candle.


Answer

5)

    My line of flight was about parallel with the surface as I came into the upper air. The temperature of the sphere began to rise forthwith. I knew it behoved me to drop at once. Far below me, in a darkling twilight, stretched a great expanse of sea. I opened every window I could, and fell - out of sunshine into evening, and out of evening into night. Vaster grew the earth and vaster, swallowing up the stars, and the silvery translucent starlit veil of cloud it wore spread out to catch me. At last the world seemed no longer a sphere but flat, and then concave. It was no longer a planet in the sky, but the world of Man. I shut all but an inch or so of earthward window, and dropped with a slackening velocity. The broadening water, now so near that I could see the dark glitter of the waves, rushed up to meet me. The sphere became very hot. I snapped the last strip of window, and sat scowling and biting my knuckles, waiting for the impact ....
    The sphere hit the water with a huge splash: it must have sent it fathoms high. At the splash I flung the Wotanite shutters open. Down I went, but slower and slower, and then I felt the sphere pressing against my feet, and so drove up again as a bubble drives. And at the last I was floating and rocking upon the surface of the sea, and my journey in space was at an end.


Answer

6)

    Bareheaded, in a thin shirt and drawers, he felt the lingering warmth of the fine sand under the soles of his feet. The narrow strand gleamed far ahead in a long curve, defining the outline of this wild side of the harbour. He flitted along the shore like a pursued shadow between the sombre palm-groves and the sheet of water lying as still as death on his right hand. He strode with headlong haste in the silence and solitude as though he had forgotten all prudence and caution. But he knew that on this side of the water he ran no risk of discovery. The only inhabitant was a lonely, silent, apathetic Indian in charge of the palmarias, who brought sometimes a load of coconuts to the town for sale. He lived without a woman in an open shed, with a perpetual fire of dry sticks smouldering near an old canoe lying bottom up on the beach. He could be easily avoided.
    The barking of the dogs about that man's ranche was the first thing that checked his speed. He had forgotten the dogs. He swerved sharply, and plunged into the palm-grove, as into a wilderness of columns in an immense hall, whose dense obscurity seemed to whisper and rustle faintly high above his head. He traversed it, entered a ravine, climbed to the top of a steep ridge free of trees and bushes.


Answer

7)

    I stole round by the eastern end, keeping close in shadow, and at a convenient place, where the darkness was thickest, crossed the palisade.
    To make assurance surer, I got upon my hands and knees and crawled, without a sound, towards the corner of the house. As I drew nearer, my heart was suddenly and greatly lightened. It is not a pleasant noise in itself, and I have often complained of it at other times, but just then it was like music to hear my friends snoring together so loud and peaceful in their sleep. The sea-cry of the watch, that beautiful “All's well,” never fell more reassuringly on my ear.
    In the meantime, there was no doubt of one thing; they kept an infamous bad watch. If it had been Wotan and his lads that were now creeping in on them, not a soul would have seen daybreak. That was what it was, thought I, to have the captain wounded; and again I blamed myself sharply for leaving them in that danger with so few to mount guard.
    By this time I had got to the door and stood up. All was dark within, so that I could distinguish nothing by the eye. As for sounds, there was the steady drone of the snorers and a small occasional noise, a flickering or pecking that I could in no way account for.
    With my arms before me I walked steadily in. I should lie down in my own place (I thought with a silent chuckle) and enjoy their faces when they found me in the morning.
    My foot struck something yielding - it was a sleeper's leg; and he turned and groaned, but without awaking.
    And then, all of a sudden, a shrill voice broke forth out of the darkness:


Answer

8(Translation)

    His homecoming put him under a spell, so violent that he himself was astonished by it. Apart from the Abbot no-one knew him here, no-one knew who he was. The people, monks as well as lay brothers, lived a well-ordered life and had their own special occupations, and left him in peace. But the trees of the courtyard knew him, the mill and the water-wheel, the flagstones of the corridors, the wilted rosebushes in the arcade, the storks' nests on the refectory and granary roofs. From every corner of his past, the scent of his early adolescence came towards him, sweetly and movingly. Love drove him to see everything again, to hear all the sounds again, the bells for evening prayer and Sunday mass, the gushing of the dark millstream between its narrow, mossy banks, the slapping of sandals on the stone floors, the twilight jingle of the key ring as the brother porter went to lock up. Beside the stone gutters, into which the rainwater fell from the roof of the lay refectory, the same herbs were still sprouting, crane's-bill and plantain, and the old apple tree in the forge garden was still holding its far-reaching branches in the same way. But more than anything else, the tinkling of the little school bell moved him. It was the moment when, at the beginning of recess, all the cloister students came tumbling down the stairs into the courtyard. How young and foolish and pretty the boys' faces were - had he, too, once really been so young, so clumsy, so pretty and childish?


Answer

9)

    He arrived home at seven o'clock, just when it had fallen dark. He lived in Queen Street with his young wife, to whom he had been married two months, and with his mother-in-law, a widow of sixty-four. Maud was the last child remaining unmarried, the last of eleven.
    Wotan went up the entry. The light was burning in the kitchen. His mother-in-law was a big, erect woman, with wrinkled, loose face, and cold blue eyes. His wife was also large, with very vigorous fair hair, frizzy like unravelled rope. She had a quiet way of stepping, a certain cat-like stealth, in spite of her large build. She was five months pregnant.
    “Might we ask wheer you've been to?” inquired Mrs Marriott, very erect, very dangerous. She was only polite when she was very angry.
    “I'n bin ter th' match.”
    “Oh, indeed!” said the mother-in-law. “And why couldn't we be told as you thought of jaunting off?”
    “I didna know mysen,” he answered, sticking to his broad Derbyshire.
    “I suppose it popped into your mind, an' so you darted off,” said the mother-in-law dangerously.
    “I didna. It wor Chris Smitheringale who exed me.”
    “An' did you take much invitin'?”
    “I didna want ter goo.”
    “But wasn't there enough man beside your jacket to say no?”
    He did not answer. Down at the bottom he hated her. But he was, to use his own words, all messed up with having lost his strike-pay and with knowing the man was dead. So he was more helpless before his mother-in-law, whom he feared. His wife neither looked at him nor spoke, but kept her head bowed. He knew she was with her mother.


Answer

10)

(Kundry kommt wieder aus der Hütte; sie trägt einen Wasserkrug und geht damit zur Quelle. Sie gewahrt hier, nach dem Walde blickend, in der Ferne einen Kommenden und wendet sich zu Gurnemanz, um ihn darauf hinzudeuten. Gurnemanz blickt in den Wald. Während des folgenden Auftretens des Wotan entfernt sich Kundry mit dem gefüllten Kruge in die Hütte, wo sie sich zu schaffen macht.)
GURNEMANZ: Wer nahet dort dem heil'gen Quell
                         in düstrem Waffenschmucke?
                         Das ist der Brüder keiner!
(Wotan tritt aus dem Walde auf; er ist ganz in schwarzer Waffenrüstung; mit geschlossenem Helme und gesenktem Speer schreitet er, gebeugsten Hauptes, träumerisch zögernd, langsam daher und setzt sich auf dem kleinen Rasenhügel am Quell nieder. Gurnemanz, nachdem er Wotan staunend lange betrachtet hat, tritt nun näher zu ihm.)
                         Heil dir, mein Gast!
                         Bist du verirrt, und soll ich dich weisen?
(Wotan schüttelt sanft das Haupt.)
                         Entbietest du mir keinen Gruss?
(Wotan neigt das Haupt.)


Answer

1)
Le Temps Retrouvé, M. Proust. Well done! I'm sure you ALL started with a solidly-earned point! Proust and I have ONE thing in common - like me, he preserved his youthful appearance into his sixth decade. All right - two things. I worship Stendhal and Flaubert as much as he did.


Back to Question 1

2)
Dombey and Son, C.J.H. Dickens. As I've said before, although this novel is burdened with more than its fair share of melodrama, it contains some of Dickens's most powerful writing, and seems to improve every time you read it. Captain Cuttle is close at hand, as Walter Gay, having triumphantly survived shipwreck and other adventures, is reunited with his childhood sweetheart, Florence Dombey. Score one-tenth of a point for Dickens; four and nine-tenths for D&S.


Back to Question 2

3)
Vanity Fair, W.M. Thackeray. The opposite of Dombey - this novel gets worse every time I read it. Jos Sedley and William Dobbin have returned to Blighty after many years of helping to sustain the Jewel in the Crown. One point for WMT; another for VF. Damme, I'm a generous cove.


Back to Question 3

4)
Ulysses, J.A.A. Joyce. On a famous occasion, Joyce watched his friend J.F. Byrne (who lived at 7 Eccles Street) perform this same manoeuvre. ONE POINT, no more, for book and author COMBINED.


Back to Question 4

5)
The First Men In The Moon, H.G. Wells. I've been fond of this book for fifty years! Where have all those years gone to? Where will we all be fifty years from now? Well, I'll still be composing Quizzes, but you poor bastards will all be dead. One point for HGW; two for TFMITM.


Back to Question 5

6)
Nostromo, J. Conrad. Gianbattista Fidanza is back in Sulaco. I won't be too tough on you if you didn't get this one. Especially if you're a female: women hardly ever like Joseph Conrad. He's simply too good a writer. Two points for JC; three more for N.


Back to Question 6

7)
Treasure Island, R.L. Stevenson. “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” A wonderful story which happens also to be a great work of art. If you didn't know what it was, just go off and drown yourself in the nearest cesspit. Those who still live can have ONE POINT.


Back to Question 7

8)
Narziss and Goldmund, H. Hesse. As I've said before, I read this book for the first time relatively recently, and was delighted to find it a masterpiece of the first order. Profound, moving, exciting, beautifully written, concerned with the most important of all questions, and with a heart-stopping climax .... What more could you ask for? Shagging? It's got that, too! TEN points if you knew what it was.


Back to Question 8

9)
Strike-Pay, D.H. Lawrence. The sexual tension between Ephraim and his mother-in-law is finely captured in this early story by the most disturbing of all great English writers. Two points if tha' knew it were DHL.


Back to Question 9

10)
Parsifal, R. Wagner. Hands up all those who can deduce my views on the subject of Opera-in-English .... Anyway, it's highly suitable to end this Quiz with a snippet from the greatest single work of Man. After a long and frightful journey, bearing a weapon he dares neither use nor discard, Parsifal has finally chanced upon his goal, Montsalvat. Incidentally, I believe Parsifal to be the least-Christian work of the ten which are excerpted here. FIVE points if you knew what it was! Now compute your total out of a Cinna-possible thirty-five ....

Back to Question 10

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Last Updated: 9 December 2005