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FOAM By Brian Aldiss ‘There’s nothing for it when you reach the Point of No Return — except to come back.’ E. James Carvell Many Central and Eastern European churches had been dismantled. The deconstruction of Chartres Cathedral was proceeding smartly, unhindered by Operation Total Tartary. On the previous day, a guide had taken me round Budapest Anthropological Museum. I had wanted to see the danse macabre preserved there, once part of the stonework of the cathedral at Nogykanizsa. Although the panel was in poor condition, it showed clearly the dead driving the living to the grave. The dead were represented by skeletons, frisky and grinning. The line of the living began with prelates in grand clothes, the Pope leading. Merchants came next, men and women, then a prostitute; a beggar brought up the rear, these allegorical figures representing the inescapable gradations of decay. As I was making notes, measuring, and sketching in my black notebook, the guide was shuffling about behind me, impatient to leave. I |
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