The Portrait of Two Ladies

My previous post was about my trip to London last week. I didn’t want to cram the piece with too many space-greedy photos, so omitted the ones of pictures I liked in the National Gallery. Several of you were kind enough to suggest you’d like to see them, so having got ahead of myself preparing Tennyson for next week’s classes (and C. Rossetti, looking further ahead), here they are. Just two of them.

First is this one; it seemed easiest to just post the caption on the wall of the gallery for information about it:

Morisot, Girl on a Divan

Berthe Morisot, Girl on a Divan

 

 

Morisot, Girl on a Divan caption

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morisot first exhibited at the Salon at the age of 23 in 1864, and continued to do so most years for the next six, after which her work was included in the ‘rejected’ alternative salon of Impressionists – among all the now household names. She was married to Manet’s brother. I think her famous painting The Cradle (1872) was the one that first brought her to my attention many years ago; it’s a tender image of (presumably) a mother beside her baby’s ornate crib. There’s a striking portrait of her by Manet, done the same year, dramatically dressed in black (she was in mourning for her father), gazing out at the viewer with large, challenging, slightly amused eyes, yet they seem more guarded than those of the girl in the divan. That’s what interests me about her: she was denied access to the seamier parts of urban/social life beloved of the male impressionists – the brothels, low dives and clubs, and so on; but she could gain access to and gain the trust of the women who wouldn’t necessarily have interested her fellow (male) artists, or posed in the same way.

It seems that she influenced Manet considerably, encouraging him, for example, to taking up painting in the open air, not just in the studio. According to Wikipedia, where you can see the paintings I’ve mentioned, and several more, she was described by some art critics as being the best of the group.

Like most women artists (most women?) she found it hard to be taken seriously in her world. So here she is.

Next:

Ingres Mme Moitessier

This is by the Neo-Classical artist, Ingres (1856), a portrait of Mme Moitessier. She was the wife of a wealthy banker, shown here wearing a costly and fashionable Lyon silk gown. It was the detail and colour of this that has always drawn my eye – this little image can’t do it justice.

Ingres apparently laboured over the work for 12 years, constantly striving to perfect that colour and detail. It’s quite stunningly beautiful. It may be my imagination but the sitter’s facial expression seems far less comfortable under the artist’s male gaze than the girl in the divan above – though her body language seems quite relaxed. But it has more in common with a fashion plate than an intimate portrait, it seems to me. She and her husband no doubt wanted the artist to show off their prosperity.

Hope you didn’t mind this little detour away from my more usual literary territory. Apologies to any art specialists for any solecisms in my Google-derived information in this post. Obviously these are just snaps from my phone; I’d recommend taking a look online at the professionally photographed images of these artists’ work.

London times

I’ve been visiting friends in west London for a long weekend, hence these scenes of a fast-flowing river as we walked on the South Bank first to Tower Bridge, then back to the Tate Modern.

Tower of London

Traitor’s Gate at the Tower

After a weekend of high winds and driving rain (and a visit to the Blake in Sussex exhibition at Petworth House) the sun finally shone. Next day I returned and indulged in a dérive, walking from Westminster tube station to Trafalgar Square – hence the obligatory picture of the lion guarding Nelson’s column.

 

 

 

LionTower Bridge

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the National Gallery I limited myself to just a couple of rooms: Impressionists mainly. The nice guard said it was ok to take non-flash pictures, and patiently assured an anxious Italian visitor that yes, the paintings were all originals.

Then north to Soho Square, with a helpful plaque showing a plan of its earlier layout, and a brief history: it was from the late 17th century a fashionable location, with various aristocratic residents and a notorious brothel. William Beckford, author of Vathek,  was born there, and the naturalist Joseph Banks, who accompanied Captain Cook on his voyage to Australasia, was a resident; his house became a sort of salon for scientists. There’s a Catholic church on one side, which was built to cater for the local Irish and Italian communities, and a French Protestant church on the north side, originally serving the Huguenot exiles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soho SquareSoho Square

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back to St James’s Park tube station and the ride back to Chiswick, but en route I saw the colourful displays in Chinatown to celebrate the New Year.

Chinatown

 

 

 

 

Then a book haul at Turnham Green Oxfam shop, which has an extensive Classics section. This will be my first Schulz; Edith Wharton I’ve posted about a few times:The Age of Innocence, The House of Mirth and The Children

Book haul Feb 18

 

 

 

 

Donkey, coroner, whale: 3 short squibs [Aside]

I’m still immersed in Romanticism, hence the last few posts on Byron and Shelley. Here, for a change on a grey wintry Sunday, as the shopping frenzy gets into full swing (sign seen on a shop door yesterday: ‘Black Friday Week’. Really) some scraps of doggerel from an old notebook I just came across. Sort of ‘found poetry’, I suppose. I think I first scribbled them down early this year.

You can see why I don’t often attempt poetry. Ah, well.

Donkey

A donkey trotted past. Stretched

Out on its back, fast asleep,

A dog. A mongrel.

 

Does a Coroner

have to be a doctor or a lawyer?

How many baby

Cases per day

Are doable?

 

Blind side

Can you see that light?

No.

Can you point to it?

No.

Just try.

There, you see?

 

Whales

were seen in a fjord

Off the Norwegian coast.

Humpbacks.

Herrings leapt in panic

Out of the water.

Illustration of a whale from the Edo period, 18th-19th century, in the Tokyo National Museum - public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Illustration of a whale from the Edo period, 18th-19th century, in the Tokyo National Museum – public domain via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

A haul of Trollopes – an aside

I don’t usually post these ‘look at these books I just bought’ pieces, but today I can’t resist.

A trip to town yesterday ended with a happy book haul at a charity shop.

Trollope book haul

I wonder what’s the significance of the colour-coded bands at the top of the spine? Different sequences or series of novels? I need to check.

I’ve only read one Trollope novel, and that was The Warden, many years ago. Here in this unprepossessing shop was a complete row of pristine OWC paperbacks of the Barsetshire and Palliser novels.

I toyed with the idea of buying just the first one or two in each series; but at the giveaway price being charged, decided to buy the lot.

It was for a good charitable cause.

All those good intentions not to buy more books…Hope I’m not turning in my dotage into John Major, the lacklustre ex-Prime Minister who named Trollope as one of his favourite authors.

St Michael’s Mount and St Mary of Egypt: an aside

 

During this school and college half-term holiday we’ve had the TDays grandchildren and their mum staying with us. Yesterday, their last full day in Cornwall, we took them to one of their (and our) favourite places: St Michael’s Mount.

St Michael's Mount

St Michael’s Mount seen from the beach at Marazion

Main buildings

The main buildings

Even on a cloudy day it looks fantastic – from any angle or distance.

Millennia ago it was probably inland, in a forest, but inundation turned it into an island. It’s accessible today by a causeway when the tide is low, otherwise – as we did, you have to catch a boat (but we were able to walk back).

There was probably a monastic settlement there from the 8C. Edward the Confessor gave it to the Benedictine order of Mont St Michel – which it resembles physically, though the Penzance Bay version is smaller. It was a priory of that Normandy abbey until the early 15C, when, because of Henry V’s war with France, it was deemed an ‘alien house’ and was presented to the Abbess and Convent of Syon in Isleworth, Middlesex (there’s a seal of that convent among the many exhibits in the present exhibition rooms).

Cannon

The site’s turbulent and often violent history is reflected in the prominence of cannon all round the battlements near the top

When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries St Michael’s Mount reverted to the crown. It was sold to the St Aubyn family in 1659, and their descendants still live there, although the National Trust, a British heritage charity, took over the administration of the site in 1954. The English novelist Edward of that name is a member of the family.

The archangel Michael is particularly associated with religious buildings sited on mountains and high places like this. Legend has it that he could be seen by fishermen, seated on his granite throne atop the Mount, from early times. Milton’s poem ‘Lycidas’ has its conclusion there.

There’s another tradition that links Jack the Giant Killer with the giant who was said to have resided on the Mount in early times.

Causeway

View back at the Mount as we walked towards Marazion and the mainland after our visit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Penzance harbour was developed and improved in the early 1800s, and the railway line was extended there in 1852, the thriving community on the island declined, its three pubs and schools eventually closed, and the population dwindled. It still has a fine harbour of its own.

Mary of Egypt assumption

The roundel of Mary of Egypt’s assumption

I was particularly excited by the discovery, as we toured the rooms full of fascinating exhibits of the building’s history and heritage, of a stained glass window panel that I’d not noticed on previous visits (unlike me). It depicted a female saint’s assumption to heaven, lifted there by angels.

As some readers of this blog may know, I’m a medieval hagiographer – my postgrad research involved a study of the Life of St Mary of Egypt. I decided that this glass image was not of her, but depicted the more famous Mary Magdalene, whose medieval European legend, as I’ve written in previous posts, took on many of the narrative contents of Egyptian Mary’s, including the long sojourn as a hermit in the desert, discovery by a wandering monk, and assumption to heaven when she died. The clothes of both saints were said to have rotted away over the years, so medieval artists usually depict them as young and attractive, their nakedness hidden by long wavy hair.

Magdalene by Gherarducci

Assumption of the Magdalene by Silvestro dei Gherarducci (1339-99) (National Gallery of Ireland, NGI.841) Wikimedia Commons

As I said, I was pretty sure this image was of the Magdalene, but one of the volunteer NT helpers in the room joined me as I took its picture and said it WAS Mary of Egypt – he’d seen it in the official guidebook to the site. He found us later and had kindly photocopied the relevant page. It reads:

The stained and painted glass in the north windows of the Chevy Chase Room…were brought to St Michael’s Mount by Sir John St Aubyn, the 5th Baronet, at the end of the 18th century.

The roundels, rectangular panels and fragments date from the 15th to 18th century. They are mostly Flemish or Dutch and were probably originally in small oratories in private houses. They were inspected and classified by Dr H Wayment of Cambridge University in 1978. …The central roundel is the Apotheosis of St Mary of Egypt being carried to heaven from the desert, French or Flemish, c. 1520.

Dr Hilary Wayment (1912-2005) was an academic who was a fellow of King’s College, Cambridge (later of Wolfson), and is best known for his scholarly work on the 16C windows of that college’s chapel. I wouldn’t assume to question his authority in identifying this particular roundel with Egyptian Mary. I had previously been aware of only a handful of other images in religious buildings in England (there are many more in MSS). Hence my excitement at this discovery.

Magdalene assumption

Another image of the Magdalene’s assumption, from a 16C window: image via Wikimedia Commons, from the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Why did I presume this was the Magdalene? Because she is usually distinguished in medieval iconography from her namesake by her attribute of an ornate ointment jar (the one she used in the New Testament story abouth anointing the feet of Jesus with costly unguents, thus shocking his disciples. He didn’t share their outrage).

Mary of Egypt’s attribute is the three round loaves her legend relates she bought as she left Jerusalem and entered the desert beyond Jordan.

Accurate identification of the saint in these assumption scenes is problematic, because the figure would not take her jar or loaves to heaven with her, so it’s only possible to be sure who the figure represents if we have other information about her identity. I can only assume the learned doctor had such information; it would be more usual to assume that an otherwise unidentified image of this type would be of the far more frequently represented Magdalene. Perhaps he had access to documentation of the provenance of the roundel.

Mary of Egypt

Sforza Book of Hours, 1490. Assumption of Mary Magdalene, supported by angels; I couldn’t find an image of a similar scene with Mary of Egypt in Fitzwilliam MS 19, a Book of Hours from Chartres

I’ll be happy to take it as my saint’s image.

This last one came from my post on Mary of Egypt’s day in April earlier this year.

I discovered another glass window image of Mary of Egypt at the V&A Museum in February of this year, as I posted then

V&A Mary of Egypt

The V&A image, made in Cologne c. 1670

 

Hello Catalunya

Yesterday I posted my goodbye to Berlin – helping son, daughter-in-law and two grandsons (2 and 3) pack up and prepare to move to Sant Cugat del Vallès, a suburb of Barcelona.

TD jnr and I ended up having to drive the family car, with disgruntled cats, the 1800 km via

Greta

Greta

autobahn (roadworks everywhere), autoroute and autopista. So not much scenery to admire – endless, mind-numbing motorway embankments. It took two days.

Having an academic background in medieval hagiography, I was ashamed to admit I hadn’t heard of the Catalan saint after whom the town they were moving to was named. Cugat is the Catalan for St Cucuphas.

He was a missionary of African origin, martyred in the fourth century under the persecution of Diocletian. He suffered some of the more unpleasant tortures before his dispatch, involving iron nails, scorpions, vinegar and pepper.

Monastery of Sant Cugat

Monastery of Sant Cugat

As his remains were said to have been buried at the site of his death in what became Sant Cugat, it seemed natural for the Benedictines who founded the monastery there in the ninth century to dedicate the house to this saint.  My picture shows the handsomely restored building in the town centre.

After a few days of unpacking and exploring the new neighbourhood, and discovering the local mosquitos particularly like the taste of Mrs TD, we all drove into the city and had a tapas lunch near the Ramblas – no sign of the recent awful attack – and took the boys to the Ciutadella park where there’s a fountain which famous local architect Antoni Gaudí helped design.

 

Ciutadella park

That’s me in the shadows by the hind leg of the mammoth in Ciutadella park

Arc de Triomf

The Arc de Triomf, near Ciutadella, designed for the 1888 World Fair by Vilaseca i Casanovas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next day Mrs TD and I, enjoying some adult time away from toddlers, visited the Sagrada Familia, Gaudí’s still unfinished cathedral. When we were here last summer we didn’t go inside; this time we did, and it was breathtaking. Here are some images to finish with.

Sagrada Familia

This figure in the Sagrada Familia looks sinister for a cathedral

Sagrada Familia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sagrada Familia

Sagrada Familia

Carvings outside

Sagrada Familia

Goodbye to Berlin

Goodbye to Berlin

Yesterday’s post on Elizabeth Taylor was the first in a few weeks. I thought I’d explain why.

My stepson, his wife and two nervous cats and two small boys were moving from Berlin (Prenzlauerberg district, in the former East sector) after many years there, working in the music business. They were going to Sant Cugat, 20km north of Barcelona.

Mrs TD and I flew over to help. I took a load of photos, quite sad to think we’d probably not go back to Prenzlauerberg. We’ll certainly revisit Berlin centre, though.

Carl Legien estate

Carl Legien estate, designed by Bruno Taut, on which is found the lovely Café Eckstern

Here’s a selection of those pictures, my valediction to an interesting area of the city, full of psychogeophraphical surprises – there are statues, carved details, murals, Bauhaus design – all round this area. Like the area around the café mentioned below: workers’ accommodation designed by Bruno Taut (associated with the Deutscher Werkbund, which included Walter Gropius) in the early 30s.

Just look up or around: there’s always something worth lingering over.  As I did in a post way back, my Berlin dérive...

Here’s the hof being used to store boxes before loading on the truck, with Berliners’ ubiquitous bikes parked next to them:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here’s the removal truck:

 

 

 

 

 

pumping station

An old pumping station

 

pumping station

The pumping station looked indifferent from the distance, but there were delightful architectural details, iike this Berlin bear over a doorway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Corner figure

Another little artistic detail over a corner

Girl statue

This charming statue is just outside the house

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And we had several coffees, muesli, croissants, bagels and cakes from our favourite café round the corner: Café Eckstern – which I wrote about affectionately earlier this year 
Cafe Eckstern

Police hippy van

Typical Berlin scene: hipsters have pimped this former police van and made it into something wildly different: the word ‘Polizei’ may not be visible in this picture, but it’s there, dimly surviving just below the windscreen. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enough pictures for one post. Next time, Sant Cugat, after a LONG road trip with those traumatised cats.

Aside: calenture

I was glancing through my copy of George Eliot’s Adam Bede, that early novel of hers (1859) full of earnest Methodists and wronged maidens (did Hardy get the idea of Tess’s infanticide from this?), and noticed this odd word:

Book 1, ch. 7: The Dairy

The dairy was certainly worth looking at: it was a scene to sicken for with a sort of calenture in hot and dusty streets–such coolness, such purity, such fresh fragrance of new-pressed cheese, of firm butter, of wooden vessels perpetually bathed in pure water…

 

Adam Bede

Picture of Adam Bede in his carpenter’s workshop, from an early American edition. By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons

Here’s the OED online (as ever, thank you, Cornwall Library Service for this free resource; I’ve omitted most of the citations):

Etymology: < French calenture, < Spanish calentura fever, <  calentar to be hot, < Latin calēnt-em hot, burning.

  1. A disease incident to sailors within the tropics, characterized by delirium in which the patient, it is said, fancies the sea to be green fields, and desires to leap into it.The word was also used in the Spanish general sense of ‘fever’, and sometimes in that of ‘sunstroke’.

1593    T. Nashe Christs Teares f. 45   Then (as the possessed with the Calentura,) thou shalt offer to leape.

1719    D. Defoe Life Robinson Crusoe 19   In this Voyage..I was continually sick, being thrown into a violent Calenture by the excessive Heat.

1721    Swift Bubble vii   So, by a calenture misled, The mariner with rapture sees, On the smooth ocean’s azure bed, Enamell’d fields and verdant trees.

 

  1. fig. and transf. Fever; burning passion, ardour, zeal, heat, glow.

1596    T. Nashe Haue with you to Saffron-Walden sig. F3v   Er hee bee come to the..raging Calentura of his wretchednes.

a1631    J. Donne Poems (1650) 158   Knowledge kindles Calentures in some.

1841    H. Smith Moneyed Man III. ix. 238   The mirage of a moral calenture, which conjures up unexisting objects.

So it would seem to be this second, figurative meaning that Eliot intends. Given the simmering passions among the main characters in this scene, the erotic connotations are surely intended.

That sailors would suffer the delusion that the ocean was green fields or prairies and they wanted to jump overboard to escape the confines of their ship reminds me of a similar feel to the early parts of Moby-Dick.

Calenture: useful word to have in your repertoire.

This will probably be my final post for a couple of weeks; I’m going on travels with family.

 

 

Drunk as a sturdy thrush

Grandchildren just left after their annual stay with me and Mrs TD, so there’s been little time to read or post. As I get my breath back, I thought I’d add just this little Aside note.

Song_Thrush_(Turdus_philomelos)_singing_in_tree

Song Thrush (Turdus Philomelos). By Taco Meeuwsen from Hellevoetsluis, The Netherlands – THRUSH TUNE, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I read somewhere that the ancient Romans used to employ the expression ‘drunk as a thrush’ [‘turdus’ in Latin], perhaps because they had seen these birds staggering around in vineyards after gorging on rotting, fermenting grapes. (Wasps, I believe, behave similarly with apples).

In Old French this morphed into estourdi, ‘stunned, dazed, reckless, violent’ (modern French étourdi feather-brained, thoughtless). OED online (thank you, Cornwall Library Service for this free resource) adds:

Some scholars think that it is <  ex- (see ex- prefix) + turdus thrush (for the sense compare the French proverbial phrase soûl comme une grive , ‘drunk as a thrush’); some regard it as a contraction of *extorpidīre (Latin torpidus torpid adj. and n.) or of *exturbidīre (Latin turbidus turbid adj.). All these conjectures are open to grave objection.

It’s thought in some quarters that when the Normans invaded England in 1066 they were referred to with this expression, which gave rise to the current sense, as defined in OED below. I could find no textual evidence to support this link, apart from a much later translation from the Latin verses, supposedly of Archbishop Thomas of York (d. 1100), in praise of William I, the Conqueror, which contains the line ‘he who the sturdy Normans ruled…’. It would seem by Tudor times to have become a collocation when referring to the Normans.

As you’ll see, the first citation in OED is from late 13C, and makes no reference to the Norman Conquest:

II. 2.

  1. Impetuously brave, fierce in combat.

1297    R. Gloucester’s Chron. (Rolls) 7936   Þe heyemen of engelond..mid gret ost wende uorþ & mid stourdi [v.r. stourde] mode.

3.

  1. Recklessly violent, furious, ruthless, cruel.

 

It also has this meaning:

A brain-disease in sheep and cattle, which makes them run round and round; the turnsick.

The Latin name of the Song Thrush, as in the picture above, derives from the Greek legend of Philomela, in which, according to Ovid’s version in Metamorphosis, she’s raped by Tereus, and escaped by turning into a nightingale. This was much translated and adapted by later English poets, alluded to by Eliot (‘so rudely forced’, she ‘filled all the desert with inviolable voice/And still she cried, and still the world pursued’), her plaintive song ‘”jug jug” to dirty ears’). As always his allusion indirectly echoes lines from previous works, from the Tudor poet Gascoigne through Coleridge, Keats and others.

 

Walter Benjamin, flâneurs, the historical shudder, lorettes and Paul Gavarni

Flânerie again: I turned again today to the opening section of Benjamin’s Convolute M in The Arcades Project, ‘The Flâneur’, a concept which has featured several times here on the blog (dérives in Paris and elsewhere, for example). That’s it in my picture below.

From p. 416 of The Arcades Project

From p. 416 of The Arcades Project

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a helpful introduction to the notion of the flâneur as Benjamin sees it. He’s scornful of that usage which is found too often nowadays, too: the ‘idler’ or ‘tourist’, wandering ‘capriciously’ as Henry James put it, through the urban streets. His is a more charged sense, a key term in his kaleidoscopic presentation of the significance of the city of Paris and its inhabitants in the 19C.

Notre Dame de Lorette, Paris

Bizet and Monet were baptised in this church: 1840 and 1841 respectively. Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

I was unfamiliar with the church of ND de Lorette, mentioned there. After a bit of digging online, this is what I came up with:

It’s a church (building started in 1823) on the edge of the 9th arrondissement of Paris, near Pigalle and just south of Montmartre. That is, the red light district. Ah ha.

So I looked up ‘lorette‘ in the OED online (that superb free resource, thanks to Cornwall Library Service):

 A courtesan of a class which at one time had its headquarters in the vicinity of the Church of Notre Dame de Lorette in Paris.

Google took me to this website: France in the Age of Les Misérables. Here I found the following quotations:

“The middle ground between street prostitute and grand dame of commercial sex, the courtesan, lorette became an umbrella term for the kept women set up discreetly in a private apartment by a businessman, professional, or wealthy student… Always elegantly dressed, the lorette peeps out coyly from a theatre box, engages in double entendre with male admirers at a masked ball, displays herself while enjoying the view from her apartment window… the lorette slid imperceptibly across the boundaries of acceptability and social stigma.”

The lorette was bound in many ways by the codes of polite society and yet, was not embraced as a part of that same society. “On the boulevards, she was virtually indistinguishable in costume and appearance from the more fashionable among her lover’s female relations. And in a sense, for men she was quintessentially public property – to be discussed, admired, acquired… In other words there was a radical mismatch between the social and moral codes marking out the lorette within ‘respectable’ society and the way she gained public representation in the spectacle of the metropolis.” (The lorette was essentially a decoration for her lovers, something to be admired and used as needed, but not something for everyday inclusion into society.)

(Nicholas Green, The Spectacle of Nature: Landscape and bourgeois culture in 19th century France by Nicholas Green, Manchester University Press, Manchester and New York, 1990.

She would be, in Benjamin’s view, a perfect example of the exploitation of the urban poor. Here’s what he says at p. 446:

“We know,” says Marx, “that the value of each commodity is determined by the quantity of labor materialized in its use value, by the working-time socially necessary for its production.”

This would apply as much for the journalist as the courtesan or lorette.

Also mentioned in that opening section in my picture at the start is [Paul] Gavarni. This was the nom de plume of Sulpice Chevalier, a Parisian artist-illustrator (1804-66), noted for his magazine images of characters and scenes of Parisian life. He also illustrated the first collected edition in 1850 of Balzac’s works. So Benjamin’s words resonate at many levels.

Here’s Gavarni’s drawing of a dandy – another central figure in Benjamin, close relation to the flâneur:

[Attribution: By Pline – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0: public domain, via Wikimedia Commons]

In April last year I wrote more on The Arcades Project

This section of the book begins with a number of epigraphs, including this by Mallarmé:

‘A landscape haunts, intense as opium’

Below is my picture of the title page, which gives bibliographical details.

Arcades Project title page