I had no idea that an architect mentioned in Josephine's little fable was a real figure. What a great name: Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin. I assumed she made it up to illustrate the layers of thought upon which the world of her story, like ours, is built.
There's the foundation of it, formed by Augustus- which once seemed so formal and stable. The mighty empire- that was Rome and is now the West- was actually our veneer, not a solid base, but at the bottom of the whole thing like a carpet one rests the furniture upon. It is really Greek thought seen through the eyes of Roman respectability tempered by Medieval piety distorted by looking back and calling it Christendom; having nothing whatever to do with Christ.
Then there's Welby. To some, that's the respectable doctor. To others it's clearly a name that says London, rather than Londinium. As a new Rome, and certainly not Constantinople- an errant excursion to the Orient takes you there... you'd be better off near London. Oversee the heathens you rule over from good 'ole jolly England.
Northmore- well, it's North- cold, covered in the hides of animals and protected from the dangerous sun of the tropic south where flesh is revealed outside of the bath where one keeps a towel on. And it's more. Winter is here, where it should be. Things are as they are. After all, it has always been thus. Or has it?
And then there's Pugin. To me it sounds as dangerous as the flesh colored salmon; which is only okay for others, but not for oneself.
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