Contentment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  In broaching her design to her companions, she stresses the ‘fatti non foste a viuer come bruti, ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza.’ (Inferno, XXVI, 119–20) need to observe certain standards of behaviour (‘We could go and stay together on one of our country estates, shunning at all costs the lewd practices of our fellow citizens and feasting and merrymaking as best we may without in any way overstepping the bounds of what is reasonable’), and this same concern for propriety is seen in her spirited declaration that ‘it is no more unseemly for us to go away and preserve our honour [I’onestamente andare] than it is for most other women to remain and forfeit theirs [lo star disonesta-mente].’ When one of her companions, Neifile, objects that their retreat to the country in young men’s company will bring disgrace and censure upon them all, she is promptly told (by Filomena this time) that if a woman lives honestly and with a clear conscience, then people may say whatever they like, for God and Truth will defend her. These are noble sentiments, totally in keeping with the aristocratic ethos which informs the world of the lieta brigata, whose impeccable and carefully regulated mode of existence, with its leisurely, civilized daily routine of bodily and spiritual refreshment, its country walks, its noontide siestas, its games and pastimes, its polite conversations, its singing, dancing, and decorous merrymaking, above all its delight in beauty, whether natural or created by man, reflects the Golden Age, the first and best age of the world, in which the poets of antiquity envisaged mankind in a state of ideal prosperity and happiness. Such an ideal world, the attractions of which are greatly enhanced by the circumstances of its creation in direct antithesis to the barbaric and anarchic urban life described by Boccaccio in the opening pages of the Introduction, can exist only in the imagination of the author and his readers, so tenuous is its connection with everyday reality. It is above all for this reason that none of the individual members of the lieta brigata, not even Dioneo with his penchant for non-conformity and mischievous humour, acquires credibility as a fully formed individual composed of flesh and blood. When one turns to the stories themselves, the unreality or artificiality of the frame becomes even more apparent. For although they, too, are exquisitely constructed literary artefacts, their events unfold within the orbit of common human experience, and they positively swarm with individuals who, however extraordinary or outrageous the situations in which they may have their being, are almost always convincing in purely psychological terms. This palpable contrast between the characters of the frame and the characters of the stories is only marginally due to differences (which in any case are relatively slight) in the manner of their presentation.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Staupitz withdrew from the conflict, resigned his position, 1520, left his order by papal dispensation, became abbot of the Benedictine Convent of St. Peter in Salzburg and died Dec. 28, 1524) in the bosom of the Catholic church which he never intended to leave.135 He was evangelical, without being a Protestant.136 He cared little for Romanism, less for Lutheranism, all for practical Christianity. His relation to the Reformation resembles that of Erasmus with this difference, that he helped to prepare the way for it in the sphere of discipline and piety, Erasmus in the sphere of scholarship and illumination. Both were men of mediation and transition; they beheld from afar the land of promise, but did not enter it. § 23. The Victory of Justifying Faith. (Comp. § 7.) The secret of Luther’s power and influence lies in his heroic faith. It delivered him from the chaos and torment of ascetic self-mortification and self-condemnation, gave him rest and peace, and made him a lordly freeman in Christ, and yet an obedient servant of Christ. This faith breathes through all his writings, dominated his acts, sustained him in his conflicts and remained his shield and anchor till the hour of death. This faith was born in the convent at Erfurt, called into public action at Wittenberg, and made him a Reformer of the Church.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I was living the life Anaïs had invented by editing Hugo out of her Paris Diaries: I was a financially independent young woman with her own romantic house, where I invited lovers for the excitement each could bring, for as long as they pleased me. When dawn’s pink light tinted the ocean, I would kiss my lovers farewell so I could enjoy my beach house alone and begin a new day of making movies. When the English department chair in Indiana phoned and, to my surprise, said they were holding my lectureship for me, I had no ambivalence telling him I would not be coming back. As for Renate’s awful revelation that Anaïs, when she was my age, had slept with her father, I dismissed it as Renate’s temporary insanity brought on by hard liquor. Renate never mentioned the topic again, and I certainly would never ask Anaïs about it. Why would I think she would tell me the truth, anyway? I doubted there was anyone Anaïs told the truth to all of the time, though I’d also come to believe that she usually lied for the best of reasons, to help those she loved to love themselves. She was again my savior and inspiration, my morning and evening star. I’d become so accustomed to her solicitous care of me, that I’d all but forgotten Renate’s proviso: “Apprentices do services for their mentor.” The day before our last International College class of the semester, Anaïs phoned. “Would you stay for a chat, Tristine, after the students leave?” When I arrived at Anaïs’s house with the students, I was disturbed to see an off-kilter brunette wig hanging like drooping beagle ears on the sides of her small face. Though the question of her cancer always hovered, like a Halloween bat on a string, we darted around it. There was no denying now though that the chemotherapy was weakening her. Despite the fact that her visualizations had not made the cancer go away, she still held faith that, combined with chemo, the imaging would work. I, too, believed she was curing herself because she appeared so happy, more sparkling, lighter than I’d ever seen her. My heart might be so broken it would never heal, but she modeled for me the courage of gaiety in the face of a cancer that threatened to destroy all the happiness for which she’d worked so long. She told the students, who were confused by seeing her with hair a different color each month, “As long as I have to receive chemo, Rupert and I are having fun with it. One week he gets to make love to a blond, the next to a redhead, this week to a brunette!” Her laughter chimed.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  He now gave himself up entirely to study in the University of Paris and at Orleans. His favorite authors were Cicero, Terence, Plutarch, and Lucian among the classics, Jerome among the fathers, and Laurentius Valla the commentator. He led hereafter an independent literary life without a regular charge, supporting himself by teaching, and then supported by rich friends.510 In his days of poverty he solicited aid in letters of mingled humility and vanity; when he became famous, he received liberal gifts and pensions from prelates and princes, and left at his death seven thousand ducats. The title of royal counsellor of the King of Spain (Charles V.) brought him an annual income of four hundred guilders after 1516. The smaller pensions were paid irregularly, and sometimes failed in that impecunious age. Authors seldom received copy money or royalty from publishers and printers, but voluntary donations from patrons of learning and persons to whom they dedicated their works. Froben, however, his chief publisher, treated Erasmus very generously. He traveled extensively, like St. Jerome, and made the personal acquaintance of the chief celebrities in church and state. He paid two important visits to England, first on the invitation of his grateful and generous pupil, Lord Montjoy, between 1498 and 1500, and again in 1510. There he became intimate with the like-minded Sir Thomas More, Dean Colet, Archbishop Warham, Cardinal Wolsey, Bishop Fisher, and was introduced to King Henry VII. and to Prince Henry, afterwards Henry VIII. Colet taught him that theology must return from scholasticism to the Scriptures, and from dry dogmas to practical wisdom.511 For this purpose he devoted more attention to Greek at Oxford, but never attained to the same proficiency in it as in Latin. On his second visit he was appointed Lady Margaret’s professor of divinity, and reader of Greek, in Cambridge. His room in Queen’s College is still shown. The number of his hearers was small, and so was his income. "Still," he wrote to a friend in London, "I am doing my best to promote sound scholarship." He had much to say in praise of England, where he received so much kindness, but also in complaint of bad beer and bad wine, and of his robbery at Dover, where he was relieved of all his money in the custom-house, under a law that no one should take more than a small sum out of the realm.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Schaff lived to prepare six volumes of this new work, three on early Christianity, one on mediaeval Christianity, and two on the Protestant Reformation. It is of some interest that Dr. Schaff’s last writing was a pamphlet on the Reunion of Christendom, pp. 71, a subject which he treated with warm practical sympathy and with materials furnished by the studies of the historian. The substance of the pamphlet had been used as a paper read before the Parliament of Religions at the Columbian Exposition, Chicago. It was a great satisfaction to him to have the Faculty of the Berlin University,—where he had spent part of his student life, 1840–1841, and which had conferred on him the doctorate of divinity in 1854,—bear testimony in their congratulatory letter on the semicentennial of his professorial career that his "History of the Christian Church is the most notable monument of universal historical learning produced by the school of Neander" (Life Of Philip Schaff, p. 467). The further treatment of the Middle Ages, Dr. Schaff left to his son, the author of this volume. It was deemed by him best to begin the work anew, using the materials Dr. Schaff had left as the basis of the first four chapters. The delay in the issue of the present volume is due chiefly to the requirements of study and in part to the difficulty in getting all the necessary literature. The author has felt unwilling to issue the volume without giving to it as thorough study as it was possible for him to give. This meant that he should familiarize himself not only with the mediaeval writings themselves but with the vast amount of research which has been devoted to the Middle Ages during the last quarter of a century and more. As for the literature, not a little of it has been, until recently, inaccessible to the student in this country. At Lane seminary, where the author was a professor, he found in the library an unusually well selected collection of works on the mediaeval period made fifty years ago by the wise judgment of two of its professors, Calvin E. Stowe and the late George E. Day, who made tours in Europe for the purpose of making purchases for its shelves. He also owes a debt to the Rev. Dr. Henry Goodwin Smith, for some time professor in the seminary and its librarian, for his liberal use of the library funds in supplementing the works in the mediaeval department. In passing, it may be also said that the Cincinnati Public Library, by reason of a large permanent fund given more than a half century ago for the purchase of theological works and by the wise selection of such men as Professor George E. Day, is unusually rich in works for the historical student, some of which may perhaps not be duplicated in this country. On removing to the Western Theological seminary, the author found its librarian, Professor James A.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Hincmar, archbishop of Rheims, was born of noble and distinguished ancestry, probably in the province of that name,1384 in the year 806. His name is also spelled Ingumar, Ingmer and Igmar. He was educated in the Benedictine monastery of St. Denis, near Paris, under abbot Hilduin. When the latter was appointed (822) chancellor to Louis the Pious he took young Hincmar to court with him. There his talents soon brought him into prominence, while his asceticism obtained for him the especial favor of Louis the Pious. This interest he used to advance the cause of reform in the monastery of St. Denis, which had become lax in its discipline, and when the Synod of Paris in 829 appointed a commission to bring this about he heartily co-operated with it, and entered the monastery as a monk. In 830, Hilduin was banished to New Corbie, in Saxony, for participation in the conspiracy of Lothair against Louis the Pious. Hincmar had no part in or sympathy with the conspiracy, yet out of love for Hilduin he shared his exile. Through his influence with Louis, Hilduin was pardoned and re-instated in his abbey after only a year’s absence. Hincmar for the next nine or ten years lived partly at the abbey and partly at court. He applied himself diligently to study, and laid up those stores of patristic learning of which he afterwards made such an effective use. In 840 Charles the Bald succeeded Louis, and soon after took him into his permanent service, and then began that eventful public life which was destined to render him one of the most famous of churchmen. After his ordination as priest in 844, Charles the Bald gave him the oversight of the abbeys of St. Mary’s, at Compiegne, and of St. Germer’s, at Flaix. He also gave him an estate,1385 which he made over to the hospice of St. Denis, on his elevation to the archiepiscopate. In December, 844, Hincmar took a prominent part in the council at Verneuil, and in April of the following year at the council of Beauvais he was elected by the clergy and people of Rheims to be their archbishop. This choice being ratified by Charles the Bald, and the permission of his abbot being received, he was consecrated by Rothad, bishop of Soissons, archbishop of Rheims and metropolitan, May 3, 845. No sooner had he been established in his see and had secured from Charles the restitution of all property that belonged to it, than trouble broke out. His diocese had fallen into more or less disorder in consequence of the ten years which had elapsed between Ebo’s deposition and his election. Hincmar’s first trouble came from Ebo, who contested Hincmar’s election, on the ground that he was still archbishop. But the council of Paris in 846 affirmed Hincmar’s election, and, in 847, Leo IV. sent him the pallium. The first difficulty being overcome, a second presented itself.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  When she returned to the Hollywood apartment, she found Rupert in a state of helplessness almost as acute as Hugo’s. Rupert had gotten into an argument with his brother and stepfather about furnishings for the new Silver Lake house that his half-brother Eric had designed in the Wright tradition of Modernist purity. Rupert refused to pay for the Eames chair and Eero Saarinen table that would have set off the home’s low-slung lines; he was already anxious over having to pay a mortgage. Anaïs set out to make peace between the warring sides and creatively furnished the house so that Rupert didn’t bring his old furniture, yet didn’t have to pay for new designer pieces. She believed that once Rupert was reconciled with his family and installed in the new house, he would manage without her when she left for Paris. The first night after the move, she and Rupert unpacked and cleaned until eleven. Then Rupert grinned. “I think we better test the shower and the pool before we hit the sack.” He pulled her by the hand into the sparkling new bathroom, turned the shower on full blast so that it billowed with steam, undressed her and himself, and pulled her in. He opened a new bar of soap and gently washed her. She leaned against him with fatigue, but he said, “You’ll have to run to the pool so your body retains the shower’s heat.” Below them, the pool’s bottom, which Rupert had painted black, sank into infinite depths; above them, the night sky was endless. They emerged from the pool renewed and awakened, and Rupert picked her up and carried her to the freshly made bed as he had in their courtship days. He made love to her with a perfection she’d come to expect. Only this time they reached a new plane of connection. In the darkened house with its wall of glass, they were inside and outside at the same time, floating on their bed that floated in the night on the lake below. Her eyes opened to light pouring in through the wall of windows. She watched clouds and birds through the expanse of glass. With love’s moisture still between her legs, she stepped into the bathroom and, through its second door, entered the little study Rupert had built for her.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It is to this feature of the work that the author alludes in the opening paragraph of the First Day, where he forewarns his readers of its grave and troublesome beginning, and encourages them not to be deterred on this account from proceeding to the book’s remaining and more substantial portion, where they will encounter something more pleasing and entertaining. Boccaccio’s evident desire to place the book squarely within a specific rhetorical genre is further underlined by the progression from the tales of vice in the First Day to the tales of virtue in the Tenth, from the embodiment of villainy in the opening story to the embodiment of saintliness in the concluding tale. That sequence has led many critics to classify the Decameron as the ‘Human Comedy’, complementing the Divine Comedy of his illustrious predecessor. The two works, outwardly so dissimilar, have many other features in common, not least the fact that both are set ‘nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita’ (‘halfway along the path of our life’). 4 For in 1348, the year of the great plague, Boccaccio had arrived, like Dante in 1300, at the halfway stage in the ideal biblical life span of three score years and ten. In all probability, Boccaccio gave definitive shape to the Decameron between the years 1349 and 1352. At least three of the hundred tales had already appeared in different forms in his earlier works, two in the Filocolo and one in the Comedía delle ninfe fiorentine , and it seems inconceivable that he had not drafted the outlines of a large number of others, at intervals, during the course of his by now fairly lengthy literary career. The idea of assembling a collection of stories had probably rooted itself in his mind long before the year of the great plague, and there are various indications in the text of the Decameron that he had originally intended it to have a septenary structure, in other words that it should contain seventy rather than 100 stories. By refining and elaborating a scheme he had adopted in an episode from the Comedía delle ninfe fiorentine , where seven nymphs tell their life-stories, the seventy tales would be told by a company of seven young ladies. But once he had conceived the ingenious idea of setting his tales against the terrible events of 1348, it was inevitable, for reasons clearly set forth in the Introduction to the First Day, that the company of storytellers should be expanded by the inclusion of three young men, and that consequently an additional thirty stories should be inserted. This arrangement had the incidental advantage of giving the Decameron a structure comparable in some respects to that of the Commedia , which contains a hundred cantos and is divided into three sections.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The delectable plain is of course the main body of the work, the hundred stories themselves, but so aware is Boccaccio of the possible opprobrium that may accrue to him from his narration of the tales that he constructs an elaborate justificatory framework within which the stories are told, in a particular set of historical circumstances, by a group of ten fictitious narrators. By using this ingenious device, which, as already noted above, is not original to Boccaccio, but is rather a sophisticated form of a technique used by compilers of earlier collections of tales, not only does he distance himself from his material, but he also provides it with a valid aesthetic and historical raison d’être . The chief impression conveyed by Boccaccio’s horrendous account of the plague and its disastrous effects is one of chaos and disorder brought about by the decay of hallowed traditions and the sudden breakdown of long-established social institutions. Initially, it is asserted that against so massive and capricious a natural calamity all the wisdom and ingenuity of man are powerless. As Boccaccio reports, ‘large quantities of refuse were cleared out of the city by officials specially appointed for the purpose, all sick persons were forbidden entry, and numerous instructions were issued for safe-guarding the people’s health, but all to no avail.’ But it is interesting to observe that wisdom and ingenuity are precisely the qualities that ultimately accomplish the return to order and harmony, as represented by the paradisal world that the members of the lieta brigata construct for themselves. In introducing the seven young ladies to his readers, the author gives pride of place to the quality of their intellect ( savia , or ‘wise’, is the adjective he applies to them), before going on to enumerate their other distinguishing features, which are their gentle breeding, their physical beauty, their graciousness, and their charming sense of decorum ( leggiadra onestà ). Pampinea’s lengthy address to her companions, in which she carefully analyses their common predicament and advances cogent arguments in support of her proposal that they should retire to one of their country estates, offers an apt illustration of the first of the qualities to which the author had referred. The brief discussion that ensues, concerning the desirability on practical grounds of enlisting male support for their enterprise, carries strong traces of anti-feminism, for it is asserted that women, when left to themselves, are not the most rational of creatures, that they are by nature fickle, quarrelsome, suspicious, cowardly and easily frightened, and that, without a man to guide them, it rarely happens that any enterprise of theirs is brought to a worthy conclusion. But emphasis is once more laid upon the young ladies’ powers of judgement, one of their number, Filomena, being described as discretissima , by way of indicating her exceptional prudence.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  A few people might stare at the tall, scarred woman in her well-tailored clothes and black slouch hat. They would stare first at her and then at her companion: ‘Mais regardez moi ça! Elle est belle, la petite; comme c’est rigolo!’ There would be a few smiles, but on the whole they would attract little notice—ils en ont vu bien d’autres—it was post-war Paris. Sometimes, having dined, they would saunter towards home through streets that were crowded with others who sauntered—men and women, a couple of women together—always twos—the fine nights seemed prolific of couples. In the air there would be the inconsequent feeling that belongs to the night life of most great cities, above all to the careless night life of Paris, where problems are apt to vanish with sunset. The lure of the brightly lighted boulevards, the lure of the dim and mysterious bystreets would grip them so that they would not turn homeward for quite a long while, but would just go on walking. The moon, less clear than at Orotava, less innocent doubtless, yet scarcely less lovely, would come sailing over the Place de la Concorde, staring down at the dozens of other white moons that had managed to get themselves caught by the standards. In the cafés would be crowds of indolent people, for the French who work hard know well how to idle; and these cafés would smell of hot coffee and sawdust, of rough, strong tobacco, of men and women. Beneath the arcades there would be the shop windows, illuminated and bright with temptation. But Mary would usually stare into Sulka’s, picking out scarves or neckties for Stephen. ‘That one! We’ll come and buy it to-morrow. Oh, Stephen, do wait—look at that dressing-gown!’ And Stephen might laugh and pretend to be bored, though she secretly nurtured a weakness for Sulka’s. Down the Rue de Rivoli they would walk arm in arm, until turning at last, they would pass the old church of St. Germain—the church from whose Gothic tower had been rung the first call to a most bloody slaying. But now that tower would be grim with silence, dreaming the composite dreams of Paris—dreams that were heavy with blood and beauty, with innocence and lust, with joy and despair, with life and death, with heaven and hell; all the curious composite dreams of Paris. Then crossing the river they would reach the Quarter and their house, where Stephen would slip her latchkey into the door and would know the warm feeling that can come of a union between door and latchkey. With a sigh of contentment they would find themselves at home once again in the quiet old Rue Jacob. 3They went to see the kind Mademoiselle Duphot, and this visit seemed momentous to Mary. She gazed with something almost like awe at the woman who had had the teaching of Stephen.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  For the moment, it would surely be foolish of us to venture abroad, this being such a cool and pleasant spot in which to linger. Besides, as you will observe, there are chessboards and other games here, and so we are free to amuse ourselves in whatever way we please. But if you were to follow my advice, this hotter part of the day would be spent, not in playing games (which inevitably bring anxiety to one of the players, without offering very much pleasure either to his opponent or to the spectators), but in telling stories – an activity that may afford some amusement both to the narrator and to the company at large. By the time each one of you has narrated a little tale of his own or her own, the sun will be setting, the heat will have abated, and we shall be able to go and amuse ourselves wherever you choose. Let us, then, if the idea appeals to you, carry this proposal of mine into effect. But I am willing to follow your own wishes in this matter, and if you disagree with my suggestion, let us all go and occupy our time in whatever way we please until the hour of vespers.’ The whole company, ladies and gentlemen alike, were in favour of telling stories. ‘Then if it is agreeable to you,’ said the queen, ‘I desire that on this first day each of us should be free to speak upon whatever topic he prefers.’ And turning to Panfilo, who was seated on her right, she graciously asked him to introduce the proceedings with one of his stories. No sooner did he receive this invitation than Panfilo began as follows, with everyone listening intently:

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And now for the first time since leaving Morton, Stephen turned her mind to the making of a home. Through Brockett she found a young architect who seemed anxious to carry out all her instructions. He was one of those very rare architects who refrain from thrusting their views on their clients. So into the ancient, deserted house in the Rue Jacob streamed an army of workmen, and they hammered and scraped and raised clouds of dust from early morning, all day until evening—smoking harsh caporal as they joked or quarrelled or idled or spat or hummed snatches of song. And amazingly soon, wherever one trod one seemed to be treading on wet cement or on dry, gritty heaps of brick dust and rubble, so that Puddle would complain that she spoilt all her shoes, while Stephen would emerge with her neat blue serge shoulders quite grey, and with even her hair thickly powdered. Sometimes the architect would come to the hotel in the evening and then would ensue long discussions. Bending over the little mahogany table, he and Stephen would study the plans intently, for she wished to preserve the spirit of the place intact, despite alterations. She decided to have an Empire study with grey walls and curtains of Empire green, for she loved the great roomy writing tables that had come into being with the first Napoleon. The walls of the salle à manger should be white and the curtains brown, while Puddle’s round sanctum in its turret should have walls and paintwork of yellow, to give the illusion of sunshine. And so absorbed did Stephen become in these things, that she scarcely had time to notice Jonathan Brockett’s abrupt departure for a mountain top in the Austrian Tyrol. Having suddenly come to the end of his finances, he must hasten to write a couple of plays that could be produced in London that winter. He sent her three or four picture postcards of glaciers, after which she heard nothing more from him.

• From The World of Biblical Israel (2013)

  44 Lecture 6: Kinship and Economics in Rural highland Villages o This psalm describes an idealized vision of rural family life set in one of the highland villages. o A rural farming family is self-sufficient, living off what its members can produce with their own hands. o The wife is likened to a vine and the children to olive shoots, both of which reflect two of the main crops produced in the highlands: grapes and olives. o A crowd of children around one’s table would be a blessing for a farming family that depends on the work of many hands. o Finally, living to see a third generation on the land would ensure the continuation of a man’s house, name, and monument. • The gendered labor division reflected in Psalm 128 is also found in the story of the first couple in the Garden of Eden. The first man is created from the earth for the purposes of tending it. o The word for the man in Hebrew is ’ha’adam. When we read in Genesis 2:7, “The Lord God formed the man of dust from the earth,” the Hebrew employs a pun to show the connection between the man and the earth. The Hebrew reads in part, “The Lord God formed the adam from dust of the adamah.” From the moment of his forming, the man is associated with the earth. o The woman is created last of all creatures. She is created out of the man’s rib as a “helper” to him, but the text remains unclear about exactly what role is envisioned here. Still, the text suggests that her purpose, like that of the wife in Psalm 128, might be reproductive: “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and cleaves to his wife, and the two become one flesh.” o As is well known from this story, there was one tree, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, that was forbidden to the couple. When the couple ate the fruit of this tree and

• From The Decameron (1353)

  'Good lack, wife,' answered the husband, 'fret not thyself, for God's sake; thou shouldst be assured that I know what manner of woman thou art, and indeed this morning I have in part had proof thereof. It is true that I went out to go to work; but it seemeth thou knowest not, as I myself knew not, that this is the Feast-day of San Galeone and there is no work doing; that is why I am come back at this hour; but none the less I have provided and found a means how we shall have bread for more than a month, for I have sold yonder man thou seest here with me the vat which, as thou knowest, hath this long while cumbered the house; and he is to give me five lily-florins[344] for it.' Quoth Peronella, 'So much the more cause have I to complain; thou, who art a man and goest about and should be versed in the things of the world, thou hast sold a vat for five florins, whilst I, a poor silly woman who hath scarce ever been without the door, seeing the hindrance it gave us in the house, have sold it for seven to an honest man, who entered it but now, as thou camest back, to see if it were sound!' When the husband heard this, he was more than satisfied and said to him who had come for the vat, 'Good man, begone in peace; for thou hearest that my wife hath sold the vat for seven florins, whereas thou wast to give me but five for it.' 'Good,' replied the other and went his way; whereupon quoth Peronella to her husband, 'Since thou art here, come up and settle with him thyself.' Giannello, who abode with his ears pricked up to hear if it behoved him fear or be on his guard against aught, hearing his mistress's words, straightway scrambled out of the vat and cried out, as if he had heard nothing of the husband's return, 'Where art thou, good wife?' whereupon the goodman, coming up, answered, 'Here am I; what wouldst thou have?' 'Who art thou?' asked Giannello. 'I want the woman with whom I made the bargain for this vat.' Quoth the other, 'You may deal with me in all assurance, for I am her husband.' Then said Giannello, 'The vat appeareth to me sound enough; but meseemeth you have kept dregs or the like therein, for it is all overcrusted with I know not what that is so hard and dry that I cannot remove aught thereof with my nails; wherefore I will not take it, except I first see it clean.' 'Nay,' answered Peronella, 'the bargain shall not fall through for that; my husband will clean it all out.' 'Ay will I,' rejoined the latter, and laying down his tools, put off his coat; then, calling for a light and a scraper, he entered the vat and fell to scraping. Peronella, as if she had a mind to see what he did, thrust her head and one of her arms, shoulder and all, in at the mouth of the vat, which was not overbig, and fell to saying, 'Scrape here' and 'There' and 'There also' and 'See, here is a little left.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The sight of this garden, and the perfection of its arrangement, with its shrubs, its streamlets, and the fountain from which they originated, gave so much pleasure to each of the ladies and the three young men that they all began to maintain that if Paradise were constructed on earth, it was inconceivable that it could take any other form, nor could they imagine any way in which the garden’s beauty could possibly be enhanced. And as they wandered contentedly through it, making magnificent garlands for themselves from the leaves of the various trees, their ears constantly filled with the sound of some twenty different kinds of birds, all singing as though they were vying with one another, they became aware of yet another delightful feature, which, being so overwhelmed by the others, they had so far failed to notice. For they found that the garden was liberally stocked with as many as a hundred different varieties of perfectly charming animals, to which they all started drawing each other’s attention. Here were some rabbits emerging from a warren, over there hares were running, elsewhere they could observe some deer lying on the ground, whilst in yet another place young fawns were grazing. And apart from these, they saw numerous harmless creatures of many other kinds, roaming about at leisure as though they were quite tame, all of which added greatly to their already considerable delight. When, however, they had wandered about the garden for some little time, sampling its various attractions, they instructed the servants to arrange the tables round the fountain, and then they sang half-a-dozen canzonets and danced several dances, after which, at the queen’s command, they all sat down to breakfast. Choice and dainty dishes, exquisitely prepared, were set before them in unhurried succession, and when they rose from table, merrier than when they had started, they turned once more to music, songs and dancing. Eventually, however, as the hottest part of the day was approaching, the queen decided that those who felt so inclined should take their siesta. Some of them accordingly retired, but the rest were so overwhelmed by the beauty of their surroundings that they remained where they were and whiled away their time in reading romances or playing chess or throwing dice whilst the others slept. But a little after nones, they all went and refreshed their faces in cool water before assembling, at the queen’s request, on the lawn near the fountain, where, having seated themselves in the customary manner, they began to await their turn to tell a story on the topic the queen had proposed. The first of their number to whom she entrusted this office was Filostrato, who began as follows: FIRST STORYMasetto of Lamporecchio pretends to be dumb, and becomes a gardener at a convent, where all the nuns combine forces to take him off to bed with them.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But as they passed from border to border, his brow cleared: ‘I’ve spent over three hundred,’ he said proudly, ‘never saw such a mess as this garden was in when I bought the place—had to dig in fresh soil for the roses just here, these are all new plants; I motored half across England to get them. See that hedge of York and Lancasters there? They didn’t cost much because they’re out of fashion. But I like them, they’re small but rather distinguished I think—there’s something so armorial about them.’ She agreed: ‘Yes, I’m awfully fond of them too;’ and she listened quite gravely while he explained that they dated as far back as the Wars of the Roses. ‘Historical, that’s what I mean,’ he explained. ‘I like everything old, you know, except women.’ She thought with an inward smile of his newness. Presently he said in a tone of surprise: ‘I never imagined that you’d care about roses.’ ‘Yes, why not? We’ve got quite a number at Morton. Why don’t you come over to-morrow and see them?’ ‘Do your William Allen Richardsons do well?’ he inquired. ‘I think so.’ ‘Mine don’t. I can’t make it out. This year, of course, they’ve been damaged by green-fly. Just come here and look at these standards, will you? They’re being devoured alive by the brutes!’ And then as though he were talking to a friend who would understand him: ‘Roses seem good to me—you know what I mean, there’s virtue about them—the scent and the feel and the way they grow. I always had some on the desk in my office, they seemed to brighten up the whole place, no end.’ He started to ink in the names on the labels with a gold fountain pen which he took from his pocket. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, as he bent his face over the labels, ‘yes, I always had three or four on my desk. But Birmingham’s a foul sort of place for roses.’ And hearing him, Stephen found herself thinking that all men had something simple about them; something that took pleasure in the things that were blameless, that longed, as it were, to contact with Nature. Martin had loved huge, primitive trees; and even this mean little man loved his roses. Angela came strolling across the lawn: ‘Come, you two,’ she called gaily, ‘tea’s waiting in the hall!’ Stephen flinched: ‘Come, you two—’ the words jarred on and she knew that Angela was thoroughly happy, for when Ralph was out of earshot for a moment she whispered: ‘You were clever about his roses!’ At tea Ralph relapsed into sulky silence; he seemed to regret his erstwhile good humour. And he ate quite a lot, which made Angela nervous—she dreaded his attacks of indigestion, which were usually accompanied by attacks of bad temper.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Having plucked a few of its shoots, she fashioned them into a splendid and venerable garland, which she set upon Pampinea’s brow, and which thenceforth became the outward symbol of sovereign power and authority to all the members of the company, for as long as they remained together. Upon her election as their queen, Pampinea summoned the servants of the three young men to appear before her together with their own maidservants, who were four in number. And having called upon everyone to be silent, she said: ‘So that I may begin by setting you all a good example, through which, proceeding from good to better, our company will be enabled to live an ordered and agreeable existence for as long as we choose to remain together, I first of all appoint Dioneo’s manservant, Parmeno, 9 as my steward, and to him I commit the management and care of our household, together with all that appertains to the service of the hall. I desire that Panfilo’s servant, Sirisco, should act as our buyer and treasurer, and carry out the instructions of Parmeno. As well as attending to the needs of Filostrato, Tindaro will look after the other two gentlemen in their rooms whenever their own manservants are prevented by their offices from performing such duties. My own maidservant, Misia, will be employed fulltime in the kitchen along with Filomena’s maidservant, Licisca, and they will prepare with diligence whatever dishes are prescribed by Parmeno. Chimera and Stratilia, the servants of Lauretta and Fiammetta, are required to act as chambermaids to all the ladies, as well as seeing that the places we frequent are neatly and tidily maintained. And unless they wish to incur our royal displeasure, we desire and command that each and every one of the servants should take good care, no matter what they should hear or observe in their comings and goings, to bring us no tidings of the world outside these walls unless they are tidings of happiness.’ Her orders thus summarily given, and commended by all her companions, she rose gaily to her feet, and said: ‘There are gardens here, and meadows, and other places of great charm and beauty, through which we may now wander in search of our amusement, each of us being free to do whatever he pleases. But on the stroke of tierce, 10 let us all return to this spot, so that we may breakfast together in the shade.’ The merry company having thus been dismissed by their newly elected queen, the young men and their fair companions sauntered slowly through a garden, conversing on pleasant topics, weaving fair garlands for each other from the leaves of various trees, and singing songs of love.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Then Anna called her people by name, and to each one she gave the gifts of that Christmas; and they thanked her, thanked Stephen and thanked Sir Philip; and Sir Philip thanked them for their faithful service, as had always been the good custom at Morton for more years than Sir Philip himself could remember. Thus the day had passed by in accordance with tradition, every one from the highest to the lowest remembered; nor had Anna forgotten her gifts for the village—warm shawls, sacks of coal, cough mixture and sweets. Sir Philip had sent a cheque to the vicar, which would keep him for a long time in cricketing flannels; and Stephen had carried a carrot to Raftery and two lumps of sugar to the fat, aged Collins, who because he was all but blind of one eye, had bitten her hand in place of his sugar. And Puddle had written at great length to a sister who lived down in Cornwall and whom she neglected, except on such memory-jogging occasions as Christmas, when somehow we always remember. And the servants had gorged themselves to repletion, and the hunters had rested in their hay-scented stables; while out in the fields, sea-gulls, come far inland, had feasted in their turn on humbler creatures—grubs and slugs, and other unhappy small fry, much relished by birds and hated by farmers. Night closed down on the house, and out of the darkness came the anxious young voices of village schoolchildren: ‘Noël, Noël—’ piped the anxious young voices, lubricated by sweets from the lady of Morton. Sir Philip stirred the logs in the hall to a blaze, while Anna sank into a deep chair and watched them. Her hands that were wearied by much ministration, lay over the arms of the chair in the firelight, and the firelight sought out the rings on her hands, and it played with the whiter flames in her diamonds. Then Sir Philip stood up, and he gazed at his wife, while she stared at the logs not appearing to notice him; but Stephen, watching in silence from her corner, seemed to see a dark shadow that stole in between them—beyond this her vision was mercifully dim, otherwise she must surely have recognized that shadow.

• From The World of Biblical Israel (2013)

  50 Lecture 7: Three w eddings and a funeral • The servant travels to Haran, and once there, he waits by the village well in the evening, when the women will come to draw water. The ideal wife for Isaac appears immediately. The text identifies the woman as Abraham’s grandniece; thus, the marriage would fit the criterion of endogamy. We also learn that Rebekah is beautiful and a virgin, and she is a willing worker. The servant gives Rebekah a gold ring and two bracelets, the first in a series of bridal gifts that he will transfer to Rebekah and her family. • At this point, the story’s location shifts to Rebekah’s mother’s house. The term “mother’s house” is used only four times in the Bible and only in the context of marriage. This suggests that a bride’s mother and, as we’ll see, her brother played key roles in negotiating a marriage for a daughter. o Rebekah’s brother Laban emerges as the consummate host. He invites the servant into the house, sees to the care of the camels, and prepares a feast. Before the servant will eat, he tells Laban and the others that he has come to find a wife for Abraham’s son Isaac. One of the key details he shares with this group of relatives is that Abraham has become wealthy in the land of Canaan. o Laban and his father, Bethuel, immediately agree to the proposal. The appearance of Rebekah’s father in a place called her “mother’s house” has caused consternation for biblical commentators. Some believe it is a mistake, but it could be that within the extended family compound of Bethuel, a dwelling might be designated for Rebekah, Laban, and their mother. What’s significant is that the betrothal feast is consumed and the marriage itself proposed and accepted in the mother’s house. o After the proposal is accepted, the servant bestows wedding gifts on Rebekah, Laban, and her mother. These gifts are meant to compensate the family for the loss of their daughter, but they also serve as a testimony to the wealth of Abraham and Isaac. 51 o Interestingly, when the servant insists that he would like to leave on the return journey immediately, Rebekah is asked whether she is willing to go. In other words, the bride is given a choice. Rebekah responds, “I will go.” • We then fast forward to Rebekah’s arrival at Isaac’s village and his first appearance in the story. The text tells us: “Isaac brought her into his mother’s tent, and took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her.” Once again, the marriage and consummation take place in a space associated with the mother, suggesting that mothers played important roles in arranging marriages. Before leaving her mother’s house to travel to Canaan, Rebekah receives a blessing from her mother and brother: that she may have fertility, strength, and power over enemies in her new land. ©Bill Dauster/Wikimedia Commons/Public Domain.

• From Crazy Brave (2012)

  We honed ourselves on that energy, were tested by it, destroyed and recreated by it. The Indian school world was rife with paradox. Formerly run like a military camp by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the school had been transformed into a unique school for native arts, like the New York City Fame school but for Indian students. Almost overnight the staff, mostly established BIA employees, were asked to accommodate a fine arts curriculum and faculty—an assortment of idealistic and dedicated artists, both Indian and non-Indian. We were given materials and encouraged to create, as we often did until three or four in the morning. Then we were awakened at exactly five-thirty a.m. by the dorm staff to report to details, jobs that included working in the kitchen and cleaning studios and offices. Then we went to our classes. The most accomplished native and non-native artists taught our classes. Otellie Lolama, Hopi, taught traditional pottery; Fritz Scholder, Mission, taught painting; Allan Houser, Apache, taught sculpture; and Rolland Meinholtz, a Cherokee descendant, taught dramatic arts. The academic classes were different. We had either stellar teachers who taught because they felt they could make a difference and loved what they were doing or those who signed on with the BIA because it was their last chance. In one of my junior English classes we read aloud from fourth-grade readers. I always remember the story in that reader about a banker in a city in the Midwest who swept his sidewalk every morning before opening his bank. I looked around at our class. Many were gifted storytellers and speakers, but not in the English language. We were insulted and bored by the poor selection of materials. We could see that the teacher truly cared, but he didn’t know what to do with a class of students with widely varying skills in the use of English. Reading aloud is the last thing you’d ask a class of shy Indian students to do. It was a painful process. While the story was read word by word, student by student, the rest of us wrote notes and poems and sent drawings to each other. My poetry notes were rhymed doggerel, mostly rude commentary. I was soon removed from class and sent to study solo with a young Jesuit priest who had come through town to visit the school before returning to Holy Rosary Mission in South Dakota. When the school urgently needed a teacher to fill in, he agreed and stayed over to teach through the spring. As I walked into his classroom that first day, I was hidden in my navy pea coat and long dark hair that always clouded my face. Father-to-be John Staudenmaier saw into me and took care of my spirit. He gave me the freedom to read what I wanted. The only requirement was that I observe carefully and write about my observations. I read the poetry of Thomas Hardy and Emily Dickinson. I read O. Henry short stories.