Joy

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)

  Accordingly, being thus agreed, they both repaired whereas Teodoro abode yet all fearful of death, albeit he was rejoiced to have found his father again, and questioned him of his mind concerning this thing. When he heard that, an he would, he might have Violante to wife, such was his joy that himseemed he had won from hell to heaven at one bound, and he answered that this would be to him the utmost of favours, so but it pleased both of them. Thereupon they sent to know the mind of the young lady, who, whereas she abode in expectation of death, the woefullest woman alive, hearing that which had betided and was like to betide Teodoro, after much parley, began to lend some faith to their words and taking a little comfort, answered that, were she to ensue her own wishes in the matter, no greater happiness could betide her than to be the wife of Teodoro; algates, she would do that which her father should command her. Accordingly, all parties being of accord, the two lovers were married with the utmost magnificence, to the exceeding satisfaction of all the townsfolk; and the young lady, heartening herself and letting rear her little son, became ere long fairer than ever. Then, being risen from childbed, she went out to meet Fineo, whose return was expected from Rome, and paid him reverence as to a father; whereupon he, exceeding well pleased to have so fair a daughter-in-law, caused celebrate their nuptials with the utmost pomp and rejoicing and receiving her as a daughter, ever after held her such. And after some days, taking ship with his son and her and his little grandson, he carried them with him into Lazistan, where the two lovers abode in peace and happiness, so long as life endured unto them." THE EIGHTH STORY [Day the Fifth] NASTAGIO DEGLI ONESTI, FALLING IN LOVE WITH A LADY OF THE TRAVERSARI FAMILY, SPENDETH HIS SUBSTANCE WITHOUT BEING BELOVED IN RETURN, AND BETAKING HIMSELF, AT THE INSTANCE OF HIS KINSFOLK, TO CHIASSI, HE THERE SEETH A HORSEMAN GIVE CHASE TO A DAMSEL AND SLAY HER AND CAUSE HER BE DEVOURED OF TWO DOGS. THEREWITHAL HE BIDDETH HIS KINSFOLK AND THE LADY WHOM HE LOVETH TO A DINNER, WHERE HIS MISTRESS SEETH THE SAME DAMSEL TORN IN PIECES AND FEARING A LIKE FATE, TAKETH NASTAGIO TO HUSBAND No sooner was Lauretta silent than Filomena, by the queen's commandment, began thus: "Lovesome ladies, even as pity is in us commended, so also is cruelty rigorously avenged by Divine justice; the which that I may prove to you and so engage you altogether to purge yourselves therefrom, it pleaseth me tell you a story no less pitiful than delectable.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Away with you!’ said Aldobrandino. ‘Do you suppose I pay any attention to gossip-mongers? He has amply proved that the stories were untrue by securing my release, and I never believed them in the first place. Up you get, quickly; go and embrace him.’ The lady could desire nothing better, and was not slow to obey her husband’s instructions. Rising from her place, she threw her arms about his neck, as the other ladies had done, and gave him an ecstatic welcome. Tedaldo’s brothers were delighted by Aldobrandino’s magnanimous gesture, as were all the other gentlemen and ladies who were present; and so it was that every trace of the doubts implanted in certain people’s minds by the rumours was expelled. Now that everyone had given Tedaldo a handsome welcome, he himself stripped his brothers of their mourning, tore asunder the sombre dresses that their wives and sisters were wearing, and ordered different clothes to be brought. And when all were newly attired, they made merry with a number of songs, dances and other entertainments, so that in contrast to its subdued beginning the banquet had a noisy ending. Nor was this all, for they immediately made their way to Tedaldo’s house, singing and dancing as they went, and dined there that evening. And without varying the order of their festivities, they kept the party going for several days in succession. For some time, the Florentines thought of Tedaldo as a man who had miraculously risen from the grave. Many people, including his own brothers, were left with a faint suspicion in their minds that he was not really Tedaldo at all. Even now, in fact, they were not entirely convinced, and they would possibly have remained unconvinced for a long time afterwards, but for the fact that some days later they accidentally discovered who the murdered man was. It happened like this. One day, a group of soldiers from Lunigiana were passing the house, and when they caught sight of Tedaldo they rushed towards him, exclaiming: ‘Good old Faziuolo!’ Tedaldo informed them, in the presence of his brothers, that they were mistaking him for another, and as soon as they heard his voice they became embarrassed and gave him their apologies. ‘God’s truth!’ they said. ‘You are the living image of a mate of ours called Faziuolo da Pontremoli, who came here about a fortnight or so ago and has never been heard of since. It’s no wonder we were surprised by the clothes you’re wearing, because he was just a common soldier like ourselves.’ On hearing this, Tedaldo’s eldest brother interrupted to ask what sort of clothes this Faziuolo of theirs had been wearing. Their description fitted the facts so precisely, that what with this and other indications, it became quite obvious that the murdered man was not Tedaldo, but Faziuolo; and thenceforth, neither Tedaldo’s brothers nor anyone else harboured any further doubts about him.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The worthy official was already feeling sorry for Aldobrandino, and gladly gave ear to the words of the pilgrim, who furnished him with such a wealth of corroborative detail that he had the two inn keeping brothers and their servant arrested, without a struggle, shortly after they had retired to bed. Being determined to get at the truth of the matter, he would have put them to the torture, but they broke down and made a full confession, individually at first and then all together, saying that they were the people who had murdered Tedaldo Elisei, who was a complete stranger to them. On being asked the reason, they said it was because he had been pestering one of their wives whilst they were away from the inn, and that he had tried to ravish her. Having heard about their confession, the pilgrim took his leave of the official and made his way back to the house of Monna Ermellina, which he entered unobserved. All the servants had gone to bed, and he found her waiting up alone for him, equally desirous of hearing good news about her husband and of being fully reunited with Tedaldo. He went up to her, smiling happily, and said: ‘My darling mistress, be of good cheer, for it is certain that Aldobrandino will be restored to you here tomorrow, safe and sound.’ And in order to prove to her that it was so, he told her of all he had done. Monna Ermellina was the happiest woman who ever lived, for twice in quick succession the impossible had happened: in the first place she had got Tedaldo back again, alive and well, after genuinely thinking she had mourned him as dead, and in the second she had seen Aldobrandino delivered from danger when she thought that within a few days she would be having to mourn his death also. And so, passionately hugging Tedaldo and smothering him with kisses, she retired with him to bed, where, to their mutual and delectable joy, they gladly and graciously made their peace with one another. A little before daybreak, Tedaldo arose, having apprised the lady of his intentions and repeated his plea that she should keep everything secret, and putting on his pilgrim’s garb, he left the house, so as to be ready at a moment’s notice to act on Aldobrandino’s behalf.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Next, she is in the arms of her grandmother, telling her what happened. Tears flow from Margaret’s eyes as she reports feeling deeply comforted. In the next scene, she is again rolling in the pile of leaves. She laughs and rolls from side to side with her arms wrapped around her chest. The tension Margaret experienced in her neck disappeared after this session. We worked together a few more times and she was able to eliminate the abdominal symptoms. Most important is what she described as a new symptom in her lif e — joy! What Really Happened? In Margaret’s case, independent reports of the incident (including medical evidence and police involvement) substantiate the basic facts of her story. However, the startling truth is that after helping thousands of clients track their felt sense experience, I can say with no hesitation whatsoever that whether Margaret’s story was completely accurate or completely “fabricated” doesn’t matter at all in terms of healing her traumatic symptoms. Did Margaret move through her traumatic symptoms because she returned to the past and “relived” a literal account of the experience she had as a child? Or did she have an experience as an adult in which her organism creatively brought forth fragments of several different events from disparate points in time and space to support the healing process? In order for the first explanation to be accurate, the man must have untied her, let her play for a while in the leaves, and then bound her to the tree agai n twice. This is, of course, possible. But would she have really frolicked in such a situation? That does not seem likely. It is more likely that she played in leaves at a different time and brought in that image as a resource to help strengthen her healing vortex. What about the image of the man with his penis hanging out which is followed immediately by his cutting a rabbit open and screaming at her? Does this seem to be a literal account? If so, where did the man get the rabbit? Again, it is possible that the account is an accurate report of what happened. However, several other interpretations are also possible. The man could have told her he would cut her up like a rabbit. Or at some other time she could have been frightened by seeing, or even reading about, a rabbit being cut open. Her felt sense may have suggested the image as a metaphor for how she felt. The image does certainly convey the sense of horror a young child might have experienced in such a situation. What really happened is that Margaret, as an adult, was able to follow the creative dictates of her organism. Her consciousness shifted between images that evoked the horror she experienced as a child (the trauma vortex) and other images that allowed her to expand and heal (the healing vortex).

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

  Luther assigned to his solifidian doctrine of justification the central position in the Christian system, declared it to be the article of the standing or falling (Lutheran) church, and was unwilling to yield an inch from it, though heaven and earth should collapse.11 This exaggeration is due to his personal experience during his convent life. The central article of the Christian faith on which the church is built, is not any specific dogma of the Protestant, or Roman, or Greek church, but the broader and deeper truth held by all, namely, the divine-human personality and atoning work of Christ, the Lord and Saviour. This was the confession of Peter, the first creed of Christendom. The Protestant doctrine of justification differs from the Roman Catholic, as defined (very circumspectly) by the Council of Trent, chiefly in two points. Justification is conceived as a declaratory and judicial act of God, in distinction from sanctification, which is a gradual growth; and faith is conceived as a fiducial act of the heart and will, in distinction from theoretical belief and blind submission to the church. The Reformers derived their idea from Paul, the Romanists appealed chiefly to James (2:17–26); but Paul suggests the solution of the apparent contradiction by his sentence, that "in Christ Jesus neither circumcision availeth anything nor uncircumcision, but faith working through love." Faith, in the biblical and evangelical sense, is a vital force which engages all the powers of man and apprehends and appropriates the very life of Christ and all his benefits. It is the child of grace and the mother of good works. It is the pioneer of all great thoughts and deeds. By faith Abraham became the father of nations; by faith Moses became the liberator and legislator of Israel; by faith the Galilean fishermen became fishers of men; and by faith the noble army of martyrs endured tortures and triumphed in death; without faith in the risen Saviour the church could not have been founded. Faith is a saving power. It unites us to Christ. Whosoever believeth in Christ "hath eternal life." "We believe," said Peter at the Council of Jerusalem, "that we shall be saved through the grace of God," like the Gentiles who come to Christ by faith without the works and ceremonies of the law. "Believe in the Lord Jesus, and thou shalt be saved," was Paul’s answer to the question of the jailor: "What must I do to be saved?"

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

  Beside his literary studies he cultivated his early love for music. He sang, and played the lute right merrily. He was a poet and musician as well as a theologian. He prized music as a noble gift of God, as a remedy against sadness and evil thoughts, and an effective weapon against the assaults of the devil. His poetic gift shines in his classical hymns. He had a rich font of mother wit and quaint humor. His moral conduct was unblemished; and the mouth of slander did not dare to blacken his reputation till after the theological passions were roused by the Reformation. He went regularly to mass and observed the daily devotions of a sincere Catholic. He chose for his motto: to pray well is half the study. He was a devout worshipper of the Virgin Mary. In his twentieth year he first saw a complete (Latin) Bible in the University Library, and was surprised and rejoiced to find that it contained so much more than was ever read or explained in the churches.121 His eye fell upon the story of Samuel and his mother, and he read it with delight. But he did not begin a systematic study of the Bible till he entered the convent; nor did he find in it the God of love and mercy, but rather the God of righteousness and wrath. He was much concerned about his personal salvation and given to gloomy reflections over his sinful condition. Once he fell dangerously ill, and was seized with a fit of despair, but an old priest comforted him, saying: "My dear Baccalaureus, be of good cheer; you will not die in this sickness: God will yet make a great man out of you for the comfort of many." In 1502 he was graduated as Bachelor of Arts, in 1505 as Master of Arts. This degree, which corresponds to the modern Doctor of Philosophy in Germany, was bestowed with great solemnity. "What a moment of majesty and splendor," says Luther, "was that when one took the degree of Master, and torches were carried before him. I consider that no temporal or worldly joy can equal it." His talents and attainments were the wonder of the University. According to his father’s ambitious wish, Luther began to prepare himself for the profession of law, and was presented by him with a copy of the Corpus juris. But he inclined to theology, when a remarkable providential occurrence opened a new path for his life. § 20. Luther’s Conversion. In the summer of 1505 Luther entered the Augustinian convent at Erfurt and became a monk, as he thought, for his life time. The circumstances which led to this sudden step we gather from his fragmentary utterances which have been embellished by legendary tradition.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  On finding that the nurse’s account corresponded exactly with that of Currado’s emissary, Messer Guasparrino began to take her story seriously. Being a very astute man, he took various steps to have it thoroughly checked, becoming more and more convinced of its veracity with every scrap of new evidence he discovered. Ashamed at having treated the boy so contemptuously, he made amends by bestowing a wife on him in the person of his pretty little eleven-year-old daughter, together with a huge dowry, for he was well aware of Arrighetto’s past and present fame. After celebrating the event in great style, he embarked, along with the youth, his daughter, Currado’s emissary, and the nurse, on a well-armed galliot, and sailed for Lerici,10 where he was met by Currado. Then, with the whole of his company, he proceeded to one of Currado’s castles, not very far from there, where the great wedding-feast was about to be held. The general rejoicing, whether that of the mother on seeing her son again, or that of the two brothers, or that with which all three greeted the faithful nurse, or that displayed by everyone towards Messer Guasparrino and his daughter and vice versa, or that of the whole company in the presence of Currado, his lady, his children and his friends, would be impossible to describe in words. And thus I leave it, ladies, to your imagination. But to crown it all, the Lord God, whose generosity knows no bounds once it is set in motion, arranged things so that news should arrive that Arrighetto was alive and in good health. For amid the great rejoicing, when the guests, men and women, were still seated round the tables, having proceeded no further than the first course, Currado’s other emissary returned from Sicily. Amongst other things, he narrated how Arrighetto had been held prisoner in Catania on the orders of King Charles, and how, after the country’s insurrection against the King, the people had stormed the prison, killing his gaolers and setting him free. Since he was King Charles’s bitterest opponent, they had then elected him their leader and joined him in pursuing and killing the French. For this reason, he had achieved a high reputation in the eyes of King Peter, who had reinstated him in all his possessions and titles. And so he now enjoyed a position of great honour and authority. The messenger added that Arrighetto had welcomed him very warmly, being overjoyed beyond description to hear about his wife and son, of whom he had received no news since the time of his capture. He was in fact sending a brigantine with some gentlemen aboard, to come and fetch them, and they were due to arrive at any moment.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And so saying, he chanted a hymn in praise of Saint Lawrence, opened up the casket, and displayed the coals. For some little time, the foolish multitude gazed open-mouthed upon them in awe and wonderment, then they all pressed forward in a great throng round Friar Cipolla, and, giving him larger offerings than usual, they begged him one and all to touch them with the coals. So Friar Cipolla took the coals between his fingers and began to scrawl the biggest crosses he could manage to inscribe on their white smocks and on their doublets and on the shawls of the women, declaring that however much the coals were worn down in making these crosses, they recovered their former shape when restored to the casket, as he had often had occasion to observe. At considerable profit to himself, therefore, having daubed crosses on all the citizens of Certaldo, Friar Cipolla neatly turned the tables on the people who had sought to make a fool of him by taking away his feather. Having attended his sermon and observed the ingenious manner in which he had turned the situation to his advantage with his preposterous rigmarole, the two young men laughed until they thought their sides would split. And when the crowd had dispersed, they went up to him, shaking with mirth, and told him what they had done, at the same time handing back the feather, which proved the following year to be no less lucrative to him than the coals had been on this occasion. * * * The whole company was vastly pleased and entertained by Dioneo’s tale, and they all laughed heartily over Friar Cipolla, especially at his pilgrimage and at the relics, both the ones he had seen and those he had brought back with him. On perceiving that it was finished, and that her reign, too, had come to an end, the queen stood up, and removing her crown, she placed it on Dioneo’s head, saying with a laugh: ‘The time has come, Dioneo, for you to discover what a burden it is to have ladies under your control and guidance. Be our king, therefore, and rule us wisely, so that when your reign is ended, we shall have cause to sing your praises.’ Dioneo accepted the crown, and replied, laughing: ‘I daresay you have often seen kings whose worth is far greater than mine – on a chessboard, I mean. But without a doubt, if you were to obey me as a true king ought to be obeyed, I should see that you received a measure of that joy without which no entertainment is ever truly pleasurable and complete. But enough of this idle chatter. I shall rule as best I can.’ And having, in accordance with their usual practice, sent for the steward, he gave him clear instructions about the duties he was to perform during the remainder of his sovereignty, after which he said:

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  At the end of August, when the work was well under way, she and Puddle fared forth in the motor to visit divers villages and towns, in quest of old furniture, and Stephen was surprised to find how much she enjoyed it. She would catch herself whistling as she drove her car, and when they got back to some humble auberge in the evening, she would want to eat a large supper. Every morning she diligently swung her dumb-bells; she was getting into condition for fencing. She had not fenced at all since leaving Morton, having been too much engrossed in her work while in London; but now she was going to fence before Buisson, so she diligently swung her dumb-bells. During these two months of holiday-making she grew fond of the wide-eyed, fruitful French country, even as she had grown fond of Paris. She would never love it as she loved the hills and the stretching valleys surrounding Morton, for that love was somehow a part of her being, but she gave to this France, that would give her a home, a quiet and very sincere affection. Her heart grew more grateful with every mile, for hers was above all a grateful nature. They returned to Paris at the end of October. And now came the selecting of carpets and curtains; of fascinating blankets from the Magasin de Blanc—blankets craftily dyed to match any bedroom; of fine linen, and other expensive things, including the copper batterie de cuisine, which latter, however, was left to Puddle. At last the army of workmen departed, its place being taken by a Breton ménage—brown-faced folk, strong-limbed and capable looking—a mother, father and daughter. Pierre, the butler, had been a fisherman once, but the sea with its hardships had prematurely aged him. He had now been in service for several years, having contracted rheumatic fever which had weakened his heart and made him unfit for the strenuous life of a fisher. Pauline, his wife, was considerably younger, and she it was who would reign in the kitchen, while their daughter Adèle, a girl of eighteen, would help both her parents and look after the housework.

• From Carmina (-50)

  Vt flos in saeptis secretus nascitur hortis, ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro, 40 quem mulcent aurae, firmat sol, educat imber; multi illum pueri, multae optauere puellae: idem cum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, nulli illum pueri, nullae optauere puellae: sic uirgo, dum intacta manet, dum cara suis est; 45 cum castum amisit polluto corpore florem, nec pueris iucunda manet, nec cara puellis. Hymen o Hymenaee, Hymen ades o Hymenaee! IVVENES Vt uidua in nudo uitis quae nascitur aruo, numquam se extollit, numquam mitem educat uuam, 50 sed tenerum prono deflectens pondere corpus, iam iam contingit summum radice flagellum, hanc nulli agricolae, nulli coluere iuuenci: at si forte eadem est ulmo coniuncta marito, multi illam agricolae, multi accoluere iuuenci: 55 sic uirgo dum intacta manet, dum inculta senescit; cum par conubium maturo tempore adepta est, cara uiro magis et minus est inuisa parenti. et tu ne pugna cum tali coniuge uirgo, non aequom est pugnare, pater cui tradidit ipse. 60 ipse pater cum matre, quibus parere necesse est. . . . . . . . . uirginitas non tota tua est, ex parte parentum est, tertia pars patrist, pars est data tertia matri, tertia sola tua est: noli pugnare duobus, qui genero sua iura simul cum dote dederunt. 65 Hymen o Hymenaee, Hymen ades o Hymenaee! LXIII

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And that, in brief, was what happened to the two innocent children of the Count of Antwerp after he was forced to abandon them. More than eighteen years had elapsed since his hurried departure from Paris when the Count, who was now an old man and still living in Ireland, having led a truly wretched life and endured all manner of hardships, was seized by a longing to discover what had become of his children. His physical appearance, as he could see for himself, had changed beyond all recognition, but because of the years he had spent in manual toil he felt much fitter now than when he was young and living a life of leisure. And so, very poor and badly dressed, he left the person in whose household he had served for all those years, returned to England,4 and made for the place where he had left Perrot. Much to his delight and amazement, he discovered that his son was now a marshal and a great lord, and that he was a vigorous, fine-looking fellow. But he did not want to reveal himself before learning what had become of Jeannette. He therefore set out once more, and never stopped until he arrived in London, where he made discreet inquiries about the lady with whom he had left his daughter and the life she was now leading. On discovering that Jeannette was married to the lady’s son, he almost wept for joy. And now that he had traced both his children and found them so comfortably established, he forgot about all of his earlier misfortunes. Being anxious to see her, he began to loiter near her house in the guise of a pauper, until one day he was noticed by Jeannette’s husband, whose name, by the way, was Jacques Lamiens. Seeing how poor and decrepit he looked, Jacques took pity on the old man and ordered one of his servants to bring him into the house and provide him with something to eat for charity’s sake, which the servant readily did.

• From Crazy Brave (2012)

  He was on his way to party with the over-twenty-ones. There were several older students at the school in the postgraduate program. He had that easy and familiar humor of Oklahoma Indians. I felt at home in his voice and with his teasing. “Cat got your tongue?” he said. I kept my head down, and my hair was a curtain covering half my face. My knees were just scraped. “Looks like you’ll live,” he said, laughing. I smiled. He helped me up and ditched his party to go with me to the dance. We discovered that we were both James Brown freaks, and when we danced, we got off the dance floor only for him to take a smoke break. We talked about our plans to be artists, about our families. He was Cherokee and familiar like my relatives and neighbors. “My father is Creek,” I told him as he cupped his hand around a match to steady the flame before lighting up. I built my father up as a descendant of warriors, when he was running around somewhere south of Okmulgee with a different woman every night. His parents were both Cherokee. His father was mixed with German. His mother was full-blooded and had been adopted by another full-blood family in Tahlequah when her parents died not long after she was born. Many of our people died young of tuberculosis and other diseases that took root from loss. We discovered that our mothers were probably distantly related on the Cherokee side. His first memory, he told me that night as we continued to talk under a night sky rich with falling stars, was of a boy with burned skin being brought to his grandfather for a healing. The skin was flayed over the boy’s face in waves. He watched as his grandfather sang and prayed, then took water in his mouth and spat on the burn. He did this many times. The boy and the boy’s father returned two weeks later with some bags of groceries and a wood carving in gratitude for the healing. There was no sign or mark of the burn on the boy’s body. “My story is like a falling star,” I said as we watched a small universe blaze and fall from the sky. “That star was a person. It was a being of fire that laughed and cried. Someone is missing that star in the sky. The star’s lover is bereft, calling its name.” As I spoke, I realized that I did not want to be alone beneath the eternal sweep of the sky. His eyes told me, neither did he. He took my hand and pulled me close against him. I liked his earthy smell, his muscular definition. We became lovers. I was sixteen. [image "6706.jpg" file=Image00008.jpg] [image "6709.jpg" file=Image00009.jpg] [image "6711.jpg" file=Image00010.jpg] I got involved with the school theater program as a production assistant for our fall school production of Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey .

• From Crazy Brave (2012)

  stories similar to my own. I belonged. Mine was no longer a solitary journey. At Indian school we were Inupiat from Alaska, Seminole from Florida, and people from tribes from Oklahoma to Washington State. And though we were allied as young artists of a generation, we still contended with our tribal and historical differences. The Sioux students hung together. Their traditional enemies, the Pawnees, tended to avoid them, until they were paired as roommates or spent hours side-by-side making art in studio classes. Then those historical enmities fell away. Most joined with their traditional enemies when they were in the larger context of being a native arts student. All of us found commonality in creativity. I belonged to the “Civilized Tribes,” which included the Creeks, Choctaws, Cherokees, Chickasaws, and Seminoles. We were all “skins” traveling together in an age of metamorphosis, facing the same traumas from colonization and dehumanization. We were direct evidence of the struggle of our ancestors. We heard them and they spoke through us, though like others of our generation, we wore bell-bottoms and Lennon eyeglasses. Santa Fe was at the epicenter of hippiedom in the West. Canyon Road was a trail of incense, psychedelic music, art, and a place where you could get turned on if you found the right person who didn’t mind risking breaking the law by sharing with a minor. We were united by music, history, and art. One of my classrooms was in a building originally constructed to teach “apartment living.” There were stoves lined up along the wall. Previous generations of students had been taught housekeeping, farming, janitorial tasks, and other vocational skills. The students were trained to be low-paid labor for white families in the towns and cities. A fine arts program at that time would have been considered irrelevant and beyond the minds and talents of Indians. As we made art, attended cultural events, and struggled with family and tribal legacies, we sensed that we were at the opening of an enormous indigenous cultural renaissance, poised at the edge of an explosion of ideas that would shape contemporary Indian art in the years to come. The energy crackled. It was enough to propel the lost children within us to start all over again. 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

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  It was happy to have a baby at Morton, and the old house seemed to become more mellow as the child, growing fast now and learning to walk, staggered or stumbled or sprawled on the floors that had long known the ways of children. Sir Philip would come home all muddy from hunting and would rush into the nursery before pulling off his boots, then down he would go on his hands and knees while Stephen clambered on to his back. Sir Philip would pretend to be well corned up, bucking and jumping and kicking wildly, so that Stephen must cling to his hair or his collar, and thump him with hard little arrogant fists. Anna, attracted by the outlandish hubbub, would find them, and would point to the mud on the carpet. She would say: ‘Now, Philip, now, Stephen, that’s enough! It’s time for your tea,’ as though both of them were children. Then Sir Philip would reach up and disentangle Stephen, after which he would kiss Stephen’s mother. 3The son that they waited for seemed long a-coming; he had not arrived when Stephen was seven. Nor had Anna produced other female offspring. Thus Stephen remained cock of the roost. It is doubtful if any only child is to be envied, for the only child is bound to become introspective; having no one of its own ilk in whom to confide, it is apt to confide in itself. It cannot be said that at seven years old the mind is beset by serious problems, but nevertheless it is already groping, may already be subject to small fits of dejection, may already be struggling to get a grip on life—on the limited life of its surroundings. At seven there are miniature loves and hatreds, which, however, loom large and are extremely disconcerting. There may even be present a dim sense of frustration, and Stephen was often conscious of this sense, though she could not have put it into words. To cope with it, however, she would give way at times to sudden fits of hot temper, working herself up over everyday trifles that usually left her cold. It relieved her to stamp and then burst into tears at the first sign of opposition. After such outbreaks she would feel much more cheerful, would find it almost easy to be docile and obedient. In some vague, childish way she had hit back at life, and this fact had restored her self-respect. Anna would send for her turbulent offspring and would say: ‘Stephen darling, Mother’s not really cross—tell Mother what makes you give way to these tempers; she’ll promise to try to understand if you’ll tell her—’

• From Trash (1988)

  I looked down at the young men. They were like racehorses tossing their heads about, their thick hair cut short or tied back in clubs at their napes. Once the game started they were suddenly running and leaping, bouncing off the net walls and barely avoiding the fast-moving balls. All around me gray-headed women with solid bodies shrieked and jumped in excitement. They called out vaguely Spanish-sounding names, and crowed when their champions made a score. Now and again one of the young men would wave a hand in acknowledgment. I turned to watch Mama. Her eyes were on the boys. Her face was bright with pleasure. What did I know? Where else could she spend twenty dollars and look that happy? When later, Rafael jumped and scored, I nudged Mama’s side. “He’s the best,” I said. She blushed like a girl. Mama was not supposed to drive, so I steered her old Lincoln town car around Orlando. “You are terrible,” Mama said to me every time we pulled into another parking space. It was an act. She played as if I were dragging her out, but every time I suggested we go back to the house, she pouted. “I can nap anytime. When you’ve gone, I’ll do nothing but rest. Let me do what I want while I can.” It was part of being sick. She wasn’t sleeping, even though she was tired all the time. She’d lie on the couch awake at night with the television playing low. Every time I woke in the night I could hear it, and her, stirring restlessly out in the front room. It was awkward sleeping in Jack’s house. The last time I had lain in that bed, I had been twenty-two and back only for a week before taking a job in Louisville. Every day of that week burned in my memory. Mama had been sick then too, recovering from a hysterectomy her doctor swore would end all her troubles. Jo was in her own place over in Kissimmee, an apartment she got as soon as she graduated from high school. Only Arlene’s stuff had remained in the stuffy bedroom; she herself was never there. At dawn, I would watch her stumble in to shower and change for school. She spent her nights baby-sitting for one of Mama’s friends from the Winn Dixie. A change-of-life baby had turned out to be triplets, and Arlene spent her nights rocking one or the other while the woman curled up in her bed and wept as if she were dying. “They are in shock over there,” Mama had told me. “Don’t know whether to shit or go blind.” “Blind,” Arlene said. The woman, Arlene told us, was drunk more often than sober. Still, her troubles were the making of Arlene, who not only got paid good money, she no longer had to spend her nights dodging Jack’s curses or sudden drunken slaps.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘In this frame of mind, I was on my way hither when God, who alone knows best how to measure our needs, being stirred as I believe by His compassion, set before my eyes the person He decreed should be my husband. The one I refer to is the young man’ – and she pointed to Alessandro – ‘whom you see standing here at my side. It may well be that he is less pure-blooded than a person of royal birth, but both in bearing and in character he is a worthy match for any great lady. He, therefore, is the man I have taken; it is him alone that I want, and no matter what my father or anyone else may have to say on the subject, I will never accept any other. The ostensible aim of my journey has thus been removed. But I desired to complete it, for two reasons: firstly, to meet Your Holiness and visit the venerable and sacred places in which this city abounds; and secondly, so that through your good offices I could make public, before you and the whole world, the marriage that Alessandro and I have contracted with God as our only witness. What is pleasing to God and to me should not be disagreeable to you, and I therefore beg you in all humility to give us your blessing, armed with which, since you are God’s vicar, we should be more certain of His entire approval. And thus we may live our lives together, till death us do part, to the greater glory not only of God but also of yourself.’ On hearing that his wife was the daughter of the King of England, Alessandro could scarcely contain his astonishment and happiness. But the two knights were even more astonished, and they were so furious that they would have done Alessandro an injury, and possibly the lady as well, if they had been anywhere else but in the Pope’s presence. The Pope, for his part, was greatly astonished both by the lady’s attire and by her choice of a husband. But he realized there was no turning back, and decided to grant her request. He could see, however, that the knights were seething with rage, and so first of all he pacified them and reconciled them with Alessandro and the lady, then he gave orders for what was to be done.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Federigo had come with an empty stomach, for he had been expecting to sup with his mistress. But having clearly grasped the meaning of the words of the prayer, he made his way into the garden, where at the foot of the large peach-tree he found the two capons and the wine and the eggs, which he took back with him to his house, there to make a splendid and leisurely meal of it all. And on many a later occasion, when he was with his mistress, they had a good laugh together over this incantation of hers. It is true that some people maintain that the lady had in fact turned the skull of the ass towards Fiesole, and that a farmhand, passing through the vineyard, had poked his stick inside it and given it a good twirl, so that it ended up facing towards Florence, hence causing Federigo to think that she wanted him to come. According to this second account,12 the words of the lady’s prayer went like this: ‘Werewolf, werewolf, leave us be; the ass’s head was turned, but not by me; I curse the one who did it, and I think you will agree; for I’m here with my dear Gianni, as anyone can see.’ And so Federigo beat a hasty retreat, and lost his supper that evening as well as his lodging. However, there is a neighbour of mine, a very old woman, who tells me that both accounts are correct if there is any truth in a story which she was told when she was still a child, and that the second version refers, not to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to a man from Porta San Piero called Gianni di Nello, who was just as great a dunderhead as Gianni Lotteringhi. I therefore leave it to you, dear ladies, to choose the version you prefer, or perhaps you would like to accept both, for as you have heard, they are extremely effective in situations like the one I have described. Commit them to memory, then, for they may well stand you in good stead in times to come. SECOND STORYPeronella hides her lover in a tub when her husband returns home unexpectedly. Her husband has sold the tub, but she tells him that she herself has already sold it to a man who is inspecting it from the inside to see whether it is sound. Leaping forth from the tub, the man gets the husband to scrape it out and carry it back to his house for him. Emilia’s story was received with gales of laughter, and everyone agreed that the prayer was indeed a fine and godly one. When the tale was finished, the king ordered Filostrato to follow, and so he began:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The doctor then went away, and concocted a harmless medicinal draught, which he duly sent round to Calandrino. As for Bruno, having purchased the capons and various other essential delicacies, he made a hearty meal of them in company with the doctor and his two companions. Calandrino took the medicine for three mornings running, then the doctor called to see him along with his three friends, and having taken Calandrino’s pulse, he said: ‘You’re cured, Calandrino, without a shadow of a doubt; so there’s no need for you to stay at home any longer. It’s quite safe now for you to get up and do whatever you have to.’ So Calandrino got up and went happily about his business, and whenever he fell into conversation with anyone he bestowed high praise on Master Simone for his miraculous cure, which in only three days had effected a painless miscarriage. Bruno, Buffalmacco, and Nello were delighted with themselves for getting round Calandrino’s avarice so cleverly, but they had not deceived Monna Tessa, who muttered and moaned to her husband about it for a long time afterwards. FOURTH STORYCecco Fortarrigo gambles away everything he possesses at Buonconvento, together with the money of Cecco Angiulieri. He then pursues Ceceo Angiulieri in his shirt claiming that he has been robbed, causes him to be seized by peasants, dons his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and rides away leaving Angiulieri standing there in his shirt. All the members of the company roared with laughter on hearing what Calandrino had said about his wife; but when Filostrato had finished speaking, Neifile began, at the queen’s behest, as follows: Worthy ladies, but for the fact that it is more difficult for people to display their wisdom and their virtues than it is to show their folly and their vices, it would be so much wasted effort for them to reflect carefully before opening their mouths to speak; all of which has been amply demonstrated by the stupidity of Calandrino, who was under no obligation whatever, in order to recover from the malady from which in his simplicity he believed himself to be suffering, to hold forth about the secret pleasures of his wife in public. But the story of Calandrino brings to mind a tale of a totally different sort, wherein one man’s cunning defeats the wisdom of another, to the latter’s extreme distress and embarrassment; and I should now like to tell you about it. In Siena, not many years ago, there lived two young men, who had both come of age and were both called Cecco, the one being the son of Messer Angiulieri1 and the other of Messer Fortarrigo.2 And whilst they failed to see eye-to-eye with each other on several matters, there was one respect at least – namely, their hatred of their respective fathers3 – in which they were in such total agreement that they became good friends and were often to be found in one another’s company.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The queen, knowing what a jovial and entertaining fellow he was, and clearly perceiving that he was only asking this favour so that, if the company should grow weary of hearing people talk, he could enliven the proceedings with some story that would move them to laughter, cheerfully granted his request, having first obtained the consent of the others. She then stood up, and they all sauntered off towards a stream of crystal-clear water, which descended the side of a hill and flowed through the shade of a thickly wooded valley, its banks lined with smooth round stones and verdant grasses. On reaching the stream, they stepped barefoot and with naked arms into the water and began to engage in various games with each other. But when it was nearly time for supper, they made their way back to the house, and there they supped merrily together. After supper, instruments were sent for, and the queen decreed that a dance should begin, which Lauretta was to lead whilst Emilia was to sing a song, accompanied on the lute by Dioneo. No sooner did she hear the queen’s command than Lauretta promptly began to dance, and she was joined by the others, whilst Emilia sang the following song in amorous tones: ‘In mine own beauty take I such delight That to no other love could I My fond affections plight. ‘Since in my looking-glass each hour I spy Beauty enough to satisfy the mind, Why seek out past delights, or new ones try When all content within my glass I find? What other sight so pleasing to mine eyes Is there that I might see Which further I could prize? ‘My sweet reflection never fades away; My consolation ever is To see it every day. It lies beyond the tongue’s expressing To celebrate a joy so fine; None understands this bliss who has not burned With a delight like mine. ‘The longer I reflect upon those same Eyes that stare from mine own face back to me, The fiercer burns the flame. I yield it all my heart, it renders back All that I gave; I taste the bliss It promised me; and hope yet more to have. Ah, who has loved like this!’ Albeit the words of this little song caused not a few to ponder its meaning, they all joined cheerfully in the choruses. When it was over, they danced and sang some other short pieces, and then, as the night was short and much of it already spent, the queen was pleased to bring the first day to an end. Having called for torches to be lit, she ordered her companions to retire to rest till the following morning, and this command, returning to their several rooms, they duly obeyed. Here ends the First Day of the Decameron

• From The Decameron (1353)

  This story afforded unto all the company alike the utmost pleasure and solace, and it was much laughed of all at Fra Cipolla, and particularly of his pilgrimage and the relics seen and brought back by him. The queen, seeing the story and likewise her sovantry at an end, rose to her feet and put off the crown, which she set laughingly on Dioneo's head, saying, "It is time, Dioneo, that thou prove awhile what manner charge it is to have ladies to govern and guide; be thou, then, king and rule on such wise that, in the end, we may have reason to give ourselves joy of thy governance." Dioneo took the crown and answered, laughing, "You may often enough have seen much better kings than I, I mean chess-kings; but, an you obey me as a king should in truth be obeyed, I will cause you enjoy that without which assuredly no entertainment is ever complete in its gladness. But let that talk be; I will rule as best I know." Then, sending for the seneschal, according to the wonted usance, he orderly enjoined him of that which he should do during the continuance of his seignory and after said, "Noble ladies, it hath in divers manners been devised of human industry[336] and of the various chances [of fortune,] insomuch that, had not Dame Licisca come hither a while agone and found me matter with her prate for our morrow's relations, I misdoubt me I should have been long at pains to find a subject of discourse. As you heard, she avouched that she had not a single gossip who had come to her husband a maid and added that she knew right well how many and what manner tricks married women yet played their husbands. But, letting be the first part, which is a childish matter, methinketh the second should be an agreeable subject for discourse; wherefore I will and ordain it that, since Licisca hath given us occasion therefor, it be discoursed to-morrow OF THE TRICKS WHICH, OR FOR LOVE OR FOR THEIR OWN PRESERVATION, WOMEN HAVE HERETOFORE PLAYED THEIR HUSBANDS, WITH OR WITHOUT THE LATTER'S COGNIZANCE THEREOF." [Footnote 336: _Industria_ in the old sense of ingenuity, skilful procurement, etc.]