Boccaccio's time - Medieval period (part3)

Foods of the Middle Ages


There was an enormous range of foods available during the Middle Ages. However, the type of foods was consumed and the quantity of foods consumed depended on wealth and status.

Middle Ages Food and Diet


Did the people of the Middle Ages eat food which constituted a good balance diet? No! And especially not for the rich! The wealthy nobles ate few fresh vegetables and little fresh fruit. Fruit was only usually served in pies or was preserved in honey. Vegetables and fresh fruit were eaten by the poor - vegetables would have been included in some form of stew, soup or pottage. Vegetables which came from the ground were only are considered fit to feed the poor. Only vegetables such as rape, onions, garlic and leek's graced a Noble's table of the Medieval era. Dairy products were also deemed as inferior foods and therefore only usually eaten by the poor. Little was known about nutrition and and the Medieval diet of the rich Nobles lacked Vit. C and fibre. This led to an assortment of health problems including bad teeth, skin diseases, scurvy and rickets.

Food and Diet of the Upper Classes/ Nobility

The food and diet of the wealthy was extensive, but only small portions was taken. A change in culture emerged during the Middle Ages when the travel prompted by the Crusades led to a new and unprecedented interest in beautiful objects and elegant manners. This change extended to food preparation and presentation resulting in fabulous food arrangements and exotic colors and flavorings. Their food was highly spiced.

Food and Diet of the Lower Classes/ Peasants


The Middle Ages food and diet of the peasants was very much home grown. They were unable to afford luxury items such as spices and only Lords and Nobles were allowed to hunt deer, boar, hares and rabbits. The punishments for poaching could result in death or having hands cut off.

Boccaccio's time - Medieval time (part2)

Life in the Middle Ages

The peasants, including serfs, freeman and villeins, on a manor lived close together in one or more villages. Their small, thatch-roofed, and one-roomed houses would be grouped about an open space, or on both sides of a single, narrow street. The only important buildings on that time were the parish church, the parsonage, a mill, and possibly a blacksmith's shop. The population of one of these villages often didn't exceed in one hundred people.

Medieval village life during the Middle Ages was self-sufficing. Perhaps the most striking feature of medieval village life was its self-sufficiency. The inhabitants tried to produce at home everything they required in order to avoid the uncertainty and expense of trad. The land gave them their food; the forest provided them with wood for their houses and furniture.  

Life of the Peasants and the Lords


Life in a medieval villages was rude and rough. The peasants labored from sunrise to sunset, ate coarse fare, lived in huts, and suffered from frequent pestilences. They were often the helpless prey of the feudal nobles. If their lord happened to be a quarrelsome man, given to fighting with his neighbors, they might see their lands ravaged, their cattle driven off, their village burned, and might themselves be slain. Even under peaceful conditions the narrow, shut-in life of the manor could not be otherwise than degrading. Under feudalism the lords and nobles of the land had certain rights over medieval serfs and peasants which included the right of jurisdiction, which gave judicial power tot he nobles and lords and the right of hunting.

There were positive points of peasants and their village life in the middle ages. If the peasants had a just and generous lord, they probably led a fairly comfortable existence. Except when crops failed, they had an abundance of food, and possibly a cider drink. They shared a common life in the work of the fields and in the services of the parish church.

Boccaccio's time - medieval period

MEDIEVAL FASHION


Medieval fashion during the middle ages was dominated and highly influenced by Kings and Queens of the era. Only the wealthy could dress in fashionable clothes.Sumptuary  laws restricted ordinary people in their expenditure including money spent on clothes, which impacted Medieval fashion. Under the Sumptuary laws passed by King Edward III only royalty were allowed to wear cloth of gold and purple silk. Expensive veils were banned for lower class women. Only the wives or daughters of nobles were allowed to velvet, satin sable, or ermine. Different events which occurred during Medieval era of the Middle Ages also affected fashion. The Crusades was probably the greatest influence on Medieval Fashion when fine silks, satins, damasks, brocades, and velvet were imported from the the Far East. The Medieval fashion worn in the royal courts in the Middle Ages were imitated across Europe. Fashions in France. Spain and Italy atrongly influenced the fashions of the Medieval England.

                              

                      

          







MEDIEVAL HAIRSTYLE

During the Medieval era, both men and women of the upper social classes wore their hair in loose curls. Women sometimes fastened gold balls at the end of their hair. The lower classes wore their hair undecorated and generally shorter, at the chin or shoulders. Noble women wore flat bonnets that covered their hair, or ribbons and gold threads in their hair. Later, bonnets, hats and veils became even more popular when church tradition decreed that married women were to keep their hair covered. Cone-shaped hats with a veil were also popular during this era. Women sometimes had their hair styled into what looked like two identical mounds (either braided or unbraided) on the both sides of the head. During this time, a woman's high forehead was considered a beautiful feature, and women often shaved off their forehead to heighten their hairlines. Their foreheads were decorated with headbands which were sometimes adorned with pearls and stones. Women also wore nets in their hair during this era.

         

 

      

 

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Born January 19, 1809, Boston, Massachusetts, U.S. American short-story writer, poet, critic, and editor Edgar Allan Poe's tales of mystery and horror initiated the modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of horror is unrivaled in American fiction.

Early Life

With his short stories and poems, Edgar Allan Poe captured the imagination and interest of readers around the world. His creative talents led to the beginning of different literary genres, earning him the nickname "Father of the Detective Story" among other distinctions. His life, however, has become a bit of mystery itself. And the lines between fact and fiction have been blurred substantially since his death.

The son of actors, Poe never really knew his parents. His father left the family early on, and his mother passed away when he was only three. Separated from his siblings, Poe went to live with John and Frances Allan, a successful tobacco merchant and his wife, in Richmond, Virginia. He and Frances seemed to form a bond, but he never quite meshed with John. Preferring poetry over profits, Poe reportedly wrote poems on the back of some of Allan's business papers.

Money was also an issue between Poe and John Allan. When Poe went to the University of Virginia in 1826, he didn't receive enough funds from Allan to cover all his costs. Poe turned to gambling to cover the difference, but ended up in debt. He returned home only to face another personal setback—his neighbor and fiancée Elmira Royster had become engaged to someone else. Heartbroken and frustrated, Poe left the Allans.

Career Beginnings

At first, Poe seemed to be harboring twin aspirations. Poe published his first book, Tamerlane and Other Poems in 1827, and he had joined the army around this time. Poe wanted to go to West Point, a military academy, and won a spot there in 1830. Before going to West Point, he published a second collection Al Aaraaf, Tamberlane, and Minor Poems in 1829. Poe excelled at his studies at West Point, but he was kicked out after a year for his poor handling of his duties. Some have speculated that he intentionally sought to be court-martialed. During his time at West Point, Poe had fought with his foster father and Allan decided to sever ties with him.

After leaving the academy, Poe focused his writing full time. He moved around in search of opportunity, living in New York City, Baltimore, Philadelphia and Richmond. From 1831 to 1835, he stayed in Baltimore with his aunt Maria Clemm and her daughter Virginia. His young cousin, Virginia, became a literary inspiration to Poe as well as his love interest. The couple married in 1836 when she was only 13 (or 14 as some sources say) years old.

Returning to Richmond in 1835, Poe went to work for a magazine called the Southern Literary Messenger. There he developed a reputation as a cut-throat critic, writing vicious reviews of his contemporaries. Poe also published some of his own works in the magazine, including two parts of his only novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. His tenure there proved short, however. Poe's aggressive-reviewing style and sometimes combative personality strained his relationship with the publication, and he left the magazine in 1837. His problems with alcohol also played a role in his departure, according to some reports. Poe went on to brief stints at two other papers, Burton's Gentleman's Magazine and The Broadway Journal.

Major Works

In late 1830s, Poe published Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, a collection of stories. It contained several of his most spine-tingling tales, including "The Fall of the House of Usher," "Ligeia" and "William Wilson." Poe launched the new genre of detective fiction with 1841's "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." A writer on the rise, he won a literary prize in 1843 for "The Gold Bug," a suspenseful tale of secret codes and hunting treasure.

Poe became a literary sensation in 1845 with the publication of the poem "The Raven." It is considered a great American literary work and one of the best of Poe's career. In the work, Poe explored some of his common themes—death and loss. An unknown narrator laments the demise of his great love Lenore. That same year, he found himself under attack for his stinging criticisms of his fellow poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Poe claimed that Longfellow, a widely popular literary figure, was a plagiarist, and this written assault on Longfellow created a bit of backlash for Poe.

Continuing work in different forms, Poe examined his own methodology and writing in general in several essays, including "The Philosophy of Composition," "The Poetic Principle" and "The Rationale of Verse." He also produced another thrilling tale, "The Cask of Amontillado," and poems such as "Ulalume" and "The Bells."

Mysterious Death

Poe was overcome by grief after the death of his beloved Virginia in 1847. While he continued to work, he suffered from poor health and struggled financially. His final days remain somewhat of a mystery. He left Richmond on September 27, 1849, and was supposedly on his way to Philadelphia. On October 3, Poe was found in Baltimore in great distress. He was taken to Washington College Hospital where he died on October 7. His last words were "Lord, help my poor soul."

At the time, it was said that Poe died of "congestion of the brain." But his actual cause of death has been the subject of endless speculation. Some experts believe that alcoholism led to his demise while others offer up alternative theories. Rabies, epilepsy, carbon monoxide poisoning are just some of the conditions thought to have led to the great writer's death.

Shortly after his passing, Poe's reputation was badly damaged by his literary adversary Rufus Griswold. Griswold, who had been sharply criticized by Poe, took his revenge in his obituary of Poe, portraying the gifted yet troubled writer as a mentally deranged drunkard and womanizer. He also penned the first biography of Poe, which helped cement some of these misconceptions in the public's minds.

While he never had financial success in his lifetime, Poe has become one of America's most enduring writers. His works are as compelling today as there were more than a century ago. A bright, imaginative thinker, Poe crafted stories and poems that still shock, surprise and move modern readers.

Some of his works

Annabel Lee

    It was many and many a year ago,

          In a kingdom by the sea,

    That a maiden there lived whom you may know

          By the name of ANNABEL LEE;

    And this maiden she lived with no other thought

          Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,

          In this kingdom by the sea;

    But we loved with a love that was more than love-

          I and my Annabel Lee;

    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

          Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,

          In this kingdom by the sea,

    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

          My beautiful Annabel Lee;

    So that her highborn kinsman came

          And bore her away from me,

    To shut her up in a sepulchre

          In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

          Went envying her and me-

    Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,

          In this kingdom by the sea)

    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

          Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love

          Of those who were older than we-

          Of many far wiser than we-

    And neither the angels in heaven above,

          Nor the demons down under the sea,

    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

    Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,

          In the sepulchre there by the sea,

          In her tomb by the sounding sea.

           A Dream Within a Dream

          Take this kiss upon the brow!

          And, in parting from you now,

          Thus much let me avow-

          You are not wrong, who deem

          That my days have been a dream;

          Yet if hope has flown away

          In a night, or in a day,

          In a vision, or in none,

          Is it therefore the less gone?

          All that we see or seem

          Is but a dream within a dream.

          I stand amid the roar

          Of a surf-tormented shore,

          And I hold within my hand

          Grains of the golden sand-

          How few! yet how they creep

          Through my fingers to the deep,

          While I weep- while I weep!

          O God! can I not grasp

          Them with a tighter clasp?

          O God! can I not save

          One from the pitiless wave?

          Is all that we see or seem

          But a dream within a dream?

Evening Star


'Twas noontide of summer,


  And mid-time of night;


And stars, in their orbits,


  Shone pale, thro' the light


Of the brighter, cold moon,


  'Mid planets her slaves,


Herself in the Heavens,


  Her beam on the waves.


    I gazed awhile


    On her cold smile;


Too cold- too cold for me-


  There pass'd, as a shroud,


  A fleecy cloud,


And I turned away to thee,


  Proud Evening Star,


  In thy glory afar,


And dearer thy beam shall be;


  For joy to my heart


  Is the proud part


Thou bearest in Heaven at night,


  And more I admire


  Thy distant fire,


Than that colder, lowly light.











Silence


     There are some qualities- some incorporate things,


        That have a double life, which thus is made


      A type of that twin entity which springs


        From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.


      There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-


        Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,


        Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,


      Some human memories and tearful lore,


      Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."


      He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!


        No power hath he of evil in himself;


      But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)


        Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,


      That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod


      No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

The raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,   Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,     While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.   "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-                 Only this, and nothing more."     Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,   And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.     Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow     From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-   For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-                 Nameless here for evermore.     And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain   Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;     So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,     "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-   Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-                 This it is, and nothing more."     Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,   "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;     But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,     And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,   That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-                 Darkness there, and nothing more.     Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,         fearing,   Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;     But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,     And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"   This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-                 Merely this, and nothing more.     Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.     "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:     Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-   Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-                 'Tis the wind and nothing more."     Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and         flutter,   In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;     Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed         he;     But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-   Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-                 Perched, and sat, and nothing more.    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,   By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.    "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no         craven,    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-   Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"                 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."     Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,   Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;     For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being     Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-   Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,                 With such name as "Nevermore."     But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only   That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.     Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-     Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown         before-   On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."                 Then the bird said, "Nevermore."      Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,   "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,      Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster      Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-   Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore                 Of 'Never- nevermore'."     But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,   Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and         door;     Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking     Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-   What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore                 Meant in croaking "Nevermore."     This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing   To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;     This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining     On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,   But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,                 She shall press, ah, nevermore!     Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer   Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.     "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he         hath sent thee     Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!   Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"                 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."     "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or         devil!-   Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,     Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-     On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-   Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"                 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."     "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or         devil!   By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-     Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,     It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-   Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."                 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."     "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,         upstarting-   "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!     Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!     Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!   Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my         door!"                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."     And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting   On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;     And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,     And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the         floor;   And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor                 Shall be lifted- nevermore!