A Private History of Happiness (21 page)

BOSTON
• JANUARY 17, 1772

There was a large company assembled in a handsome, large, upper room in the new end of the house [. . .] Our treat was nuts, raisins, cakes, wine, punch, hot and cold, all in great plenty. We had a very agreeable evening from five to ten o’clock. For variety we woo’d a widow, hunted the whistle, threaded the needle [various parlour games], and while the company was collecting, we diverted ourselves with playing of pawns; no rudeness, Mamma, I assure you. Aunt Deming desires you would particularly observe that the elderly part of the company were spectators only, they mixed not in either of the above described scenes.

I was dressed in my yellow coat, black bib and apron, black feathers on my head, my paste [imitation gems] comb, and all my paste garnet marquesite and jet pins, together with my silver plume
—my locket, rings, black collar round my neck, black mitts and 2 or 3 yards of blue ribbon (black and blue is high taste), striped tucker and ruffles (not my best) and my silk shoes completed my dress.

Anna Winslow was about eleven years old, writing long letters from Boston home to her mother in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Anna had grown up in Halifax, where her father served in the British army. Both parents were originally from Boston, and they had sent their daughter to stay there with an aunt for the proper “schooling.” Anna had arrived in 1770 and was by now part of the Boston scene; she particularly enjoyed the parties.

Her best friend was Hannah Soley. Together, they had planned a party at the Soley household, “a very genteel, well-regulated assembly.” They thought out dances, food, drink, games, and the guest list—all girls, from good Boston families. Following the dancing, there was a busy schedule of pleasures. It was great fun and so, for the future, Anna was careful to add, “no rudeness, Mamma.”

Part of her happiness that evening was the culinary “treat.” She loved all the little things that composed it, the hospitable spread of “nuts, raisins, cakes.” Nuts and raisins were very much eighteenth-century party food, sweet things for a special occasion, and they were probably used in the cakes as well. There were special drinks, too, “wine, punch, hot and cold.”

Taken together, the nuts and raisins, the cakes and punch, made up her idea of “great plenty.” It felt to Anna as if the world had no greater riches to offer. It was simply perfect.

Another part of her happiness was her party dress. It was not unlike the “treat,” being made up of colorful details, all equally appealing and satisfying. She had her “yellow coat, black bib and apron, black feathers on my head.” She adored the comb and plume, the locket and ribbon, which had the “high taste” color of blue. Her “silk shoes” were the finishing touch, completing her “dress.” They completed her happiness, too.

Her aunt joined in the letter, careful to assure Anna’s mother that the grown-ups had remained dignified and quiet. In other letters, Anna admitted to being so full of laughter that her aunt, who was sitting by her as she wrote, said she could get no sense out of her at all.

Anna Winslow loved writing about vivid details of her life in Boston such as the party “treat” and her clothes. The prospect of writing her experiences down, and the promise of their being read at home, made her life more interesting to her—and her moments of happiness all the deeper.

Thomas Green, country gentleman, writing in his diary

LONDON
• JUNE 10, 1798

Escaped out of the crowd and bustle, and strolled to Richmond. Passed on our way, by Ham Common, an extraordinary elm, called Ham Church: two thirds of its enormous trunk decayed away; the remainder pierced through; but the top still exuberant. Ascended Richmond Terrace, and enjoyed perhaps the most richly variegated scene in English landscape. Returned by the Thames, and paused, with much interest, opposite [Alexander] Pope’s villa and garden: his favourite willow on the lawn, propped up by stakes.

Thomas Green lived in the market town of Ipswich, near the east coast of England, where he had received his early education. Poor health had prevented him from becoming a student at Cambridge University, but instead he had qualified as a lawyer in London. For a time he had practiced as a barrister in Norfolk. Then his father died in 1794, and thereafter Green led a private and scholarly life in the family home in Ipswich, keeping a diary devoted to his literary interests and his love of landscape. Now, in his late twenties, he was taking a trip to London and the surrounding areas.

The city was even busier than usual. There were many preparations going on for the war with Napoleon, adding to the normal business and hustle. Green was glad to leave the uproar and activity behind: “Escaped out of the crowd and bustle, and strolled.” This word, “strolled,” transformed both his mindset and his surroundings. Everything was slowed down and stretched out. Leisureliness in nature replaced the unwelcome urban intensity of the day so far. Strolling was the expression of his general approach to life, one that made him receptive to passing moments in all their curiosity. At home, he spent much of his time “strolling” through books and noting down passages of value. Here he wrote down the impressions left by that easy, unhurried wandering, free of the tensions of city life.

His outing took him along the River Thames toward what was at that period the little town of Richmond, southwest of central London. First he was impressed and moved by an old elm called Ham Church, “the top still exuberant” despite the old age of the decaying trunk. His route then took him up Richmond Terrace, part of a hill famous for its view of the Thames and its surroundings. There he was able to appreciate a perspective that he savored with trained enthusiasm as “perhaps the most richly variegated scene in English landscape.”

In the early eighteenth century, the renowned Dutch landscape painter Leonard Knyff had depicted the view from Richmond Hill as a fine example of picturesque scenery. This tradition then influenced the unfolding English landscape genre as established by Thomas Gainsborough, George Stubbs, and others. Thomas Green enjoyed this view as if it were a painting partly due to that artistic development, and partly because of the variety and the subtlety of its details: the blend of riverside and hill, meadows and fine dwellings—such as the house of the famous early-eighteenth-century poet Alexander Pope. Many eighteenth-century writers, too, praised the English countryside for its picturesque scenes and its varying features that made such strolls as satisfying as this one was for Thomas Green.

A bit later, he walked along the river to appreciate more closely the residence and garden where Pope had lived at Twickenham, just across the river from Richmond. Here he saw a weeping willow, planted by the poet in his famous “grotto,” a secluded garden referred to in his poetry as an escape from the bustle and distractions of society. Weeping willows, from Turkey, had been introduced into England in about 1700, around the time this one had been planted.

Another writer at the time remarked that Pope’s willow was “propped with uncommon care.” Thomas Green, too, was impressed and later reflected with amusement that “great men should plant trees of greater duration.”

These were strolling thoughts indeed, each one a source of reflection and pleasure. The whole walk had turned into one extended moment of happiness during which he “paused, with much interest,” to enjoy not only specific sights but through them the larger world.

Seydi Ali Reis, commander, writing in his travel memoir

ISTANBUL, TURKEY
• 1556

From there our way led past Ghekivize and Skutari [on the eastern shore of the Bosphorus], where I crossed the Bosphorus, and reached Constantinople [Istanbul] in safety.

God be praised, who led me safely through manifold dangers, and brought me back to this most beautiful country of all the earth. Four years have passed away; years of much sorrow and misery, of many privations and perplexities; but now in this year 964 [1556 CE], in the beginning of [the month of] Redjeb, I have once more returned to my own people, my relations, and my friends. Glory and praise be to God the Giver of all good things!

In 1552, when he was in his fifties, Seydi Ali Reis had been made commander of the Ottoman fleet in the Indian Ocean, during a war with the Portuguese. It was immediately following a terrible defeat at sea that had led to the replacement of the previous Ottoman commander. Seydi Ali Reis was an experienced soldier and sailor, as well as the author of books on astronomy and navigation. But he, too, suffered substantial losses in another naval battle against the Portuguese. Separated from the rest of the fleet, and eventually reaching Gujarat in western India, it took him four years to return to Constantinople. He reached it, at last, on this glad day in 1556.

He had had many adventures in India and the eastern seas. He had witnessed the worst and the best of humanity. He had seen terrible armed fights and many deaths, particularly in that first sea battle: “Five of our galleys and as many of the enemy’s boats were sunk and utterly wrecked, one of theirs went to the bottom with all sails set. In a word, there was great loss on both sides.” He had also seen the destructive powers of nature and their terrifying impact: “It was truly a terrible day, but at last we reached Gujarat in India, which part of it, however, we knew not, when the pilot suddenly exclaimed: ‘On
your guard! a whirlpool in front!’ Quickly the anchors were lowered, but the ship was dragged down.” The long journey back home had been as terrifying as the original battles and the subsequent odyssey.

Sometimes he had been welcomed with graceful hospitality. But often, he had been hunted like an animal, escaping by chance and daring. The only thing more dangerous than the climate and the terrain had been some of the local people.

When Seydi Ali Reis finally reentered the Ottoman realm, he encountered more familiar places. At last, he reached the strait of the Bosphorus and saw his native city rising up on the opposite shore.

As he crossed the strait, he must have realized all he had passed through—“safely through manifold dangers.” Perhaps he relived, as if in one rush, all the fear and the loss, the isolation and the suffering. He had been caught by a typhoon at sea; he had scaled mountains on rough tracks; he had had his way blocked by bands of robbers; he had been tricked and had to defend himself in strange courts. Now that was all behind him.

Relief filled his soul. He saw his home and felt complete. He had come blessedly “back to this most beautiful country of all the earth.”
For him, this was no empty expression. Compared to most men at the time, he had seen many countries of the world. He could truly compare his experience of coming home with the impressions of many other places.

He felt a strong sense of belonging: “I have once more returned to my own people.” They were waiting to welcome him back, “my relations, and my friends” as well as the government officials. It was a moment of supreme restoration. He gave praise to God as the source of “all good things.” It was in that moment of return as if he had received every good thing he knew in the world—all at once. It was the happiness of coming home.