Thursday, December 31, 2009

Martha Jane Canary (1852 - 1903)


Martha Jane Canary-Burke
(Calamity Jane)
May 1, 1852 – August 1, 1903

I was born in Princeton, Missouri in 1852. No one knows much about my early life, but soon after I was born, my mother died. In 1862, my family moved to Virginia City, Nevada, which was then in the early days of the boom.

An Indian uprising separated me from my father and brothers, and at the age of 10 I was thrown into the world to make my own way alone. Although I had great friends and very positive opinions of the proper things that a girl could enjoy, I soon gained a local notariety for my daring horsemanship and skill as a rifle shot.

Most people thought of me as a hard drinking woman with a preference for men's clothing. I spoke and behaved bawdily, chewed tobacco and was handy with a gun. During my life I was an army scout, a bullwhacker, a nurse, a cook, a prostitute, a prospector, a gambler, a heavy drinker and one of the most foul-mouthed people in the West. I set myself apart from other women in that I could work and socialize with hard and tough frontiersmen: from digging for gold, drinking in bars, cussing and dressing like a man, I was mostly accepted by them.

Before I turned twenty, I was appointed as an army scout under a man named Bill. In June of 1876, I partnered with him as an outrider for a wagon train, galloping into Deadwood with a shipment of prostitutes, fresh from Cheyenne.

I had unlimited nerve and entered into the work with enthusiasm, doing good service on a number of occasions. Though I never did a man's share of the heavy work, I went places where old frontiersmen were unwilling to to themselves. My courage and good-fellowship made me popular with every man in the command.

I earned my nickname in 1872 in a peculiar way. Back then, I was at Goose Creek Camp, where a small body of men were stationed. The Indians were giving us a lot of trouble, and there was much fighting.

One day the Captain was surrounded by a large band. They were fighting desperately for their lives, but were being steadily, but surely slaughtered. The Captain was wounded and had fallen off his horse.

In the midst of the fighting, I rode into the very center of the trouble, dismounted, lifted the captain in front of me on my saddle, and dashed out. We got through untouched, but every other man in the gallant company was slaughtered.

When he recovered, the Captain laughingly spoke of me as 'Calamity Jane,' and the name has clung to me ever since.



In 1876, by a daring feat, I saved the lives of six passengers on a stage coach traveling from Deadwood to Wild Birch, in the Black hills country. The stage was surrounded by Indians, and the driver was wounded by an arrow. Although the other six passengers were men, not one of them had nerve enough to take the reins. Seeing the situation, I mounted the driver's seat without a moment's hesitation and brought the stage safely and in good time to Wild Birch.

The citizens of Deadwood dubbed me the "White Devil of the Yellowstone" and "Saint" because I helped nurse the sick during a smallpox plague.

For the remainder of my days, I claimed to have been Wild Bill Hickok’s lover. But the record shows that he had just recently married and his letters home from Deadwood indicate that he was happily wedded. I requested to be buried next to Wild Bill Hickock at Deadwood, South Dakota when I died, and there I rest to this very today.

January - The Legend of Janus

Did you know that the month of January is named after the Roman god, Janus?  Janus was the god of concrete, gates, doors, doorways, beginnings and endings.

Janus symbolizes the beginning of the world, the start of human life, new historical ages, change and transition from the past to the future, of growing up, and of celebrating the beginnings of important events in a person's life.

Janus is depicted as having two faces or two heads, facing in opposite directions because, according to legend, as a reward for his generous hospitality, the god Saturn, granted Janus the gift to see both the future and the past.  Hence, Janus was worshipped at the beginning of the harvest and planting times, as well as marriages, births and other beginnings.  He represented the middle ground between barbarity and civilization, rural country and urban cities, and youth and adulthood.

It was said that he came from Thessaly and that he was welcomed by a goddess named Camese in Latium, where they shared a kingdom.  They married and had several children, among which was the river god Tiberinus (after whom the river Tiber is named). When his wife died, Janus became the sole ruler of Latium. He sheltered Saturn when he was fleeing from Jupiter. 

Janus, as the first king of Latium, brought the people a time of peace and welfare; the Golden Age. He introduced money, cultivation of the fields, and the laws. After his death he was deified and became the protector of Rome.

When Romulus and his associates stole the Sabine Virgins, the Sabines attacked Rome.  The daughter of one of the guards on the Capitolian Hill betrayed her fellow countrymen and guided the enemy into the city. They attempted to climb the hill but Janus made a hot spring erupt from the ground, and the would-be attackers fled from the city.  The Ianus geminus, a passage ritually opened at times of war, and shut again when Roman arms rested, was named after him.  It formed a walled enclosure with gates at each end, situated in the Roman Forum.  During times of wars, the gates of the Janus were opened, and in its interior sacrifices and vaticinia were held to forecast the outcome of military deeds.  The doors were closed only during peacetime, an extremely rare event.

In the Middle Ages, Janus became the symbol of Genoa, whose Latin name was Ianua, as well as of other European communes.

Article resources: 



Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Love Letters - Pietro Bembo to Lucrezia Borgia

Lucrezia Borgia was the daughter of the Spanish Cardinal, Rodrigo Borgia, who later became Pope Alexander VI. Much scandal regarding incest and murder surrounds her. She entered into a passionate affair with Pietro Bembo, (1470-1547), a respected poet and scholar who became a Cardinal in the Vatican who became enraptured by her.


Born of an aristocratic Venetian family, Pietro Bembo wrote many adoring poems to Lucrezia, and they carried on a long correspondence that continued well after they parted. Theirs was an affair of great affection and respect.

Venice
October 18, 1503

Eight days have passed since I parted from f.f., and already it is as though I had been eight years away from her, although I can avow that not one hour has passed without her memory which has become such a close companion to my thoughts that now more than ever is it the food and sustenance of my soul; and if it should endure like this a few days more, as seems it must, I truly believe it will in every way have assumed the office of my soul, and I shall then live and thrive on the memory of her as do other men upon their souls, and I shall have no life but in this single thought. Let the God who so decrees do as he will, so long as in exchange I may have as much a part of her as shall suffice to prove the gospel of our affinity is founded on true prophecy. Often I find myself recalling, and with what ease, certain words spoken to me, some on the balcony with the moon as witness, others at that window I shall always look upon so gladly, with all the many endearing and gracious acts I have seen my gentle lady perform--for all are dancing about my heart with a tenderness so wondrous that they inflame me with a strong desire to beg her to test the quality of my love. For I shall never rest content until I am certain she knows what she is able to enact in me and how great and strong is the fire that her great worth has kindled in my breast. The flame of true love is a mighty force, and most of all when two equally matched wills in two exalted minds contend to see which loves the most, each striving to give yet more vital proof...It would be the greatest delight for me to see just two lines in f.f.'s hand, yet I dare not ask so much. May your Ladyship beseech her to perform whatever you feel is best for me. With my heart I kiss your Ladyship's hand, since I cannot with my lips.



The Legend of La Befana

Every child of Italian heritage has heard of La Befana, a character in Italian folklore who delivers presents to children throughout Italy. It is believed that the legend of La Befana may have originated in Rome, then spread as a tradition to the rest of Italy.

Some believe her name is derived from the word Epiphany, but others say La Befana descended Roman goddess named Strina.

In folklore, Befana visits all the children of Italy on the eve of the 6th of January (the Epiphany) to fill their socks with candy and presents if they are good or a lump of coal or dark candy if they are bad. Because she is a good housekeeper, she will sweep the floor before she leaves. The child's family typically leaves a small glass of wine and a plate with a few morsels of food for La Befana.She is usually portrayed as an old lady riding a broomstick through the air wearing a black shawl and is covered in soot because she enters the children's houses through the chimney. She is often smiling and carries a bag or hamper filled with candy, gifts, or both.

Christian legend has it that La Befana was approached by the magi (the biblical three kings) a few days before Christ's birth. They asked for directions to where the baby Jesus was, but she did not know. She provided them with shelter for a night, as she was considered the best housekeeper in the village with the most pleasant home. They invited her to join them on the journey to find the baby Jesus, but she declined, stating she was too busy with her housework. Later, La Befana had a change of heart, and tried to search out the astrologers and Jesus. That night she was not able to find them, so to this day, La Befana is searching for the baby Jesus. She leaves all the good children toys and candy, while the bad children get coal or bags of ashes.

Another Christian legend takes a slightly darker tone. La Befana was an ordinary woman with a child whom she greatly loved. However, her child died, and her grief maddened her. Upon hearing news of Jesus' birth, she set out to see him, delusional that he was her son. She eventually met Jesus and presented him with gifts to make him happy. The infant Jesus was delighted, and he gave La Befana a gift in return; she would be the mother of every child in Italy.

Italians believe that if one sees La Befana one will receive a thump from her broomstick because she doesn't wish to be seen. This aspect of the tradition may be designed to keep children in their beds while parents are distributing candy (or coal) and sweeping the floor on Epiphany Eve.

Traditionally, all Italian children may expect to find a lump of "coal" in their stockings (actually rock candy made black with caramel coloring), as every child has been at least occasionally bad during the year.

Two places in Italy are nowadays associated with the Befana tradition:

Piazza Navona in central Rome is the site of a popular market each year between Christmas and the Epiphany, where toys, sugar charcoal and other candies are on sale.

The town of Urbania in the Province of Pesaro Urbino within the Marche region, where the national Befana festival is held each year, usually between January 2nd and 6th. A "house of the Befana" is scheduled to be built and the post office has a mailbox reserved for letters addressed to the Befana, mirroring what happens with Santa Claus in Rovaniemi.

In other parts of the world where a vibrant Italian community exists, traditions involving La Befana may be observed and shared or celebrated with the wider community. In Toronto, Canada for example, a Befana Choir shows up on Winter Solstice each December to sing in the Kensington Market Festival of Lights parade. Women, men, and children dressed in La Befana costume and nose sing love songs to serenade the sun to beckon its return. The singing hags gather in the street to give candy to children, to cackle and screech to accordion music, and to sing in every key imaginable as delighted parade participants join in the cacophony. Sometimes, the Befanas dance with parade goers and dust down the willing as parade goers walk by.

There are poems about La Befana, which are known in slightly different versions throughout Italy. Here is one of the versions:

La Befana vien di notte
Con le scarpe tutte rotte
Col vestito alla romana
Viva, Viva La Befana!

The English translation is:

The Befana comes by night
With her shoes all tattered and torn
She comes dressed in the Roman way
Long life to the Befana!

Another version told by people in the Province of Trento (northern Lake Garda):

Viene, viene la Befana
Vien dai monti a notte fonda
neve e gelo la circondan..
neve e gelo e tramontana!
Viene, viene la Befana

The English translation is:

Here comes, here comes the Befana
she comes from the mountains in the deep of the night
snow and frost (ice) surrounds her
snow and frost and the West wind
here comes, here comes the Befana!

Another song, this one by Italian pop singer and entertainer Gianni Morandi:

Trullalà Trullalà Trullalà.
La Befana vien di notte
con le scarpe tutte rotte,
con la calza appesa al collo,
col carbone, col ferro e l’ottone.
Sulla scopa per volare.
Lei viene dal mare.
Lei viene dal mare.

E la neve scenderà
sui deserti del Maragià,
dall’Alaska al Canadà.
E partire lei dovrà
e cantando partirà
da ciociara si vestirà,
con il sacco arriverà,
la bufera vincerà.
E cantando trullalà,
la Befana arriverà.
Trulalla’ Trullalà Trullalà.

Un bambino, grande come un topolino,
si è infilato nel camino,
per guardarla da vicino.
Quando arriva la Befana
senza denti
salta, balla, beve il vino.
Poi di nascosto s’allontana
con la notte appiccicata alla sottana.

E un vento caldo soffierà
sui deserti del Maragià,
dall’Alaska al Canadà.
Solo una stella brillerà
e seguirla lei dovrà,
per volare verso il nord
e la strada è lunga
ma la bufera vincerà.
E cantando Trullalà,
la Befana se ne va.
E cantando Trullalà
Truallalero Trullalà
Trullalà Trullalà Trullalà

(Article remixed from Wikipedia)

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Anais Nin (1903 - 1977)


Angela Anais Juana Antolina Rosa Edelmira Nin y Culmell

February 21, 1903 - January 14, 1977

Erotic Author
Bigamist
Philanderer

I was born in France.  My father was the composer Joaquin Nin, who grew up in Spain but was born in and returned to Cuba.  My mother, Rosa Culmell y Vigaraud, was of Cuban, French, and Danish ancestry.  I moved to the United States in 1914 after my father deserted the family.  In the United States I attended Catholic schools, dropped out of school, worked as a model and dancer, and returned to Europe in 1923.

I studied psychoanalysis and briefly practiced as a lay therapist in New York.  I was a patient of Carl Jung for a time as well.

Finding it difficult to get my erotic stories published, I helped found Siana Editions in France in 1935.  By 1939 and the outbreak of World War II I returned to New York, where I became a figure in the Greenwich Village crowd.

An obscure literary figure for most of my life, when my journals -- kept since 1931 -- began to be published in 1966, I entered the public eye.  The ten volumes of The Diary of Anaïs Nin have remained popular.  These are more than simple diaries; each volume has a theme, and were written with the intent that they later be published.  Letters I exchanged with intimate friends, including Henry Miller, have also been published.  The popularity of the diaries brought interest in my previously-published novels.  The Delta of Venus and Little Birds, originally written in the 1940s, were published after my death.  

I am also known for my lovers, who included Henry Miller, Edmund Wilson, Gore Vidal and Otto Rank. I was married to Hugh Guiler of New York who tolerated my affairs.  I also entered into a second, bigamous marriage to Rupert Pole in California.  I had the marriage annulled about the time I was achieving more widespread fame.  I was living with Pole at the time of my death, and he saw to the publication of a new edition of my diaries, unexpurgated.



Friday, December 25, 2009

Ave Maria by Celine Dion

One of the most beautiful things about Christmas is the story of the birth of Jesus. Nothing stirs my heart more than that.

The birth of a baby is also about the loving mother and one cannot celebrate Christmas without paying homage to Christ's mother.

The most beautiful rendition of the Ave Maria I've ever heard is by Celine Dion. It brings tears to my eyes every time. It truly is magnificent.


And this is my gift to you.
May you have peace in your life and may you know true joy in the coming year.
May God bless you all.



Thursday, December 24, 2009

Mary of Nazareth

How did I, a most unassuming young Jewish peasant girl, become the most famous woman in history?  I am shorter than five feet tall, but robust and sturdy.  My strong brown hands are calloused from work. Beneath my veil, I disguise my glossy black hair with a line of red or purple dye running down the center part.  The modest jewellery around my face demonstrates that I am from a decent family.

My clothes were of homespun wool or linen, loose-fitting, in one of the soft colors of natural dyes – either a cream, or a deep faded pink, or a soft blue-grey. I wore leather ankle-boots in winter and sandals in summer. And I cut my dusty toenails with a sharp knife.

Now that my menstrual periods had started, my parents gave serious consideration to choosing a husband for me. The man they settled on was Joseph, a young man not much older than I was. Joseph was well-regarded by the people around him, too.

The proposed marriage contract was worked out between our families. The amount of my dowry was settled, hopefully enough to act as an income for me should Joseph abandon me or should I become widowed. A big feast was celebrated at our betrothal.

Soon thereafter, I my menstrual periods had stopped. Even though I had never lain with a man, I knew for certain I was pregnant. But I was not yet married and this meant I had brought disgrace to all my family. Joseph and I knew he was not the father, and even though my future husband was richly embarrassed by my condition, he decided to marry me nevertheless. The marriage ceremony went ahead, and we became husband and wife.

Some months later, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Once washed, the baby was presented to Joseph, who named the baby, Jesus. By giving my son a name, he accepted him as his own child too.

In Nazareth, our lives revolved around our home, a mud brick house with a courtyard and two rooms - a front, public room with an awning, and a private room behind it. The house had a flat roof with exterior stairs and an awning of woven goats' hair to protect against the sun. This was used by the women as a work-space, an extra room. The inside of the house was quite comfortable, though minimalist by modern standards.

The routine of daily life was broken several times a year by festivals, when we traveled to Jerusalem to visit the Temple and offer sacrifice there. On one of these visits, Jesus became lost for three days in the crowded city streets, and Joseph and I hunted desperately for him. We eventually located him speaking to scholars in the Temple precincts. These learned men seemed to be treating our son as an equal, which made me realize something I had suspected ever since my son was born - that he was nothing like the other children, that he had a special destiny.

This eldest son of ours grew into a complicated young man, too clever and restless to settle easily into an ordinary life in Nazareth. Like many men whose birth was shadowed he was not entirely accepted by the people he grew up with. He was an inspiring, exciting man but not a comfortable one. I watched him with all the anguish and love of a mother, and growing misgivings.

At some stage, Jesus left Nazareth and gained considerable fame as a charismatic teacher and healer. Joseph had disappeared from my life – first away working as a tradesman and later dead.

Nazareth did not celebrate often, so when Jesus returned to the village he was at first greeted warmly. He went to the tiny synagogue and taught there, to men and to women, and people were impressed by what he said. But then things turned sour. The people of Nazareth did not treat Jesus with the respect he had received in the outside world. Jesus resented their skepticism, and did not hide his resentment.

The villagers turned on him and ran him out of town. In the ensuing mêlée, the rougher element among the villagers tried to kill Jesus. It was probably someone in this group who referred disparagingly to Jesus as “the son of Mary” instead of “the son of Joseph”. They disdained my son because they believed him to not have a father. It was a most unbearable experience for I was forced to watch helplessly as my son was being vilified.

On another occasion I tried to see Jesus in another village. He was earning a reputation as a troublemaker, distrusted by powerful people. The clashes he was having were too serious to ignore. I decided to caution Jesus. I gathered my four younger sons and my daughters and went looking for Jesus, to see him or to warn him, or both. As it turned out, things had gone too far for that. Jesus' response to us was certainly not what I expected. “Family?” he asked. “The people who follow me are my family.” The incident profoundly shocked me.

Later, they tortured and beat my son, his injuries too terrible to imagine. As he hung on the cross his body was dying, crumbling under a combination of exhaustion, shock, and suffocation. As long as he could hold himself upright he could breathe, but as he became exhausted and let his body sag forward, the angle of his arms constricted his lungs, and he reverted to a terrible rasping struggle for air. It broke my heart to see him die like this.

After my son’s death, I lived on, venerated by the disciples, watching Jesus’ followers grow. They called him Christus, the Savior, and said he was the divine Son of God. For a poor woman of Galilee, it was too much to fathom.



(Article remixed from http://www.bible-people.info/Mary.htm)


Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Twas the Night Before Christmas


Did you know that one of the world's most famous poems, Twas the Night Before Christmas, was written by Clement Clark Moore, (1779-1863), a professor of Oriental and Greek literature at Columbia College (now Columbia University. 

He wrote "A Visit from St. Nicholas" to read to his six children on Christmas Eve of 1822.  The inspiration came to him during a sleigh-ride home from Greenwich Village.  His sleigh driver was a roly-poly Dutchman with a pot belly and he used that description for Santa in his poem.


Everyone who read the poem loved it.  He argued that it was beneath his dignity.   But somehow, the following Christmas, "A Visit from St. Nicholas" suspiciously appeared in an out-of-town newspaper, likely smuggled out of his home by a family member. 

Of course, much to Clement's chagrin, the poem became immediately popular and became a resounding success.  Embarassed, Moore would not take credit for the poem.  But the poem gained momentum year after year.  Fifteen years later, Moore reluctantly but finally admitted authorship by including it in a volume of collected works.   He always referred to the poem as "a mere trifle."

Here is a copy of the original handwritten piece and I've followed it with a a 1946 video of the re-enactment. 









Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Dominick the Donkey - A Family Favourite


One cannot help but be uplifted by this very cute song.  It just seems to get us all laughing and sometimes even dancing around Christmas.

I can't help but remember visiting my grandfather in Italy.  He had a much treasured little Sicilian donkey he named Cecilia.  For years, he and Cecilia headed out to his vineyards to tend the vines.  The two were always seen together.  Cecilia served him faithfully for many years and I recall how my grandfather suffered when she died.

Needless to say, this song brings back strong memories and strikes very close to home.

May you enjoy it in your home as much as we do in ours.



Monday, December 21, 2009

The Relics of Saint Petrus Canisius (1521–1597)


Saint Peter Canisius - Confessor and Doctor of the Church

He was born Peter Kanis in Nijmegen in the Duchy of Guelders (now the Netherlands). Peter became the first Dutchman to join the Jesuit order of priests in 1543.

Through his work in the order he became one of the most influential Catholics of his time. He supervised the founding and maintenance of the early German Jesuit Colleges, often with little resources at hand. Because of his frequent travels between the colleges, a tedious and dangerous occupation at the time, he became known as the Second Apostle of Germany. Peter Canisius was an influential teacher and preacher, especially through his "German catechism", a book that defined the basic principles of Catholicism in the German language and found many readers in German-speaking countries.



Although I'm unsure exactly where they can be found, here are his 16th century relics which consist of his German Catechism book and book mark, and his shoes.  



Sunday, December 20, 2009

The History and Love Story of Panettone

In Italian folklore, it is widely believed that Panettone originated in the city of Milano in northern Italy during the 15th century. It became instantly popular. Today, hundreds of years later, people around the world continue to enjoy the sweet bread. It was originally called Tony's Bread or Pan de Tonio . The name has since evolved to become known as the panettone we enjoy today.

As with all ancient recipes, several legends circulate about how is one came into being. Here is the most popular, and most romantic of the versions. How typical of the Italians to meld together romance and food.

In the city of Milano in northern Italy during the 15th century, there lived a baker named Tony who had a beautiful daughter named Adalgisa. A wealthy young man, Ughetto della Tela, fell in love with the beauty and wanted to marry her, but he knew his family would oppose the marriage because she was a commoner.

Ughetto, a quiet, studious man, worked as a hawk breeder in the court of Duke Ludovico Maria Sforza. Undaunted in his quest to marry Adalgisa, he began to secretly meet the lovely young woman late at night, far from prying eyes. Meeting at such odd hours made a lot of sense because Adalgisa was required to start mixing the bread in the wee hours of the morning in her father’s bakery.

Soon, a strange series of misfortunes befell Tony. A new bakery opened nearby and he began to lose clients. Then he fell ill. This left Adalgisa to do all the work in the bakery, including all the heavy chores.

The gallant Ughetto seized upon this misfortunes and offered himself to assist her. He wanted to improve the bread by adding some butter to the mix, but the struggling bakery had no money to buy the additional ingredient, which was very expensive at the time. So Ughetto sold a few of his prized hawks and with the money purchased all the butter needed.

The bread was an immediate success. Loaves disappeared from the shelves. When Ughetto decided to add a little sugar to the recipe, it became even more popular. Soon word about the tasty bread spread. The beautiful Adalgisa smiled, for the bakery was once again turning a profit. Happy to see his beloved happy once more, Ughetto decided to improve upon the recipe once more. This time, he added candied citron and eggs. At Christimas time, he added raisins. Now the bread really became a huge success, well known throughout the entire city of Milano. Tony's bakery prospered and he became very wealthy.

Without hesitation, Ughetto's family approved the marriage to the wealthy young woman and Ughetto and Adalgisa were soon married. Their secret recipe and other bakers soon began to imitate the bread, ever-increasing quantities to satisfy the palates of Italians.

Today, the bread is produced and shipped throughout the world. It is always given away as gifts and graces the tables of all Italians at Christmas.

Once December hits, I find myself making panettone almost daily. My family loves it. Here is my favourite recipe, easily made in the bread machine:

Mirella Patzer's Panettone

3 1/4 cups bread flour (divided)
1/4 cup each golden raisins
1/4 cup candied mixed peel
1/4 cup milk
3 eggs, beaten
2 egg yolks, beaten
1/2 cup softened butter
1 tsp anise extract
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp fresh grated orange peel
1 tsp fress grated lemon peel
2 tsp yeast

Mix 1 tbsp of the flour with raisins, candied peel and citron. Add milk, eggs, butter, vanilla, sugar, salt, orange and lemon peels in bread machine pan or proceed as per manufacturers instructions.

Turn on machine and set to normal/basic bread setting, choosing light color setting if possible. Sprinkle reserved fruit mixture into machine when fruit alarm sounds or just as second kneading is ending. Makes one 1 1/2 lb. loaf.

(If candied mixed peel is not something your family likes, this bread tastes just as good with only the raisins.)


Enheduana (2285 - 2250 B.C.)

I am Enheduana, and I am the world's earliest known female writer.  My name means "lord or lady ornament of An (the sky or heaven).  I was an Akkadian princess as well as high priestess of the moon god Nanna (Sin) in Ur.  I am a writer of hymns, many of which still exist today.

My father, King Sargon of Akka began the tradition of appointing only the daughters of kings to the post of En of Nanna.  For 500 years afterwards, En Priestesses were so named, just as I was.

Lugal-Ane, a rebellious Sumerian King, temporarily dislodged me from my position, in an attempt to show my imperial appointment to be locally unacceptable. 

I wrote a hymn called Nin-me-sara to the goddess Inanna.  The Sumerian people believed that I had written it so effectively that my prayers to Inanna were answered with 9 victories thus quelling 9 battles between the Sumerians and the Akkadians.  These victories allowed my nephew, Naram Sin, who was then king, to successfully unite Sumer and Akkad for several years.  After this historic coup, I was restored to my post as En of Nanna in Ur.

Nin-me-sara was revered as a sacred document and 500 years after my death, during the Babylonian era, it was used as a text copied by students learning to be scribes.  Over 100 clay tablet copies of the hymn were used to create my translation of nin-me-sara thus pointing out how popular the hymn was.  Few Mesopotamian literary texts have boasted as many copies.

I originally wrote it on an alabaster disk and called myself the"zirru of Nanna," a mysterious term which means the embodiment of the Goddess Ningal, the wife of the moon God Nanna.

Historians have noted that my work displays the concept of a personal relationship with the divine, to wit:

I am yours! It will always be so!
May your heart cool off for me
May your understanding... compassion…
I have experienced your great punishment


My Lady, I will proclaim your greatness in all lands and your glory!
Your ‘way’ and great deeds I will always praise!
In addition, she is the first author to write in the first person. Scribes wrote about the King and the divine, but never about themselves prior to En-hedu-Ana.

I also became famous as the author of several Sumerian hymns.  I am considered the earliest author known by name.  The hymns I wrote to Inanna celebrate my individual relationship with Inanna, thereby setting down the earliest surviving verbal account of an individual's consciousness of her inner life.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Maria Montessori (1870 - 1952)

I was born in the town of Chiaravalle in the province of Ancona, Italy in the year 1870 in an era where it was not common to treat children with respect. The old adage applied – Children should be seen and not heart. My father, Alessandro Montessori, worked in an official capacity for the Italian government and was a respected member of the bourgeois civil service. My mother, Renide Stoppani, came from a wealthy, well-educated family known for their devotion to the liberation and unity of Italy.

It was my mother who encouraged me towards advanced education and convinced me to register at the Regia Scuola Tecnica Michaelangelo Buonarroti in engineering studies at the age of thirteen. I disliked it greatly and knew that this was not a model for an ideal school. I decided to drop out of my engineering program. My family, friends, and especially my father, all cheered the decision for they were shocked that I would choose such an unlady-like profession.

Much to their chagrin, I decided to go to the University of Rome and become a student of their medical program. I graduated with a score of 100 out of 105 in 1896, the first female doctor in Italy’s history.

A month after my graduation, I was chosen to represent Italy in a Women's International Congress in Berlin, Germany. When I returned to Rome, I was appointed as a surgical assistant at Santo Spirito, worked at the children’s hospital, and maintained a private practice.

By 1897 I came to the realization that the children I worked with could not be adequately treated in the hospitals and should instead be educated in schools. Towards this goal, I began to devote more and more of my time towards perfecting education. In 1912 I developed The Montessori Method – a method of learning that used nature to meet the real needs of children.

In 1900 I became a director of a small school for 'challenged' youth. My methods were hailed as experimental, but miraculous. I believed that children should be taught “how” prior to executing a task.

While working there, I had a love affair with a colleague, Dr. Montesano. In 1898, I gave birth to my only child, Mario Montessori. We vowed to keep our relationship and the identity of the father of my son a secret. We pledged that neither of us would ever marry another person. Montesano failed to live up to his end of the bargain, however, and fell in love with and married another woman while still working with me in daily contact. The pain of this betrayal caused me to leave the school. I sent my son to a wet nurse and later to a boarding school.

In 1907 I actively began to emphasize my theories and methods of pedagogy. I became the director for a group of daycare centers for children of the working class in one of the worst neighbourhoods in Rome. My pupils were labelled as “wild and unruly”. Yet, under my guidance and methods, they began to respond. I respected the children and always held them in the highest regard and insisted that the teachers I employed did the same.

The success of our work was amazing. Children younger than three and four years old began to read, write, and initiate self-respect. My method encouraged these underprivileged children to “absorb their culture”. But they absorbed much more than mere reading and writing – they soon progressed to botany, zoology, mathematics, geography, with great ease and spontaneous energy.





Critics complained my methods were too rigorous and harsh. But instead I argued, “I studied my children, and they taught me how to teach them." To hear such a statement today, would not turn heads. In my day, however, everyone was left agape and shocked. Because I believed that the learning environment was just as important as the learning itself, my school was the first to have child-sized tables and chairs made for the students. My schools were often peaceful, orderly places, where the children valued their space for concentration and the process of learning.

My methods completely contradicted traditional forms of educational. For example, adults often reprimand children about runny noses, but never take the time to teach them how to take care of it themselves. I decided to give the children a slightly humorous lesson on how to blow their noses. After I had shown them different ways to use a handkerchief, I ended by indicating how it could be done as unobtrusively as possible. I took out my handkerchief in such a way that they could hardly see it and blew my nose as softly as I could. The children watched me in rapt attention, but failed to laugh. I wondered why, but I had hardly finished my demonstration when they broke out into applause that resembled a long repressed ovation in a theater. When I was on the point of leaving the school, the children began to shout, 'Thank you, thank you for the lesson!'"

On one occasion, a teacher was late. The eager students actually crawled through the window and got right to work while they waited. I created the game of silence, a brief period of meditation that allowed the children to start the day with a sense of peace and focus.

In the latter years of my life, from around 1907 to the mid-1930's, I devoted all of my time and energy in founding schools that taught my method throughout Europe and North America. I also traveled to India and Sri Lanka, and until 1947, I trained thousands of teachers in the Montessori curriculum and methodology.

I lived until 1952 in the Netherlands after a lifetime devoted to the study of child development. I also worked for women’s rights and social reform. My success in Italy led to international recognition, and during my lifetime I traveled the world lecturing and training. ‘Educate for Peace’ was my guiding principle which influenced her every deed.

My work lives on through the Association Montessori Internationale (AMI), the organization I founded in Amsterdam, Netherlands, in 1929 to carry on my work.

I made numerous memorable quotations. Following is a collection of my most famous ones:



Who Am I?

Thomas A. Edison Motion Pictures

I didn't know that Thomas Alva Edison (February 11, 1847 – October 18, 1931) American inventor, scientist and businessman who developed many devices that greatly influenced life around the world, including the phonograph, the motion picture camera, and a long-lasting, practical electric light bulb was also a movie producer.


He is considered one of the most prolific inventors in history, holding 1,093 U.S. patents in his name, as well as many patents in the United Kingdom, France and Germany.

Creativity is truly a gift, a genius gift, one that he had in abundance. Below is one of his short films. It takes place on a street car.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Me and my recipe featured in the local paper

I'm very excited that my Panettone recipe was featured in the local paper yesterday. A big thank you to Sarah Junkin of the Cochrane Eagle for inviting me to do such a fun shoot in my kitchen! Here's the article, just as it appeared. I've already posted the recipe, so I apologize for repeating it again.


Panettone — Mirella Patzer

When published author Mirella Patzer is not writing, she loves to bake for her family, and she said that as soon as December rolls around she finds herself baking this Italian bread almost daily.

“In Italian folklore it’s believed that Panettone originated in the city of Milano in northern Italy during the fifteenth century,” Patzer explained adding it was originally known as Tony’s bread or Pan de Tonio, a name which evolved into the panettone we enjoy today.

Patzer, author of Bloodstone Castle and Heinrich the Fowler, said the bread is traditionally given away as a gift by Italians at Christmas time.

Panettone
3 1/4 cups bread flour (divided)
1/4 cup each golden raisins
1/4 cup candied mixed peel
1/4 cup milk
3 eggs, beaten
2 egg yolks, beaten
1/2 cup softened butter
1 tsp anise extract
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp fresh grated orange peel
1 tsp fress grated lemon peel
2 tsp yeast

Mix 1 tbsp of the flour with raisins, candied peel and citron. Add milk, eggs, butter, vanilla, sugar, salt, orange and lemon peels in bread machine pan or proceed as per manufacturers instructions.

Turn on machine and set to normal/basic bread setting, choosing light colour setting if possible. Sprinkle reserved fruit mixture into machine when fruit alarm sounds or just as second kneading is ending. Makes one 1 1/2 lb. loaf.

(If candied mixed peel is not something your family likes, this bread tastes just as good with only the raisins.)

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Love Letter - Mary Wollstonecraft to William Godwin

Mary Wollstonecraft was the mother of Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein. She fell deeply in love with William Godwin, an English journalist, political philosopher and novelist. By November, 1796, Mary became pregnant with their only child, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. She died two weeks after their daughter's birth. Godwin raised Mary surrounded by philosophers and poets, such as Coleridge and Lamb. He also taught Mary to read and spell her name by having her trace her mother's inscription on the stone.







October 4, 1796

I would have liked to have dined with you today, after finishing your essay - that my eyes, and lips, I do not exactly mean my voice, might have told you that they had raised you in my esteem. What a cold word! I would say love, if you will promise not to dispute about its propriety, when I want to express an increasing affection, founded on a more intimate acquaintance with your heart and understanding.

I shall cork up all my kindness - yet the fine volatile essence may fly off in my walk - you know not how much tenderness for you may escape in a voluptuous sigh, should the air, as is often the case, give a pleasurable movement to the sensations, that have been clustering round my heart, as I read this morning - reminding myself, every now and then, that the writer loved me.

Voluptuous is often expressive of a meaning I do not now intend to give, I would describe one of those moments, when the senses are exactly tuned by the ringing tenderness of the heart and according reason entices you to live in the present moment, regardless of the past or future - it is not rapture - it is sublime tranquility.

I have felt it in your arms - hush! Let not the light see, I was going to say hear it - these confessions should only be uttered - you know where, when the curtains are up - and all the world shut out - Ah me!

I wish I may find you at home when I carry this letter to drop it in the box, - that I may drop a kiss with it into your heart, to be embalmed, till me meet, closer.


(Mary Wollstonecraft, Anglo-Irish feminist and writer, to William Godwin, philosopher and writer. She was recovering from her previous passion for Gilbert Imlay, who fathered her daughter, Fanny, and then abandoned her, after which she tried to drown herself in the Thames.)

Monday, December 14, 2009

Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855)

I was born the daughter of a preacher. Along with my sisters, I was raised in a small parsonage in a Yorkshire village. When I was still a child, I lost my mother. As the eldest, I assumed the role of caring for my sisters.

Our home overlooked the village graveyard. To escape from the sight of these surroundings which continually reminded my sisters and I of the loss of our dear mother, we spent our leisure time creating stories of fantasy lands. These fantasy stories often involved our strict, religious aunt. Later in a poem, I wrote: "We wove a web in childhood, a web of sunny air."

After various efforts as schoolmistresses and governesses, my sisters and I began to write. Soon thereafter we published a volume of poems under male names. Sadly, our books sold poorly, but this did not deter us.

I continued to write and completed several novels. On became an instant success and sold very well upon its release in 1854.

The novel continues to be popular today and is recognized as one of the classics of English literature for its originality and strength of writing.

I married my father's curate, but after a short, though happy married life, I died in childbirth in 1855.

Charlotte Bronte

21 April 1816 – 31 March 1855

Novelist and Poet



The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed.



EVENING SOLACE Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855)

The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;--
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back--a faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie!

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress--
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven
Seeking a life and world to come.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Murano Glass

There are few things in this world as beautiful as Murano glass, an art steeped in history, centuries old. No one knows the exact date when the art of glass blowing in Murano began, but it is thought that it started in the 9th century. Murano’s reputation as a centre for glassmaking came to life when the Venetian Republic, fearing fire and destruction to the city’s mostly wooden buildings, ordered glassmakers to move their foundries to Murano in 1291.

Murano's glassmakers were soon the island’s most prominent citizens. They grew in social status as well as in wealth. By the 14th century, glassmakers were allowed to wear swords, they enjoyed immunity from prosecution by the Venetian state, and were able to marry their daughters to Venice’s most affluent sons. Because glassmakers were so highly valued, they were forbidden from leaving the Republic. Nevertheless, many took this risk, setting up glass furnaces in surrounding cities and as far afield as England and the Netherlands.

By the end of the 16th century, three thousand of Murano island's seven thousand inhabitants were involved in some way in the glassmaking industry.

Murano’s glassmakers held a monopoly on quality glassmaking for centuries, developing or refining many technologies including crystalline glass, enamelled glass (smalto), glass with threads of gold (aventurine), multicoloured glass (millefiori), milk glass (lattimo), and imitation gemstones made of glass. Today, the artisans of Murano are still employing these century-old techniques, crafting everything from contemporary art glass and glass figurines to Murano glass chandeliers and wine stoppers.

Today, Murano is home to a numerous factories. A vast array of glass objects are sent enmasse all over the world.

The Museo Vetrario or Glass Museum in the Palazzo Giustinian, which holds displays on the history of glassmaking as well as glass samples ranging from Egyptian times through the present day.

The process of making Murano glass is rather complex. Most Murano glass art is made using the lampworking technique. The glass is made from silica which becomes liquid at high temperatures. As the glass passes from a liquid to a solid state, there is an interval when the glass is soft before it hardens completely. This is when the glass-master can shape the material.

Some of the Murano's historical glass factories remain today as well known brands, amongst them Venini, Barovier & Toso, Pauly, Millevetri and Seguso. The oldest glass factory is Antica Vetreria Fratelli Toso, founded in 1854.

Enjoy this video. It's a beautiful sampling of Venice, its glass artisans, factories, museums, and lovely products.



This post has been remixed from a Wikipedia article.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Italian Christmas Traditions and History

For a real treat, I would like to invite you to visit the website of my good friend, author Diane Hales. She wrote the bestselling book, La Bella Lingua. Hers is an amazing story - an American with no Italian roots who fully immersed herself in the culture and the language. Step by step, she became Italian.

This month, she is blogging about Italian Christmas traditions. The articles so far have been informative and beautifully written. Please take the time to stop by. I promise, you will be truly surprised. What a wonderful gift. Thanks Diane, for taking the time to research such wonderful topics.

Here is the link

Becoming Italian Word by Word

Enjoy your visit

Friday, December 11, 2009

Love Letters - Pietro Bembo to Lucrezia Borgia

Lucrezia Borgia was the daughter of the Spanish Cardinal, Rodrigo Borgia, who later became Pope Alexander VI. Much scandal regarding incest and murder surrounds her. She entered into a passionate affair with Pietro Bembo, (1470-1547), a respected poet and scholar who became a Cardinal in the Vatican who became enraptured by her.


Born of an aristocratic Venetian family, Pietro Bembo wrote many adoring poems to Lucrezia, and they carried on a long correspondence that continued well after they parted. Theirs was an affair of great affection and respect.

Venice
October 18, 1503

Eight days have passed since I parted from f.f., and already it is as though I had been eight years away from her, although I can avow that not one hour has passed without her memory which has become such a close companion to my thoughts that now more than ever is it the food and sustenance of my soul; and if it should endure like this a few days more, as seems it must, I truly believe it will in every way have assumed the office of my soul, and I shall then live and thrive on the memory of her as do other men upon their souls, and I shall have no life but in this single thought. Let the God who so decrees do as he will, so long as in exchange I may have as much a part of her as shall suffice to prove the gospel of our affinity is founded on true prophecy. Often I find myself recalling, and with what ease, certain words spoken to me, some on the balcony with the moon as witness, others at that window I shall always look upon so gladly, with all the many endearing and gracious acts I have seen my gentle lady perform--for all are dancing about my heart with a tenderness so wondrous that they inflame me with a strong desire to beg her to test the quality of my love. For I shall never rest content until I am certain she knows what she is able to enact in me and how great and strong is the fire that her great worth has kindled in my breast. The flame of true love is a mighty force, and most of all when two equally matched wills in two exalted minds contend to see which loves the most, each striving to give yet more vital proof...It would be the greatest delight for me to see just two lines in f.f.'s hand, yet I dare not ask so much. May your Ladyship beseech her to perform whatever you feel is best for me. With my heart I kiss your Ladyship's hand, since I cannot with my lips.


Thursday, December 10, 2009

Aradia (1313 - Unknown)

I was born beneath a full moon in Tuscany on August 13, 1313, a date clearly chosen for magical reasons. August 13 was a feast day of the ancient Italian goddess, Diana. My father was a widower with four grown children from a previous marriage when he married my mother.

My mother had many miscarriages. Being a pious woman, she purchased numerous masses said on her behalf that she might have a child. She vowed in her heart that any child born living would grow up to be a priest or nun.

Supposedly, after one night of much fasting and prayer, my mother became ravenous. Having finished her vigil, she gathered and ate some walnuts from a tree in Benevento. Shortly thereafter, she discovered she was pregnant. She gave birth to me at the full moon.

Though my mother adored me, her only thought was one day I should become a nun, a dedicated bride of Christ. Yet one day, while looking from my window, I spied a nest of baby birds chirping loudly for their mama and papa. I asked, "Mama, one day I hope to have a nest full of babies like that mama bird."

My mother firmly said, "No!" and explained, "You, my child, are promised to become a bride of Christ. There is no higher calling."

I stamped my foot and declared I had made no such promise. At that point, my mother became so angry she gave me a cuff. I blinked back my tears and said boldly that on no account would I ever be a nun. My mother was very angry.

I fled and appealed to my father. My father, however, had already paid two handsome dowries for his two daughters from the previous marriage. He had no desire to pay for a third. He told me he had only enough money to pay for the lesser dowry that the church took--and that I should be content with the life of a nun if that was what my mother desired.

I did not like what my father said. I declared to both my parents haughtily that I hoped to be married like others, dowry or none. "Mind your tongue unless you want to be locked in your room," my father ordered. To which I replied, "Whether you lock me up or beat me, I will still find some way to escape. You will not make me a nun against my will."

My father was not pleased with my haughtiness. However, at hearing this proclamation, my mother was seriously frightened, for she knew my spirit. She feared force might eventually push her precious maiden into the arms of some rake, ruining me and causing a great scandal.

Turning it all over, my mother thought of an elder cousin, though some say aunt, related to my father through marriage and now a widow. She was a woman well known for her wit, learning, and somber virtue. "Such a governess," my mother thought, "will induce my daughter to become pious and fill her head with devotions."

Eventually, I sought the aid of a priest who might intercede on my behalf with my parents on the subject of becoming a nun. Instead, he admonished me for my sin of disobedience to my parents and then rambled on about the parable of the foolish virgins. In the end, he instructed me to pray for guidance.

In the meantime, my parents appointed her as my governess and she became my constant companion. The lady did not encourage me to become a nun or vex me with pieties. Though I was reminded to say my prayers, I was largely instructed in practical pursuits such as weaving, sewing, spinning, dying cloth, the making of candles and soap, the names of plants and herbs, etc., which might be useful in either a convent or household.

One night when the moon was full and round, I thought I heard my elder cousin's voice speaking or singing softly to someone. By the open window, I spied my kinswoman kneeling in the moonlight, apparently praying, but praying no Latin prayer of the Church.

Much later, when we were alone, I confronted my governess, who first denied everything. At last, she promised to explain all if I would vow secrecy.
"I, like you," she explained, "was brought up to worship an invisible god with contrition and prayers. Yet why give adoration to a god, his son, and their martyrs, who never appear nor give any comfort in this world of misery? There is the Moon, visible in all her splendor and you should worship her. She is the Great Diana, the goddess of the Moon, and she will grant your prayers. Invoke and praise her. If you, too, desire to learn this sorcery, I will teach you the old ways and how to worship Diana."

I converted to the worship of the Moon. My governess required me to learn many charms and conjurations before she would teach me the conjuration to bring admirable suitors. I invoked the Moon, requesting young men of stations suitable to my father.
My mother was distraught that a parade of unknown men suddenly showed an interest in her virgin child. She sent my governess away. She complained bitterly to my father that I was willful and wanton. Angrily, he shut me away in a tower used for storage, with nothing but a stone floor to sleep on. "You will remain in the tower until you become sensible and accept vows to be a nun," he commanded.

I prayed with tears to the full moon for deliverance, and a great storm came up. During the storm, I escaped, for the house shook with wind and the door to my chamber opened. Some say Diana threw a spear of lightning at the tower. Others say a lamp fell over, setting a tapestry aflame. The fire burned a large portion of the house including the tower where they kept me. My father and mother thought I had perished in the flames and they mourned my death.

I hurried away through the night, not knowing where to go. After the storm passed, a brutish fellow spied me and followed me with the intent of doing me harm. Seeing I was followed, I started to run, but tripped on my dress and fell. I looked up at the moon between the clouds and said, "I have no one to defend me. Diana, you alone see me. Therefore I pray to thee!"

A cloud passed over the moon and a white shadow appeared and said, "Rise and go thy way to the safety of my wood. This one shall trouble thee no more." Under the cover of darkness, I ran toward a group of trees. As I reached the shadows of the trees, the moon came out from behind the cloud. I turned and saw the form of my attacker standing still as stone under the cold moon. I hurried on through the woods.
I walked much that night. I rested by an open field until the next evening.
There, when I was alone and without companion, I sat far from human habitation. As fireflies danced over the open field, the moon arose. The fireflies slowly faded away. From the moonlight, there appeared moon white shining ones, thousands of faeries as beautiful as the light of the moon.

"What are you?" I asked the shining ones.

"We are the children of Diana. We are children of the moon," they replied.
"You are lovely," I said.

"You are like us, because you were born when the moon was round and full. For those born under a full moon are children of the moon."

The voice of Diana said to me, "It is true indeed that you, a spirit, are, but you were born to be yet again a mortal. You must go to earth and become a teacher to women and men who seek to learn witchcraft."

Later, I came to a small vineyard and house, with a face crudely carved in a tree stump outside it. There I traded my costly dress for food and the clothes of a peasant.

In my time, many peasants and serfs lived as slaves. In those days, many slaves were cruelly treated. In every palace tortures. In every castle prisoners.
Many oppressed escaped. They fled to the country, to the wood of Diana. Thus, they became thieves and desperate folk. Some had robbed their masters and slew them as they slept, so they dwelt in the forests and mountains as robbers and assassins, all to avoid oppression. They had escaped into the hills and the forest. These people gathered into outlaw bands, living like gypsies and thieves in order to survive.

Dressed as a common woman, I sought them out. I lived with them for a time, practicing my healing craft. They hid me near Nemi, an ancient site for the worship of Diana. In ancient times, a runaway slave, if he were brave, strong and desperate enough, could seek asylum at the grove of Nemi.

In the wood, I heard the plight of these people. The great lords, wicked masters who abused them, evilly treated many, casting them from their homes during a poor harvest. Virtuous girls used as playthings were outcasts as ruined. One girl, Margherita, was branded on the cheek for having an affair with a nobleman's son. After this lord's son refused a pre-arranged marriage, Margherita bore the lord's wrath. Convicted of sorcery for giving her lover a spiced wine philtre, the court, at the lord's insistence, decreed Margherita's nose be cut off if she returned to the area. Some suffered persecution from the Church, ejecting them from the district of the parish, because they kept to the old ways. From those who kept the old ways, I learned as much as I could about the follettos, fauni, sylvani, monachettos, linchettos, and any enchantments I did not yet know. Among these outlaws, I came to know the good women of Diana who believed and professed they had ridden at night upon certain beasts with a hoard of women and Diana, the goddess of the pagans, all in the service of their mistress.

I had such a passion for witchcraft, and became so powerful, that I could no longer hide my greatness. But the lords, who disliked the large band of assassins and thieves, sought us out. One day, while I gathered herbs before dawn, soldiers of the nobility came upon the band. Everyone scattered.

I obtained a pilgrim's dress that I might hide in the open as a pious pilgrim, wandering between Christian shrines--but in truth I sought the old places of power, some of which the Church had built upon. I traveled everywhere. When I slept in people's homes, I would give them charms or perform healings.

To those who wanted to learn the truth of sorcery, I taught its secrets. I taught them to bless and to curse, to cure diseases, to make a good vintage and fine wine, to cool a fever, to stop blood, to make those who are ugly beautiful, to know the secrets of herbs, to know the secrets of hands, to divine the wind, to divine with cards, to tame wild beasts, to converse with spirits, to conjure the spirits of priests who died leaving hidden treasures, to call tempests with lightning, thunder, hail and wind.

I had been taught to work all witchcraft, how to destroy those men of evil, those oppressors. At a well, two young children were drawing water. The older, a young girl, gave me a drink and invited me to their home. Their mother, the mistress of the house, was abed, because her feet and legs pained her greatly. I applied goose grease to the woman's aching limbs, rubbing the flesh vigorously. Such was the power of my healing that the woman rose, walked, and prepared a supper in gratitude.
At another household where I stayed, horrendous nightmares plagued a little girl, Lucia, daughter of the cook. Lucia had grown ill from lack of sleep. The cook said, "It has been such since her father died. She says the things in the dark frighten her."

I gathered a fresh branch of rue before dawn. In private, I prepared a wreath of rue, bound with ribbons of yellow and red. In the evening, I brought it to Lucia, who lay in bed. I said, "Look through this garland and see with clear sight. When you dream, you will see with clear sight that which frightens you and you will see it cannot harm you." I sang the child a song of power, a song of night, which soothes sleep. I hung the garland over the bed and the child slept peacefully.

A maiden complained to me that her betrothed had abandoned her to court a wealthy widow. Tearfully, she asked me if there was any way she might cause him to return to her. I said, "Perhaps, he never loved thee."

"No," replied the maiden, "look, he gave me a lock of his hair as a love token."
I sat at the maiden's spinning wheel. I took soft, white, carded wool and began to spin, fashioning a thread beautiful as moonlight. I handed the maiden the spool of thread I had spun. "Bind his lock of hair with yours using this thread and bring to him cakes of honey. He will forget this widow and return to thee."

There was a man who owned a small vineyard. Strangers knew him for his kindness, even if his harvest had been poor. His household received me as a wandering pilgrim. As payment, I went out to the vineyard taking a horn of wine. I drank from the horn, murmuring softly in the light of the slender, crescent, waxing moon. Later, this old man had an abundant harvest of grapes, which yielded a good vintage.
I became known as La Bella Pellegrina, the beautiful pilgrim, so renowned for my beauty, and wisdom, and healing arts. Some said I was an angel or a saint. To have La Bella Pellegrina abide in your home was a blessing, for it was known folk had sometimes entertained angels unaware.

Those I taught in secret called me La Maestra, the teacher. Eventually it seems tales of La Bella Pellegrina reached the ears of my mother, who was now a widow. She sought out authorities and had them arrest me as a wayward daughter.

She greeted me joyfully in prison, claiming God had sent a blessing by restoring her beautiful child alive and returning her as a holy pilgrim. She then asked if I was at last ready to embrace her true vocation as a nun.

I responded stiffly, "It is not possible for me to be a nun. I have left the Catholic Church, and become a worshipper of the Moon. I have no mother, except Diana."

"In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Church, what are you saying?" exclaimed my mother.

"Your God, his son, and the Church are three devils!" I answered.
Thus, my pious mother gave me up as lost and abandoned me to be put to the torture and death as a heretic.

I prayed at the window by the light of the full moon to Diana that I might be delivered. In the morning, I was not found in my cell. No one will ever know how I escaped. It is as though I evaporated with the moon's dew.
Later, south of Rome, I was captured again and a lover aided me so I might pray again in the light of the moon.

While she imprisoned in the dungeon of the palace, a great storm came up. A terrible tempest, which overthrew and swept away everyone in it, all the evil overlords. There was not one stone left upon another.

After that, no one knows what happened to me. Some believe I died there. Others say I escaped alive and traveled North, where I was worshipped as a goddess and lived to a great age. The legend of my existence lives on to this day.