Free A Private History of Happiness by George Myerson Page A

have echoed on the wooden stairs as she climbed up to the bedchamber for the first time. They had brought some sheets and blankets, so she “made up the beds on the floor.” She did not want to go back to the camp.
    The next good thing was that her friend Polly arrived to keep her company. She was the daughter of Mrs. Reid, a neighbor who had been hospitably giving the White family tea for the past weeks.
    Nothing was quite ready in the home, and Tryphena White recorded how the chimney, so crucial for the house, “is to be, for it is not built yet.” Not only was the carpenter’s table still downstairs, but so was the carpenter himself. She also pointed out the “loose rough boards,” and there was nowhere to cook inside yet.
    Yet as she took stock of this improvised beginning of her new life, she experienced a fierce surge of happiness, which she preserved with the declaration that “we feel as proud of our house, as inconvenient as it is, as ever any person did of the most elegant house in the world.” She was happy to be one of the White family, with their resilience and their optimism, as they made their new start in this settlement that was still young in itself. It was the middle of the summer, and finally they were home.

Together Again, At Last
    Du Fu, poet, writing a poem
    QIANG VILLAGE, CHINA • CA. 758 CE
    The sunset reddens o’er the lofty peak.
    The sun steps down the level plain to seek.
    The sparrows twitter on the wicker door
    Home! yet so many miles have left me weak.
    My wife and children start to see me here.
    Surprise scarce vanquished wipes a furtive tear:
    To think that swept by anarchy away
    Yet Chance returns me to each bosom dear.

    One of the most celebrated Chinese poets, Du Fu was born in 712 CE, during the long rule of the Tang dynasty. The world he grew up in was relatively stable, but during his lifetime this fabric became torn. This deeply personal passage from a little poem records a moment of joy from these dangerous and difficult years.
    Despite his immense gifts, Du Fu failed the civil service examination that gave access to official careers. His last—and failed—attempt was in 747, and so he never really prospered under the rigid rules of the time. In the early 750s he married and had a family. After that, he developed a uniquely personal approach to poetry, writing about ordinary life and the troubles and pleasures of common people.
    Meanwhile, the empire became less secure as the hitherto invincible Tang armies were defeated by foreign powers along the threatened borders, and an internal revolt became the full-scale An Lushan rebellion in 755. The emperor had to flee the capital at Chang’an. Du Fu, too, fled northwards with his family. At one point, his wife and children carried on, but he was unable to follow. He was captured by the rebels and was returned to the capital, where he became trapped.Eventually he escaped and traveled alone down the long road to the emperor’s court at Fengxiang.
    He had been separated from his family for a long time, and when the court granted him a family visit, he walked two hundred miles to try and find them. He had survived all the loneliness and worry. And now there was this moment of returning home—he had found his family at last. It was like a miracle to see his loved ones in the huge turmoil that had gripped the country.
    This poem was written after Du Fu’s reunion with his family in around 758 at the village of Qiang. The moment was defined by the light of sunset. The war-torn land he had crossed was redeemed on this evening. The perspective stretched, like the image of memory, all the way to the horizon under a reddening sky. Over there was the big world that—for now—he had left behind.
    Ahead of him was home. His gaze rested on small things—a wicker door, and sparrows chirping. This small scale moved him because he had been stranded in a world of vast spaces and impersonal distances. Now he had returned to the life he