My weather machinae are saying that it's 34° again; one of these days it may drop below freezing. Poor new housemate, G., who had been living in sunny Texas and warm California, told me yesterday morning, his voice replete with horror, that we were to be in the 20s this morning; I did tell him that such predictions, here in Eugene, prove wrong much more than half of the time.
I had not planned to make the trip downtown for Holy Mass today but almost changed my mind, since I missed the livestream from Paris. Almost. I'm afraid the absence of the obligation enabled me to justify not catching the bus. After having returned from my spatiamentum and the shopping, I won't go out again today, more than likely, except for the evening walk.
Since the other day, the 23rd, if I have that right, was the feast of Blessed Severinus Boethius, I'm going to take the liberty of noting that part of Dr Eleanor Parker's weekly letter concerning the turning of his De Consolatione Philosophiae into English during the reign of Alfred the Great. (The gracious historian's blog is A Clerk of Oxford; if I've understood correctly at Twitter she is concentrating on her other work these days so isn't posting at the blog as often as is sometimes the case.) So far as I can tell, this is the second part of the sixth chapter (but am not sure if that is what the division is properly called) of Book IV, ll 35 sqq in the Loeb edition.
Lady Philosophy, Boethius' counsellor as he languishes miserably in prison, is reminding him that although to human eyes this world may appear to be a place of distress, pain, and chaos, that's a mistake of our limited and partial perspective: in fact the universe is under the rule of the ultimate Good, who directs the course of the stars, sets the bounds of the sea, and guides the cycle of the seasons.
By the king's command - each year it happens -earth brings forth every kind of offspring,and the hot summer, for the sons of men,each year readies and driesseeds and crops across the wide earth;harvest bears them, ripe, into the handsof those who dwell in this world. After that rainand hail and snow moisten the earthin the wintertide, harsh weather.So the earth receives all seeds,guides them to grow every year;in the spring the leaf sprouts up.And the merciful Measurer, for the children of mennourishes all that grows upon the earth,generously brings forth fruits into the world,conceals them when he wishes, Ruler of the heavens,and reveals them again to earth-dwellers,takes them when he wishes, Saviour God.And that highest Good sits on the high-seat,the King himself, and this vast creationgoverns and controls. From there he wieldsthe reins of this created world.That is no wonder: he is God of armies,King and Lord of every living thing,spring and source of all creation,craftsman and creator of this world,wisdom and law of earth-dwellers.Every created thing from here he sendson his errands, and summons them back again.
The basic idea of this is taken from the Latin source, but it's adapted into the idiom of Anglo-Saxon poetry. The passage on the season is expanded to more than double the length of the equivalent lines in the Latin.... Another little example: the Latin poem briefly mentions winter rain-- but the Anglo-Saxon poet never existed who could see the word 'winter' without adding references to snow and hail and weder unhiore, 'harsh weather'!