The deacons of the Wu family who held the white paper post of the word "cite", with a long coat of black cloth and a belt made of a long and wide section of white cloth around their waists, shuttled under the scorching sun as if they had just gone from the main gate to the front of the large living room that serves as a spiritual hall, and then rushed back to the door of the dog to "cite" the new mourners - all of them were tired and sweaty. They had just walked from the main entrance to the big living room, which served as a spiritual hall, and then rushed back to the entrance of the dog to "lead" in new mourners - all of them sweating profusely. Before half past ten o'clock, the eight people in this class could sometimes sit on their asses for a minute or two on the wooden bench next to the "drummers" at the main entrance, lift up the white cloth belt around their waists to wipe the sweat from their faces, and then use the white paper posting with the word "引" in place of a fan to take a breath and complain about Wu San Lao's "引". I took a breath and complained that Master Wu San did not want to use more people, but when the sun shone directly overhead, the hangers arrived like a tidal wave, and the two groups of drummers in front of the main entrance and the funeral hall blew and played as if they were not replacing their air, so that this group of deacons "guiding" the way had become a running machine, and I didn't have time to even complain about Master Wu San. They didn't even have time to think about complaining about Master Wu San. At most, they occasionally looked at the six deacons waiting in front of the funeral hall and secretly envied their good luck. The car horns, the flutes, suona, and gongs, the mixture of "mournful music," the crowd of policemen shouting, "Pour tea somewhere, turn on the soda somewhere," the quarrels at the payroll office, the yells of the policemen and detectives at the main gate, the spicy smell of cigarettes, the smell of sweat on people's bodies, the smell of the cigarettes, the smell of the cigars, the smell of the cigars, the smell of the cigarettes, the smell of the cigarettes, the smell of the cigars, the smell of the cigars, the smell of the cigars. The spicy smell of cigarettes and the stench of sweat on people's bodies all combined to form a single piece that filled the various halls and rooms of the Wu Mansion as well as the garden, which covered an area of eight or nine acres. (Mao Dun: Ziyou, p. 31)
During the ceremony, I felt a sense of panic, a sense of foreboding about the future, and I couldn't stand up. Finally, the body was put into a coffin and nailed up. Then the mourners put the coffin on the bier and left. I only accompanied them down one street. When we got there, the driver suddenly drove the cart at a fast pace, and the old man ran after the bier - crying loudly, but the running motion made the cries shaky and intermittent. It was intermittent. Then his hat fell off, and the poor old man did not stop to pick it up, though the rain was beating on his head, and the wind was blowing, and the snow and rain stung and struck him in the face. He ran from one side of the bier to the other, as if he did not know the cruelty of it-the sides of his old coat blew like a pair of wings in the wind. Every pocket of his coat was bulging with books, and under his arm he carried a particularly large book, which he clutched tightly to his chest. As the funeral procession passed by, the passers-by took off their hats and made crosses on their chests, and some of them stood gazing in astonishment at the old man of pity. From time to time a book slipped out of his pocket and fell into the sludge, so when someone called out to him, telling him to watch out for his book, he stood still, picked it up, and ran off to follow the bier. At the corner of the street a ragged old woman followed him, and at last he ran until the bier turned the corner and I lost my eyesight. ([Russian] Dostoevsky: The Poor>> pp. 64-65)
Karat's wife must not leave her husband alone in the grave. And the unfortunate woman herself did not want to live alone. It was custom as well as duty, and such instances of martyrdom are common in New Zealand's history. Calathe's wife made her appearance. She was young. Her hair fell about her shoulders, and she bawled and choked and wailed. She cried and cried, and her voice, with its vague, living tones, its lingering eulogies, and its broken phrases, extolled the virtues of the dead, and when she had reached the extremity of her grief, she lay down at the foot of the mound, and beat her head on the ground. At that moment the bone-chewing devil came up to her. Suddenly the poor victim tried to rise again, but the chief danced the "wooden ring" in his hand - a terrible mallet - and at once drove the ground * down again. She died. ([French] Verne, Captain Grant's Children, p. 664)
He glanced at the crowd that stood around the grave, all policemen, all in civilian clothes, the same raincoats, the same black hats, umbrellas held in their hands like swords, strange wards of men, whom the wind had brought with it, whose fidelity seemed unreal. Behind them were echelons of the city band, in black and red uniforms, hastily summoned, all desperately trying to protect their golden instruments under their coats. And so they gathered around the coffin, which lay flat on its side, a wooden box, without wreaths or flowers, but the warmth of the interment in the midst of this endless rain, which splashed monotonously on the ground, always and forever. The pastor had finished reading. No one noticed. There is only rain, and one hears only the sound of rain. The pastor coughed, first once, then several times. Then the bassoons, trombones, horns, cornets, bass flutes all sounded together, proud and majestic, the instruments glittered in the rain curtain, but they also sank, dissipated, stopped. Everything retreated under umbrellas, under raincoats. The rain never stopped falling. Shoes sink into the mud, and the rainwater flows in small rivers into empty graves. ([Swiss] Dürrenmatt, The Judge and His Executioner, p. 45)
Everything had already been prepared for the funeral. The senators lowered the litter beside the pyre. Valeria went up, closed the dead man's eyelids, and, according to the custom of the time, put a copper coin into the dead man's mouth, so that he might pay Hinlung for his passage across the rough waters of the Acheron. The widow then kissed the dead man on the lips and exclaimed, according to the custom, "Farewell! We will follow you in the order that God has ordained." The musicians begin to play the music, and in the midst of the music the dedicators take a number of animals designated for sacrifice, kill them, and mix their blood with milk, honey, and wine, and then bring it to be sprinkled around the woodpile where the cremation is to take place. When this was done, the mourners began to pour perfumed oil on the woodpile, to throw all kinds of spices on it, and to pile it up with countless crowns of laurel and wreaths of flowers. The wreaths were so numerous that they not only covered the whole pile, but also piled up thickly around it. A thunderous applause rolled across the square of Mars in answer to the homage paid to the dead by the young triumphant and conquering Afrikaner marshal. A sudden burst of flame came out, which then spread rapidly. At last the whole woodpile emitted numerous winding tongues of fire, and was enveloped in a cloud of fragrant smoke. ([Italian] Giovannioli, Spartacus, p. 246)
The elderly wife of Taghodas Mukherjee died after seven days of fever. Old Mr. Mukherjee had made a fortune in the grain business. His four sons, three daughters, grandchildren, son-in-laws, relatives, friends and servants all came to the village in a festive mood. People from the village also came in droves to see this grand and honorable funeral. The daughters, weeping, applied a thick layer of rouge to their mother's feet, and a streak of vermilion to the crevices of her hair in the center part of her head. The daughters-in-law, after applying sandalwood paste on their mother-in-law's forehead and wrapping her in a precious sari, straightened their own clothes, pulled the sari over their heads low, and made the final touch of the feet to their mother-in-law. Colourful flowers, green leaves, rich sandalwood incense, garlands of all colors, and a 'clamour' that did not smell of sadness - it seemed to be the housewife of a rich family who after fifty years was once again setting out for her husband's house as a new bride. Old Mr. Mukherjee calmly bade his companion a last farewell, wiped away two tears, and began to console his daughter and daughter-in-law, who were weeping sadly. "Holli! Holli!" Muffled thunderous chants shook the sky of Qingzhan, and the people of the whole village set off with the funeral procession ...... The crematorium was on the beach by the river outside the village. The wood, sandalwood chips, ghee, honey, rosin, and Shorea resin needed to burn the bodies there ...... had already been prepared. ...... When the body was placed on the large and magnificent pyre ...... everyone called out the holy name of "Hari", and the son took the torch purified by the mantras of the Brahmin priests and lit the funeral fire. The son, carrying a torch purified by the mantras of the Brahmin priests, lit the funeral fire...... the fire in the son's hand. It was not easy to do so.J Leaving her husband, her son, her daughters, her grandchildren, her relatives, her friends, her servants - everything in this world - in the flames of the blazing fire, the old Brahmin woman ascended to heaven. ([Indian] Chatterjee: "Opaji's Paradise", Foreign Short Stories, pp. 462-463)
Good paragraph: famous writer's paragraph describing "marriage"He drew out the chopsticks wrapped in red paper that he had previously hidden in his boots. He hesitated, his hands shaking slightly. He tilted his head to look. He was a bit timid, but he also had to pluck up the courage to pick the coverlet on the bride's head, and actually picked it up and set it on the bed's eaves. A fragrance of powder came to his nose. He raised his eyes to steal a glance at the bride, his heart pounding. But he saw nothing clearly; there was only some swaying strings of beads and a pink face before his eyes, but he did not know what kind of face it was. He heard someone beside him whisper, "The bride is much taller." (Ba Jin: Autumn, p. 239)
She sat upright in a three-horse-drawn rubber-wheeled cart, wearing a red cotton jacket, green satin cotton pants underneath, new red satin embroidered shoes on her feet, and a red pompom on her head, followed by a cart with two drummers, four masters, and two matchmakers. The horse's cage head and the car owner's big whip were hung with red cloth strips. When the car entered Guo Quanhai's new home, the sky was getting dark and the sun was setting. The bride's car was parked outside the front door. The Xiaoga people all gathered around, and the women and men followed, looking at Liu Guilan, wearing a red flower on her head and a red cotton jacket, as if she had never known her before. Liu Guilan lowered her head and her face turned red. The red jacket was the fruit of the division, originally too fat, Liu Guilan spent a night's work, changed to fit perfectly, the women talked about her appearance and dress ...... (Zhou Libo: The Stormy Weather, p. 460)
Soon, Mangou saw a lot of torches in the distance, and every now and then there were the dark shadows of hands, from the dark canisters of oil, and then moved to the torches. Then moved to the torches. At the front of the wedding procession walks the largest band in the region. The two drums were covered with long strips of silk and decorated with beads and shells; the brasses of the two flutes shone with a golden light in the bright light of the torches; and the vinaigrette was very prettily adorned with dark yellow spangles. Behind the orchestra were a group of horsemen, whose heads were adorned with feathers as beautiful as the peacock's. The moustaches of the horsemen were trimmed to a fine finish. The moustaches of the horsemen were neatly trimmed, and their tips stood up proudly. Those who lagged behind struck their half-dead, skinny horses hard in the ribs with their heels, in an attempt to make them dance, or at least to raise their heads, which were always drooping and showing their displeasure at everything. A few of the riders, jabbing and kicking their well-saddled and beautifully dressed horses, which jumped and nearly fell out of the saddle, shouted a few times in an attempt to win the sympathy of the people around them. Immediately behind the horses walked four elephants, whose heads, necks, chests and limbs were attached to strings of small bells that made a pleasant sound. On the palanquin set up on the elephants' backs sat a group of beautiful country girls, shyly leaning close to each other. Their cheeks were flushed red, and the pendants under their ears shone with all the colors of the rainbow. The gusty wind blew away their shawls and headscarves, and they were walking against the wind, just like the nymphs who flew back to the heavenly palace in a hurry after meeting their lovers on earth. ...... At the end of the marriage procession were some soldiers on foot. Their clothes rustled and smelled charmingly - in this district, the one gift a soldier could give to the girls and gain their favor was perfume. ([Pakistani] Qasmi, "The Thief", A. N. Kasrai's Short Stories). (A. N. Kasmeh, Kasrai's Short Stories, pp. 0-71)
So it was Peter's big day. Peter sat in the corner at the front of the house, knowing that his brow was furrowed, feeling that it was not good, and that it would be unpleasant for the bride to look at, but unable to relax it, as if it were sewn up with a hard thread. He frowned at the guests, and shook his hair, and the serpentine was scattered on the table, and on Natalia's veil. She, too, bowed her head, and closed her eyes in fatigue, pale and frightened as a child, and trembling all over with bashfulness. "The wine is bitter1"-some red, hairy face, with protruding teeth, roared, for the twentieth time. Peter turned, like a wolf, without bending his neck, lifted his veil, and with dry lips, nose, bumped against his cheeks, feeling a satin-like coolness on her skin, and a quivering of her shoulders that bordered on fear. He pitied Nateria, and felt ashamed, but the drinkers, seated in a circle, cried out again: "The bridegroom won't do it!" "Go to the lips!" "It would be better to ask me to kiss up ......" The drunken woman's voice shrilled: "I'll kiss you1 " "The wine is bitter! " -- Barsky shouted. Peter clenched his teeth and pressed his mouth to his bride's moist lips, which trembled, and she was all white, as if she were about to melt, like a cloud in the sun. Both of them were hungry, and had not been given anything to eat since yesterday. Peter felt drunk from the panic of his mind, the strong odor of the snakeweed, and the two cups of foaming Chimurensky, and was afraid that his bride would notice. Everything around him was shaken. A group of ugly faces formed a red foam, which at one time condensed into a pile of mottled colors, and at another time dispersed everywhere. The son looked at his father with a pleading and angry expression. ([Soviet] Gorky: The Family Zai, pp. 22-23)
In order to welcome the bride, four double-coated carts were set up. Many people, salvaged as for a New Year's festival, gathered beside the cars in the courtyard of the Melekhovs. Petro sat next to Gregory. Daria sat opposite them, waving an embroidered handkerchief. Every time the car went to a low spot or a high hill, the song that was being sung stopped. The red bands of Cossack hats, blue and green uniforms and suits, sleeves knotted with white handkerchiefs, women's embroidered headscarves woven into rainbows, flowery skirts, and dust like gossamer trailing skirts fluttered behind each car. This is the procession of the bridegroom. Several cars rolled into the courtyard. Petro led Gregory up the steps, and the people who had come with him for the ceremony followed them. The door opened, and the matchmaker was Natalia's godmother, a beautiful widow, who greeted Petro with a bow and a smile on her purplish face o "Have a drink, bridesmaid, for your health." She handed over a glass of cloudy, unfermented kvass. Petro parted his beard to either side and drank it, grunting through a suppressed laughter. While the bridesmaids and matchmakers fought, as was the rule, the groom's family was toasted-three shots of vodka. Natalia was already dressed in her wedding gown and veil, and many people surrounded her at the table. Marishka held out a rolling pin in her hand, and Gripka shook a sieve for sowing seeds in an airy manner. The bride's relatives and family, who were sitting around the table, stood up and made room. Petro put the end of his handkerchief into Gregory's hand, jumped up on the bench, and led him round the table to the bride, who was sitting at the foot of the icon. Natalia's hands were sweating from the beating of her heart, and she held the other end of the handkerchief. When everyone had left the table, one of the men stooped down and sprinkled a handful of millet into Gregory's boot: this was to keep the groom from making a fool of himself. ([Soviet] Sholokhov, The Still Don, pp. 120-125)
The ceremony was conducted according to the law. The rabbi, dressed in an old satin blouse, wrote the marriage contract, and told the bride and the groom to touch his handkerchief as a sign of consent. The rabbi wiped the tip of his pen on a penny cap. A couple of doormen put up waffles (they had been called in from the street to make up the numbers), Dr. Fishelson put on a white robe, which served as a reminder of the day of his death, and Dobie walked around him seven times, as the custom dictated. The light from the braided candles shone on the wall- swinging and dark shadows. After pouring the wine into the glasses, the rabbi sang the blessing in a sad melody. Dobie gave only a yelp. The other women took out their peach handkerchiefs and held them in their hands, standing and making faces. ...... The time had come to put the wedding ring on the bride, but the groom's hands began to shake, and he had a hard time trying to put the ring on Dobie's index finger. It was customary to break a wine glass, but Dr. Fishelson kicked it several times without breaking it. The girls bowed their heads and giggled happily as they gave each other a twist. Finally one of the apprentices crushed the glass with his heel. Even the rabbi couldn't help laughing a little. ([US] Singer, "Spinoza on Market Street," Singer Short Stories, pp. 42-43)
The groom danced vigorously in the center of the room, song after song, until he was exhausted. Kadushka - how beautiful she is - is as soft as a snake. Her body was as soft as a snake; the crown of flowers on her head was loose and hung down over her face, but this was even in proportion to her beauty. Sometimes she broke away from the bridegroom's hand, shook her thighs, and began to dance before him, and at other times she whirled about like a whirlwind, so that the crown of flowers on her head whirled about with her, and the tresses of the flowers which hung down from the crown brushed against the faces of those who were near her. She spun and spun, and then suddenly went into the crowd of dancers. The bridegroom followed her, sometimes catching up with her, sometimes letting her go, jumping up like a goat, slapping his hands on his boots, and then stretching out his arms as if he wanted to embrace her, and running after her, singing as he ran: "I'm a lord in my own field, and this beauty's my tulip". From time to time he clattered the coins in his pockets, or else he took out two thalers and threw them high into the air, then caught them in his hands and threw them to some gypsy musicians. "Hey, gypsies! This is not the final reward! Do you understand?" (Mick Sartre; The Strange Marriage, pp. 261-282)
Good paragraph: famous description of "labor"By this time the people were just as they had been when they had been in the charge of the war: some had thrown off their straw hats, some their shirts, and all the scythes shone as brightly as if they had been in a war. All the scythes were shining brightly, as if the people were flying, the scythes were flying, and the wheat was flying, and a whirlwind seemed to be blowing in the wheat field of Bai Yang Suo, blowing the wheat down one by one and into bundles, and on the road from Bai Yang Suo to the village, the oxcarts, mule carts, packs, and burdens were like running water at the wide places, and like twisted ropes at the narrow places, and the wheat stacks on the threshing floor at the edge of the village were stacked one on top of the other. (Zhao Shuli: "The Old Quota" Selected Novels of Zhao Shuli, pp. 423-424)
The big carts pulling the wheat rushed out of the village, and one, two, three ...... carts rolled up a stream of yellow soot behind them. The bell ting ting, horse hooves da da, red tasseled whip cracking, driving the car people singing Hebei tune, men pinch the voice of the female voice, smile extremely ah! Soon, the car drove into the wheat field, with the members of the car, holding the rope and wooden right, one by one from the car jumped down, there is a person jumped down did not stand steadily, made a buttocks pier. The members who had just stopped their scythes automatically ran over to help move the wheat, return it to the pile and load the cart. Some used the right to pick, some with their hands, holding up the wheat to the car to throw. In a short while, each car is loaded like a small mountain, go up a few people on the upper side of the pendulum, the lower side of a few powerful young men, shouting the horn shaking the "winch pole", the small arm of the general thickness of the rope, the wheat tightly cables ...... a big car loaded, full, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high, high. Loaded full, high, with the car of the young man first pitchfork from under the car thrown up, people also climbed up, lying on the roof of the car, but also in the upper side of the roll, with the cut wheat people hip-hop jokes. The handle of the car solemnly and proudly shook the whip, along through the long set of livestock, and leaned on the car yoke, "driving oh" a yell, the big car will be with the sound, along the road back, swaying, like a full of round-grained dried rice big stewed meat of fat people. (Haoran: The Sunny Day, pp. 1194-1195)
We climbed up the embankment through the dense snow and wind and took a look, and drank! The lights shone as bright as day. It dawned on me that this must be the site of the pumping station for the Wanjin Agricultural Society. The caisson project was nearing completion, with a large pipe sucking water from the bottom of the pit like a black python, and the machine in a water pumping room made of reed mats was clanking and clattering. Many people in long rubber boots and rubber pants were working in the icy water. Steel cables in the elevated air lifted up a piece of prefabricated concrete and sent it to the bottom. The footings of the foundation wall for the pumping plant are halfway up. On the wooden springboards crisscrossing the edge of the huge pit, people carrying mud and delivering soil were busy going up and down. The electric light hanging in the air was swaying in the wind, and the snow mist was like a roll of white carpet spinning, shaking, and fluttering. (Liu Baiyu: "A Warm Snowy Night" (刘白羽: "一个温暖的雪夜")《建国以来短篇小说》上册第337页)
Levin gazed more attentively at Ivan Palminov and his wife. They were loading hay into a cart not far from him. Ivan Palminov stood on the cart, accepting, placing, and flattening the large bundles of hay, which his beautiful young wife had deftly handed to him, first in clutches and then with a pitchfork. The young farmer's wife labored calmly, cheerfully, and with agility. The compacted hay did not fit easily on her fork; she first raked it loose, stabbed it with her fork, and then, with a quick, elastic movement, pressed the weight of her whole body on it, and then immediately bending her red-belted back, she rose up, and, lifting up her full breasts under her white blouse, she turned her fork with a dexterous movement, and threw the bundles of hay high up into the air. Ivan, evidently anxious to spare her unnecessary labor, hastened to receive the bundles of hay she threw with wide-open arms, and laid them down flat on the cart. When she had raked up the last of the hay, the young peasant woman brushed away the flakes that had fallen on her neck, and straightened the red scarf that hung down to her fair forehead, which had not yet been tanned by the sun, and climbed into the cart to help with the baling. Ivan showed her how to tie the rope to the log, and when he heard her say something, he laughed aloud. The strong, young, newly awakened love is evident in the expressions of their faces. ([Russian] Leo Tolstoy: Anna Karenina, p. 402)
Beyond the poplar tree, a field of wheat stretched like a dazzling yellow carpet from the avenue to the top of the hill. The wheat on the slopes had already been cut and bundled into bunches, but the wheat fields at the foot of the hill were just being harvested. ...... Six wheat cutters stood in a row, waving their scythes, which were shining brightly, and all together they made the sound of "Fusi, fusi!" in time. The sound of "Fushi, Fushi!" was heard. From the movements of the women who bundled the wheat, from the faces of the wheat cutters, and from the glow of the scythes, we could tell that the summer heat was roasting them, making them breathless. A black dog with its tongue hanging out ran towards the wagon from the side of the mowers, probably wanting to bark for a while, but halfway there it stopped and looked indifferently at Janniska, who was shaking the whip to frighten it; it was so hot that the dog refused to bark! A peasant woman straightened up, put both hands on her aching back, and fixed her eyes on Yegorushka's red cloth shirt. Whether it was the red color of the shirt that struck 'her fancy, or whether he reminded her of her children, it is not known; in any case, she stood there, motionless, and looked at him for a long time. ...... ([Russian] Chekhov: "The Steppe," Selected Novels of Chekhov, p. 157)
The two brown horses had run northward and disappeared, but Guido knew; they would soon stop, for they were tired, while the mare might run onward to the edge of the lake-bed, back to the mountains she knew so well, where the truck could not be traced. He drove the truck straight ahead and picked up speed, and in a minute he was behind the mare. He drove to the mare's left because the foal was running on her right. He noticed that the mare was very large and wondered if she was really a mustang. He drove alongside the mare, his eyes looking at her flanks, trying to find a fire mark, but it didn't look like the mare had ever made a fire mark. Then, through his right-hand window, he saw the lasso fly out and land on the mare's head, and he also saw the mare's head go up and then back. He turned his head to the right, and, applying the brake with his left boot, he saw the mare standing still, dragging a tire, and the free foal looking at her, and walking fast beside her. So he drove straight ahead, over the flat bed of the lake, toward two black dots that expanded rapidly until they became the two brown horses that stood there silently looking at the approaching truck. He drove the truck between them, and as they galloped up, Pels, standing on the left, lassoed one, and Guy lassoed the other almost simultaneously. ([U.S.] Miller: "The Anachronist" Contemporary American Short Stories, p. 170)
Good Paragraph: Famous Paragraph Describing "Sacrifice"It was the middle of the autumn in August, and it was a night when the Milky Way was gripping the sky, the jade dews were sporadic, the flags were motionless, and the dipper was silent. The first time I saw him was when he was in the middle of the night, and he was in the middle of the night, and he was in the middle of the night. Kong Ming from the tent set incense and flowers offerings, the ground distribution of seven large lamps, outside the cloth forty-nine small lamps, the internal security of the life of a lamp. Kong Ming worship wish said: "bright born in the chaotic world, Gan old Linquan, Zhaolie Emperor's three thoughts, entrusted the weight of the orphan, do not dare not exhaust the dog's labor, vowed to discuss the country's traitors. Unexpectedly, the star was about to fall and my life was about to end. I would like to write a letter to the heavens, and I hope that the heavenly mercy, down to listen to, QuYanChen counting, so that the upper repayment of the king's grace, the lower save the people's lives, restoration of the old things, and eternal extension of the Han rituals. I do not dare to pray for it, but it is really because of my feelings." After worshiping and wishing, he bent down in the tent and waited for the day. (Luo Guanzhong: Romance of the Three Kingdoms, pp. 900-901)
The woman opened the door, and Wu Song told the soldiers to arrange for the soup and rice. To two times, arranged properly, Wu Sung pounced turned over and worshiped: "Brother's soul is not far away! You were weak when you were alive, and after you died today, you don't see the difference. If you are aggrieved and wronged, and have been victimized, dream with me, and my brother will take revenge for you." Wine poured, burned paper money, then let out a loud cry, crying that both sides of the neighborhood, all ?ti fear. The woman was also crying inside. Wu Song cried, will be soup rice wine and food and soil soldiers ate, beg two mats, told the soldiers in the door next to sleep. Wu Song put a mat and slept in front of the spirit bed. The woman went upstairs and went downstairs to sleep. (Shi Nai-an Luo Guanzhong: "Water Margin" page 320-321)
This is the end of the year ceremony in Luzhen, pay homage to all the rituals to meet the God of Fortune, and pray for good luck in the coming year. Chickens are killed, geese are slaughtered, pork is bought and washed with care, and women's arms are dipped red in the water, some with twisted silver bracelets. After cooking, inserted some chopsticks on such things, can be called "blessing ceremony", five days to display up, and light incense and candles, to invite the God of Fortune Zhu Yan main month, worship is limited to men, worship is still naturally after the firecrackers. Year after year, family after family, as long as you can afford to buy blessing gift and firecrackers and so on, - this year naturally so. (Lu Xun; "Blessings," "Wandering," p. 2)
Religious feelings, impressions of the past, symbols of reverence for old-fashioned rituals and the protection of a pure, white and unsullied Virgin Mary, shrouded it all. Built next to a small hotel, the church, with its steps strewn with leaves, opens like an eerie cove. Inside, the church was filled with incense, candles flickered in the darkness, and the four walls were hung with offerings of watermen. The fiancées of the disappeared sailors, the widows of the victims, beside amorous women, with slender black veils and small, smooth headscarves, came out of the chapel of the dead, and, with downcast eyes, passed quietly, as if it were a dark foretaste, through this worldly noise. And the sea not far from each other, the sea that is ever the great nurturer and the great destroyer of this strong class of men, stirred and clamored and took part in the pageantry ...... ([French] Rotti: The Icelandic Fisherman, p. 29)