Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Carmina (-50)

  Minister uetuli puer Falerni inger mi calices amariores, ut lex Postumiae iubet magistrae ebriosa acina ebriosioris. at uos quo lubet hinc abite, lymphae, 5 uini pernicies, et ad seueros migrate. hic merus est Thyonianus. XXVIII Pisonis comites, cohors inanis, aptis sarcinulis et expeditis, Verani optime tuque mi Fabulle, quid rerum geritis? satisne cum isto uappa frigoraque et famem tulistis? 5 ecquidnam in tabulis patet lucelli expensum, ut mihi, qui meum secutus praetorem refero datum lucello. o Memmi, bene me ac diu supinum tota ista trabe lentus irrumasti. 10 sed, quantum uideo, pari fuistis casu: nam nihilo minore uerpa farti estis. pete nobiles amicos. at uobis mala multa di deaeque dent, opprobria Romulei Remique. 15 XXIX Quis hoc potest uidere, quis potest pati, nisi impudicus et uorax et aleo, Mamurram habere quod Comata Gallia habebat uncti et ultima Britannia? cinaede Romule haec uidebis et feres? 5 et ille nunc superbus et superfluens perambulabit omnium cubilia, ut albulus columbus aut Adoneus? cinaede Romule haec uidebis et feres? es impudicus et uorax et aleo. 10 eone nomine, imperator unice, fuisti in ultima occidentis insula, ut ista uostra diffututa mentula ducenties comesset aut trecenties? quid est alid sinistra liberalitas? 15 parum expatrauit an parum elluatus est? paterna prima lancinata sunt bona; secunda praeda Pontica, inde tertia Hibera, quam scit amnis aurifer Tagus. [+]hunc Gallie timet et Britannie.[+] 20 quid hunc malum fouetis? aut quid hic potest nisi uncta deuorare patrimonia? eone nomine [+]urbis opulentissime[+] socer generque, perdidistis omnia? XXX Alfene immemor atque unanimis false sodalibus iam te nil miseret, dure, tui dulcis amiculi? iam me prodere, iam non dubitas fallere, perfide? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . nec facta impia fallacum hominum caelicolis placent. quae tu neglegis ac me miserum deseris in malis. 5 eheu quid faciant, dice, homines cuiue habeant fidem? certe tute iubebas animam tradere, inique, me inducens in amorem, quasi tuta omnia mi forent. idem nunc retrahis te ac tua dicta omnia factaque uentos irrita ferre ac nebulas aereas sinis. 10 si tu oblitus es, at di meminerunt, meminit Fides, quae te ut paeniteat postmodo facti faciet tui. XXXI Paene insularum, Sirmio, insularumque ocelle, quascumque in liquentibus stagnis marique uasto fert uterque Neptunus; quam te libenter quamque laetus inuiso, uix mi ipse credens Thuniam atque Bithunos 5 liquisse campos et uidere te in tuto. o quid solutis est beatius curis? cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino labore fessi uenimus larem ad nostrum, desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 10 hoc est quod unum est pro laboribus tantis. salue o uenusta Sirmio atque hero gaude; gaudete uosque o Lydiae lacus undae; ridete quidquid est domi cachinnorum. XXXII Amabo, mea dulcis Ipsithilla, meae deliciae, mei lepores, iube ad te ueniam meridiatum. et si iusseris, illud adiuuato, ne quis liminis obseret tabellam, 5 neu tibi lubeat foras abire, sed domi maneas paresque nobis nouem continuas fututiones. uerum si quid ages statim iubeto: nam pransus iaceo et satur supinus 10 pertundo tunicamque palliumque. XXXIII

• From Trash (1988)

  Shirley spooned butter beans onto another plate and pursed her lips at Mattie. “Nothing.” Mattie filled her mouth with rice so she wouldn’t have to talk. “You got a lot in that face for nothing to say. Mabel Moseley told me she saw you out behind the mill talking to that Gibson boy day before yesterday. She said you were shaking your ass and swinging your hair like some kind of harlot.” Mattie scooped up more rice and stuffed her mouth so that her cheeks bulged out. She looked at her mother steadily, seeing for the first time not only the thin lips but also the corded neck muscles, and the high red spots on the cheeks. She is ugly, Mattie thought. Seriously ugly. Shirley frowned. Something was going on, and she did not understand it. Mattie let her eyes wander up to her mother’s pupils, the hard hazel color that reflected her own. You are ugly and old, she thought to herself. Her teeth went on chewing steadily. Her eyes did not blink. “Now, now.” Tucker pushed his plate forward out of his way. “You know Mabel Moseley an’t quite right in her head. Mattie Lee’s a good girl.” “She’s trash. She’s nothing but trash, and you know it.” Calmly, Shirley set the full plate in front of her youngest and started to fill another for herself. “Don’t matter what I do. I can’t make nothing out of these brats. Seems like they’re all bound to grow up to be trash.” Tucker closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m tired,” he whispered. “I’m gonna lay me down for a while.” “An’t no food gonna be kept warm for you.” “Don’t want it no way.” Mattie spooned more rice, and chewed slowly. She watched her mother watch her father as he walked away, shuffling his feet on the floorboards. There were wide gaps between most of the floorboards, and Shirley was always stuffing them with one thing or another. What would it be like, Mattie wondered, to live in a house with dirt floors? “You know that union man?” she heard herself say, and her heart seemed to pause briefly in shock. Her mama was looking at her again. Shirley’s mouth was hanging open. Past her shoulder, Bo had stopped in the doorway, wiping his hands on his shirtfront. “Union?” “Trade union.” Mattie filled her fork again and then looked right past her mama to Bo. “You think we ought to sign up?” “You’ve gone crazy.” Shirley dropped the spoon into the beans. “You’ve gone absolutely white-eyed crazy. There an’t no union in the mill. There an’t gonna be no union in the mill.

• From Trash (1988)

  Her eyes shrank to little dots and her mouth became a cup of sorrow. I pushed myself up. “You bastard!” I staggered forward and he backed up, rocking on his little silver heels. “You goddamned gutless son of a bitch!” His eyes kept moving from my face to Shannon’s wilting figure. “You think you so pretty? You ugly sack of shit! You shit-faced turd-eating . . .” “SHANNON PEARL!” Mrs. Pearl was coming round the tent. “You girls . . .” She gathered Shannon up in her arms. “Where have you been?” The man backed further away. I breathed through my mouth, though I no longer felt so sick. I felt angry and helpless and I was trying hard not to start crying. Mrs. Pearl clucked between her teeth and stroked Shannon’s limp hair. “What have you been doing?” Shannon moaned and buried her face in her mama’s dress. Mrs. Pearl turned to me. “What were you saying?” Her eyes glittered in the arc lights from the front of the tent. I wiped my mouth again and said nothing. Mrs. Pearl looked to the man in the purple shirt. The confusion on her face seemed to melt and quickly became a blur of excitement and interest. “I hope they weren’t bothering you,” she told him. “Don’t you go on next?” “Uh, yeah.” He looked like he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t take his eyes off Shannon. He shook himself. “You Mrs. Pearl?” “Why, that’s right.” Mrs. Pearl’s face was glowing. “I’d heard about you. I just never met your daughter before.” Mrs. Pearl seemed to shiver all over but then catch herself. Pressed to her mama’s stomach, Shannon began to wail. “Shannon, what are you going on for?” She pushed her daughter away from her side and pulled out a blue embroidered handkerchief to wipe her face. “I think we all kind of surprised each other.” The man stepped forward and gave Mrs. Pearl a slow smile, but his eyes kept wandering back to Shannon. I wiped my mouth again and stopped myself from spitting. Mrs. Pearl went on wiping her daughter’s face but looking up into the man’s eyes. “I love it when you sing,” she said and half giggled. Shannon pulled away from her and stared up at them both. The hate in her face was terrible. For a moment I loved her with all my heart. “Well,” the man said. He rocked from one boot to the other. “Well ...” I reached for Shannon’s hand. She slapped mine away. Her face was blazing. I felt as if a great fire was burning close to me, using up all the oxygen, making me pant to catch my breath. I laced the fingers of my hands together and tilted my head back to look up at the stars. If there was a God, then there would be justice.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  time if you’d rather — Oh, be careful, you’ll break her! Now you've pulled off a button! I do think you might play more like Ido!’ And then Violet knitted, or said that she knitted — Stephen had never seen anything but knots. ‘ Can’t you knit? ’ she would say, looking scornfully at Stephen, ‘I can — Mother called me a dear little housewife!’ Then Stephen would lose her temper and speak rudely: ‘ You’re a dear little sop, that’s what you are! ’ For hours she must play stupid doll-games with Violet, because Roger would not always play real games in the garden. He hated to be beaten, yet how could she help it? Could she help throwing straighter than Roger? They had nothing whatever in common, these children, but the Antrims were neighbours, and even Sir Philip, indulgent though he was, insisted that Stephen should have friends of her own age to play with. He had spoken quite sharply on several occasions when the child had pleaded to be allowed to stay at home. Indeed he spoke sharply that very day at luncheon: ‘Eat your pudding please, Stephen; come now, finish it quickly! If all this fuss is about the little Antrims, then Father won't have it, it’s ridiculous, darling.’ So Stephen had hastily swallowed her pudding, and escaped upstairs to the nursery. 2 Tue Antrms lived half a mile from Ledbury, on the other side of the hills. It was quite a long drive to their house from Morton — Stephen was driven over in the dog-cart. She sat beside Williams in gloomy silence, with the collar of her coat turned up to her ears. She was filled with a sense of bitter injustice; why should they insist on this stupid expedition? Even her father had been cross at luncheon because she preferred to stay at home with him. Why should she be forced to know other children? They didn’t want her nor she them. And above all the Antrims! That idiotic Violet — Violet who was learning to ride side-saddle — and Roger strutting about in his Etons, and bragging, always bragging because he was a boy — and their mother who was quite sure to 48 THE WELL OF LONELINESS patronize Stephen, because being grown-up made her put on a manner. Stephen could hear her infuriating voice, the voice she reserved for children ‘Ah, here you are, Stephen! Now then, little people, run along and have a good feed in the schoolroom. There’s plenty of cake; I knew Stephen was coming; we all know Stephen’s capacity for cake! ’

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And Stephen as she sat there and smoked in silence, thought grimly: ‘ This is all being said because of me. Brockett wants to let me see that he knows what I am, and he wants to let Valérie Seymour know too — I suppose this is making me welcome.’ She hardly knew whether to feel outraged or relieved that here, at least, was no need for pretences. But after a while she began to fancy that Valérie’s eyes had become appraising. They were weighing her up and secretly approving the result, she fancied. A slow anger possessed her. Valérie Seymour was secretly approving, not because her guest was a decent human being with a will to work, with a well- trained brain, with what might some day become a fine talent, but rather because she was seeing before her all the outward stigmata of the abnormal — verily the wounds of One nailed to a cross — that was why Valérie sat there approving. And then, as though these bitter thoughts had reached her, Valérie suddenly smiled at Stephen. Turning her back on the chattering Brockett, she started to talk to her guest quite gravely about her work, about books in general, about life in general; and as she did so Stephen began to understand better the charm that many had found in this woman; a charm that lay less in physical attraction than in a great courtesy and understanding, THE WELL OF LONELINESS 281 a great will to please, a great impulse towards beauty in all its forms — yes, therein lay her charm. And as they talked on it dawned upon Stephen that here was no mere libertine in love’s garden, but rather a creature born out of her epoch, a pagan chained to an age that was Christian, one who would surely say with Pierre Louïs: ‘Le monde moderne succombe sous un en- vahissement de laideur.’ And she thought that she discerned in those luminous eyes, the pale yet ardent light of the fanatic. Presently Valérie Seymour asked her how long she would be remaining in Paris. And Stephen answered: ‘I’m going to live here,’ feeling surprised at the words as she said them, for not until now had she made this decision. Valérie seemed pleased: ‘ If you want a house, I know of one in the Rue Jacob; it’s a tumbledown place, but it’s got a fine garden. Why not go and see it? You might go to-morrow. Of course you'll have to live on this side, the Rive Gauche is the only possible Paris. “I should like to see the old house,’ said Stephen.

• From Trash (1988)

  I wrote to release indignation and refuse humiliation, to admit fault and to glorify the people I loved who were never celebrated. I wrote to celebrate. I wrote to take a little revenge, and sometimes to make clear that revenge was not what I was doing. Always, I tried not to use the flat metallic language of politics and preaching, but sometimes I knew no other way to frame what I had to say. I wrote to give back to others who had given to me—sometimes reflexively. I would write particular stories in response to those I read. I began to write about incest only after reading Toni Morrison’s novel The Bluest Eye . That book felt like a slap on the back from my mother’s hand, as if a trusted, powerful voice were telling me, You know something about incest—something you fear, but had best start figuring out. I began to figure things out in story. I wrote “Mama” to talk about how deeply intertwined love and resentment can be in a family in which violence and sexual abuse are the norm. “River of Names” was an attempt to stop being ashamed of running away from the lives my cousins were living—and, bluntly, it was a slap in the face of all the women I knew who seemed unable to imagine lives different from their own. Some stories I wrote in apology, but I cannot say the writing was ever simple or straightforward. Even as I tried to apologize on the page I was aiming at an audience who I imagined recoiling at the facts and people I portrayed. I published “Don’t Tell Me You Don’t Know” before I told my mother I would be unable to have children, though that is the subject of the story. Only much later did I begin to think about what it would have felt like for her to read that story, my heartbroken mother who wanted nothing so much as the grandchildren I could not give her. Some stories were about trying to figure things out, to understand what had happened and why. “Mama,” “Gospel Song,” “Lupus,” “A Lesbian Appetite,” and “I’m Working on My Charm”—all those began with a mystery. Sometimes the mystery was simply how to tell the story at all. How do you write about lust with a sense of humor? Shame? Lesbian desire? Some of these stories are easily ascribed to rage. “Monkeybites,” “River of Names,” “Her Thighs,” “Muscles of the Mind,” “Demon Lover,” “Steal Away,” “Violence Against Women Begins at Home”—all of them began with me walking back and forth in front of my desk in the dark of night. Sometimes it was a person that had filled me with outrage, but sometimes it was someone else’s story. I had to figure it out. I did it on the page. Reading these stories again, I go back to the time in which they were written.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Gentlemen, you can see the sort of state he left me in, sneaking off from the inn as he did, after gambling away everything he possessed! But with God’s help and your own, I can say that I’ve salvaged something at least, and I shall always be grateful to you for your timely assistance.’ Angiulieri gave them an opposite version of what had happened, but they refused to listen. So Fortarrigo, with the help of the peasants, dragged Angiulieri from his palfrey to the ground, stripped the clothes off his back, and put them on himself. Then he mounted the horse, and leaving Angiulieri barefoot and naked except for his shirt, he made his way back to Siena, informing everyone he met that he had won Angiulieri’s palfrey and clothes as the result of a wager. Thus, instead of presenting himself as a rich man before the cardinal in the Marches, as he had intended, Angiulieri returned penniless to Buonconvento in his shirt. Nor, for the time being, did he have the courage to return to Siena, but having borrowed a suit of clothes, he mounted the jade on which Fortarrigo had been riding, and made his way to Corsignano, where he stayed with relatives until his father came once more to his assistance. Although Fortarrigo’s cunning upset the well-laid plans of Angiulieri on this occasion, he did not go unpunished, for Angiulieri paid him back later, when a suitable time and place presented themselves. FIFTH STORYCalandrino falls in love with a young woman, and Bruno provides him with a magic scroll, with which he no sooner touches her than she goes off with him. But on being discovered with the girl by his wife, he finds himself in very serious trouble. Neifile’s story was of no great length, and when it drew to a close it was passed off by the company without much laughter or comment. The queen now turned to Fiammetta, ordering her to follow. Fiammetta gaily replied that she would do so with pleasure, and began: Noble ladies, as you will doubtless be aware, the more one returns to any given subject, the greater the pleasure it brings, provided the person by whom it is broached selects the appropriate time and place. And since we are assembled here for no other purpose than to rejoice and be merry, I consider this a suitable time and a proper place for any subject that will promote our joy and pleasure; for even if it had been aired a thousand times already, we could return to it as many times again, and it would still afford delight to us all.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Next morning up came Bruno and Buffalmacco, who had painted all their flesh under their clothes with livid blotches, such as beatings use to make, and entering the physician's house, found him already arisen. Accordingly they went in to him and found the whole place full of stench, for that they had not yet been able so to clean everything that it should not stink there. Master Simone, seeing them enter, came to meet them and bade God give them good day; whereto the two rogues, as they had agreed beforehand, replied with an angry air, saying, 'That say we not to you; nay, rather, we pray God give you so many ill years that you may die a dog's death, as the most disloyal man and the vilest traitor alive; for it was no thanks to you that, whereas we studied to do you pleasure and worship, we were not slain like dogs. As it is, thanks to your disloyalty, we have gotten so many buffets this past night that an ass would go to Rome for less, without reckoning that we have gone in danger of being expelled the company into which we had taken order for having you received. An you believe us not, look at our bodies and see how they have fared.' Then, opening their clothes in front, they showed him, by an uncertain light, their breasts all painted and covered them up again in haste. The physician would have excused himself and told of his mishaps and how and where he had been cast; but Buffalmacco said, 'Would he had thrown you off the bridge into the Arno! Why did you call on God and the Saints? Were you not forewarned of this?' 'By God His faith,' replied the physician, 'I did it not.' 'How?' cried Buffalmacco. 'You did not call on them? Egad, you did it again and again; for our messenger told us that you shook like a reed and knew not where you were. Marry, for the nonce you have befooled us finely; but never again shall any one serve us thus, and we will yet do you such honour thereof as you merit.' The physician fell to craving pardon and conjuring them for God's sake not to dishonour him and studied to appease them with the best words he could command. And if aforetime he had entreated them with honour, from that time forth he honoured them yet more and made much of them, entertaining them with banquets and otherwhat, for fear lest they should publish his shame. Thus, then, as you have heard, is sense taught to whoso hath learned no great store thereof at Bologna." THE TENTH STORY [Day the Eighth] A CERTAIN WOMAN OF SICILY ARTFULLY DESPOILETH A MERCHANT OF THAT WHICH HE HAD BROUGHT TO PALERMO; BUT HE, MAKING BELIEVE TO HAVE RETURNED THITHER WITH MUCH GREATER PLENTY OF MERCHANDISE THAN BEFORE, BORROWETH MONEY OF HER AND LEAVETH HER WATER AND TOW IN PAYMENT

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  He began to speak very quietly again: ‘Stephen, if I stay I’m going to fight you. Do you understand? We’ll fight this thing out until one of us has to admit that he’s beaten. I’ll do all in my power to take Mary from you—all that’s honourable, that is—for I mean to play straight, because whatever you may think I’m your friend, only, you see—I love Mary Llewellyn.’ And now she struck back. She said rather slowly, watching his sensitive face as she did so: ‘You seem to have thought it all out very well, but then of course, our friendship has given you time . . .’ He flinched and she smiled, knowing how she could wound: ‘Perhaps,’ she went on, ‘you’ll tell me your plans. Supposing you win, do I give the wedding? Is Mary to marry you from my house, or would that be a grave social disadvantage? And supposing she should want to leave me quite soon for love of you—where would you take her, Martin? To your aunt’s for respectability’s sake?’ ‘Don’t, Stephen!’ ‘But why not? I’ve a right to know because, you see, I also love Mary, I also consider her reputation. Yes, I think on the whole we’ll discuss your plans.’ ‘She’d always be welcome at my aunt’s,’ he said firmly. ‘And you’ll take her there if she runs away to you? One never knows what may happen, does one? You say that she cares for you already . . .’ His eyes hardened: ‘If Mary will have me, Stephen, I shall take her first to my aunt’s house in Passy.’ ‘And then?’ she mocked. ‘I shall marry her from there.’ ‘And then?’ ‘I shall take her back to my home.’ ‘To Canada—I see—a safe distance of course.’ He held out his hand: ‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t! It’s so horrible somehow—be merciful, Stephen.’ She laughed bitterly: ‘Why should I be merciful to you? Isn’t it enough that I accept your challenge, that I offer you the freedom of my house, that I don’t turn you out and forbid you to come here? Come by all means, whenever you like. You may even repeat our conversation to Mary; I shall not do so, but don’t let that stop you if you think you may possibly gain some advantage.’ He shook his head: ‘No, I shan’t repeat it.’ ‘Oh, well, that must be as you think best. I propose to behave as though nothing had happened—and now I must get along with my work.’ He hesitated: ‘Won’t you shake hands?’ ‘Of course,’ she smiled; ‘aren’t you my very good friend? But you know, you really must leave me now, Martin.’ 3 After he had gone she lit a cigarette; the action was purely automatic. She felt strangely excited yet strangely numb—a most curious synthesis of sensations; then she suddenly felt deathly sick and giddy.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘By the cross of God, daughter, we ought to do no such thing; on the contrary, this loathsome, ungrateful cur ought to be put to death. You were far too good for him in the first place. God in Heaven, you’d think he had picked you up out of the gutter! To hell with this small-time trader in horse manure, let him take his foul slander elsewhere! These country yokels, they move into town after serving as cut-throat to some petty rustic tyrant, and wander about the streets in rags and tatters, their trousers all askew, with a quill sticking out2 from their backsides, and no sooner do they get a few pence in their pockets than they want the daughters of noble gentlemen and fine ladies for their wives. And they devise a coat of arms for themselves, and go about saying: “I belong to such-and-such a family” and “My people did so-and-so”. If only my sons had followed my advice! They could easily have married you into the finest family in Florence, with no more than a hunk of bread for a dowry, instead of which they had to give you to this perfect jewel of a man, who has the impudence, when he’s married to the most chaste and respectable girl in the city, to wake us up in the middle of the night and call you a strumpet, as if we didn’t know you. God’s faith! if I had anything to do with it, he’d be given such a thrashing that he’d smart for the rest of his days.’ Then, turning to her sons, she said: ‘Didn’t I tell you all along that it couldn’t be true? Have you heard how your poor sister is treated by this precious brother-in-law of yours? He’s a tuppenny-ha’penny pedlar, that’s what he is! If I were in your place, after hearing what he’s said about her and what he’s done to her, I’d never rest content till I’d scourged him from the face of the earth. And if I were a man, and not a woman, I wouldn’t allow anyone to stop me. God punish the drunken villain! He ought to be ashamed of himself!’ Angered by what they had seen and heard, the young men turned on Arriguccio and called him all the names under the sun; and by way of conclusion, they said: ‘We’ll let you off lightly this time, seeing that you’ve had too much to drink. But as you value your life, take care never to disturb us again with your nonsensical stories, because if we hear any more from you, you can rest assured we shall pay you out twice over.’ And with this dire warning they departed.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Shortly before daybreak, the King, who had taken an instant liking to the girl and was now feeling better, called her to mind, and resolved, despite the lateness of the hour, to go and spend some time in her company; so he quietly made his way to La Cuba with one of his retainers. On entering the building, he went straight to the room where he knew the girl to be sleeping and got the servants to open the door without making a sound. Preceded by a huge, blazing torch,6 he walked into the room, only to discover, on looking at the bed, that Gianni and the girl were lying there asleep and naked in one another’s arms. This spectacle rendered him speechless with horror and distress, and he was so enraged that he could scarcely forbear from drawing a dagger from his belt and killing them where they lay. But on reflecting that it would be a most cowardly deed for any man, let alone a king, to kill two people lying naked and asleep, he held himself in check, and resolved instead to have them publicly burnt at the stake. Turning to the single companion who was with him, he said: ‘What think you of this shameless hussy, in whom I once reposed my hopes?’ He then inquired of his companion whether he could recognize this young man, who had had the impudence to come and perpetrate such an outrage on the King in his own house, and the man replied that he could not recall having ever set eyes on the youth. So the King stormed out of the room, and ordered that the two lovers, naked as they were, should be seized and tied up; and as soon as daylight came, they were to be brought to the main square in Palermo and bound, back to back, to a stake, there to remain till the hour of tierce, so that they could be seen by the whole of the populace, after which they were to be burnt alive in accordance with their deserts. These instructions given, he returned to Palermo and retired in high dudgeon to his room. As soon as the King had left, several men burst in on the two lovers, and not only woke them up, but swiftly seized and bound them without any pity. As may readily be imagined, on seeing what was happening to them the two young people were greatly alarmed, and, fearing they would be put to death, they burst into tears and bitterly reproached themselves. In accordance with the King’s command, they were taken to Palermo and tied to a stake in the square; and before their eyes faggots were stacked in readiness for them to be burnt alive at the hour the King had decreed.

• From Trash (1988)

  None of them had told me that story. I had been grown and out of the house before one of the Greenwood cousins had told it so I understood, and as much as I’d hated him then, I’d raged at them more. “You let him live?” I’d screamed at them. “He did that to her and you did nothing! You did nothing to him, nothing for her.” “What’d you want us to do?” My Aunt Grace had laughed at me. “You want us to cut him up and feed him to the river? What good would that have done her or her children?” She’d shaken her head, and they had all stared at me as if I were still a child and didn’t understand the way the world was. The cold had gone through me then, as if the river were running up from my bowels. I’d felt my hands curl up and reach, but there was nothing to reach for. I’d taken hold of myself, my insides, and tried desperately to voice the terror that was tearing at me. “But to leave her with him after he did that, to just let it stand, to let him get away with it.” I’d reached and reached, trying to get to them, to make them feel the wave moving up and through me. “It’s like all of it, all you let them get away with.” “Them?” My mama had watched my face as if afraid of what she might find there. “Who do you mean? And what do you think we could do?” I couldn’t say it. I’d stared into Mama’s face, and looked from her to all of them, to those wide, sturdy cheekbones, those high, proud eyebrows, those set and terrible mouths. I had always thought of them as mountains, mountains that everything conspired to grind but never actually broke. The women of my family were all I had ever believed in. What was I if they were not what I had shaped them in my own mind? All I had known was that I had to get away from them—all of them—the men who could do those terrible things and the women who would let it happen to you. I’d never forgiven any of them. It might have been more than three months since I had talked to Mama on the telephone. It had been far longer than that since I had been able to really talk to any of them. The deepest part of me didn’t believe that I would ever be able to do so. I dropped my eyes and pulled myself away from Aunt Alma’s steady gaze. I wanted to reach for her, touch her, maybe cry with her, if she’d let me. “People will hurt you more with pity than with hate,” she’d always told me. “I can hate back, or laugh at them, but goddamn the son of a bitch that hands me pity.”

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  As a means of motivating people to be cruel or inhumane—as a means of inciting evil, to borrow the vocabulary of the devout—there may be no more potent force than religion. When the subject of religiously inspired bloodshed comes up, many Americans immediately think of Islamic fundamentalism, which is to be expected in the wake of the September 11 attacks on New York and Washington. But men have been committing heinous acts in the name of God ever since mankind began believing in deities, and extremists exist within all religions. Muhammad is not the only prophet whose words have been used to sanction barbarism; history has not lacked for Christians, Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, and even Buddhists who have been motivated by scripture to butcher innocents. Plenty of these religious extremists have been homegrown, corn-fed Americans. Faith-based violence was present long before Osama bin Laden, and it will be with us long after his demise. Religious zealots like bin Laden, David Koresh, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara, * and Dan Lafferty are common to every age, just as zealots of other stripes are. In any human endeavor, some fraction of its practitioners will be motivated to pursue that activity with such concentrated focus and unalloyed passion that it will consume them utterly. One has to look no further than individuals who feel compelled to devote their lives to becoming concert pianists, say, or climbing Mount Everest. For some, the province of the extreme holds an allure that’s irresistible. And a certain percentage of such fanatics will inevitably fixate on matters of the spirit. The zealot may be outwardly motivated by the anticipation of a great reward at the other end—wealth, fame, eternal salvation—but the real recompense is probably the obsession itself. This is no less true for the religious fanatic than for the fanatical pianist or fanatical mountain climber. As a result of his (or her) infatuation, existence overflows with purpose. Ambiguity vanishes from the fanatic’s worldview; a narcissistic sense of self-assurance displaces all doubt. A delicious rage quickens his pulse, fueled by the sins and shortcomings of lesser mortals, who are soiling the world wherever he looks. His perspective narrows until the last remnants of proportion are shed from his life. Through immoderation, he experiences something akin to rapture. Although the far territory of the extreme can exert an intoxicating pull on susceptible individuals of all bents, extremism seems to be especially prevalent among those inclined by temperament or upbringing toward religious pursuits. Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial component of spiritual devotion. And when religious fanaticism supplants ratiocination, all bets are suddenly off. Anything can happen. Absolutely anything. Common sense is no match for the voice of God—as the actions of Dan Lafferty vividly attest. It is the aim of this book to cast some light on Lafferty and his ilk.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But most of all he nagged about Stephen, because this as he knew, irritated his wife: ‘How’s your freak getting on? I haven’t seen her just lately; have you quarrelled or what? Damned good thing if you have. She’s appalling; never saw such a girl in my life; comes swaggering round here with her legs in breeches. Why can’t she ride like an ordinary woman? Good Lord, it’s enough to make any man see red; that sort of thing wants putting down at birth, I’d like to institute state lethal chambers!’ Or perhaps he would take quite another tack and complain that recently he had been neglected. ‘Late for every damned meal—running round with that girl—you don’t care what happens to me any more. A lot you care about my indigestion! I’ve got to eat any old thing these days from cow-hide to bricks. Well, you listen to me, that’s not what I pay for; get that into your head! I pay for good meals to be served on time; on time, do you hear? And I expect my wife to be in her rightful place at my table to see that the omelette’s properly prepared. What’s the matter with you that you can’t go along and make it yourself? When we were first married you always made my omelettes yourself. I won’t eat yellow froth with a few strings of parsley in it—it reminds me of the dog when he’s sick, it’s disgusting! And I won’t go on talking about it either, the next time it happens I’ll sack the cook. Damn it all, you were glad enough of my help when I found you practically starving in New York—but now you’re for ever racing off with that girl. It’s all this damned animal’s fault that you met her!’ He would kick out sideways at the terrified Tony, who had lately been made to stand proxy for Stephen. But worst of all was it when Ralph started weeping, because, as he said, his wife did not love him any more, and because, as he did not always say, he felt ill with his painful, chronic dyspepsia. One day he must make feeble love through his tears: ‘Angela, come here—put your arms around me—come and sit on my knee the way you used to. His wet eyes looked dejected yet rather greedy: ‘Put your arms around me, as though you cared—’ He was always insistent when most ineffectual. That night he appeared in his best silk pyjamas—the pink ones that made his complexion look sallow. He climbed into bed with the sly expression that Angela hated—it was so pornographic. ‘Well, old girl, don’t forget that you’ve got a man about the house; you haven’t forgotten it, have you?’

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  She steadied herself and leaving the room and the house, went and fetched her car from the stables. She drove to the telegraph office at Upton: “Come back, I must see you at once,’ she wired, taking great care to prepay the reply, lest Angela should find an excuse for not answering. The clerk counted the words with her stump of a pencil, then she looked at Stephen rather strangely. 2 THE NEXT morning came Angela’s frigid answer: ‘ Coming home Monday fortnight not one day sooner please no more wires Ralph very much upset.’ Stephen tore the thing into a hundred fragments and then hurled it away. She was suddenlv shaking all over with uncon- trollable anger. THE WELL OF LONELINESS 197 3 RicHT up to the moment of Angela’s return that hot anger sup- ported Stephen. It was like a flame that leapt through her veins, a flame that consumed and yet stimulated, so that she purposely fanned the fire from a sense of self preservation. Then came the actual day of arrival. Angela must be in London by now, she would certainly have travelled by the night express. She would catch the 12.47 to Malvern and then motor to Upton — it was nearly twelve. It was afternoon. At 3.17 Angela’s train would arrive at Great Malvern — it had arrived now —in about twenty minutes she would drive past the very gates of Mor- ton. Half-past four. Angela must have got home; she was probably having tea in the parlour — in the little oak parlour with its piping bullfinch whose cage always stood near the casement window. A long time ago, a lifetime ago, Stephen had blundered into that parlour, and Tony had barked, and the bullfinch had piped a sentimental old German tune — but that was surely a lifetime ago. Five o’clock. Violet Antrim had obviously lied; she had lied on purpose to torment Stephen — Angela and Roger — it couldn’t be; Violet had lied because she liked to torment. A quarter past five. What was Angela doing now? She was near, just a few miles away — perhaps she was ill, as she had not written; yes, that must be it, of course Angela was ill. The persistent, aching hunger of the eyes. Anger, what was it? A folly, a delusion, a weakness that crumbled before that hunger. And Angela was only a few miles away. She went up to her room and unlocked a drawer from which she took the little white case. Then she slipped the case into her jacket pocket. 4 Sue found Angela helping her maid to unpack; they appeared to be all but snowed under by masses of soft, inadequate garments. The bedroom smelt strongly of Angela’s scent, which was heavy, yet slightly pungent. 198 THE WELL OF LONELINESS She glanced up from a tumbled heap of silk stockings: ‘ Hallo, Stephen! ’ Her greeting was casually friendly.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Their accession was not in Christian style, but after the manner of genuine Turkish, oriental despotism; it trod upon the corpses of the numerous kindred of their father, excepting two nephews, Gallus and Julian, who were saved only by sickness and youth from the fury of the soldiers. Three years later followed a war of the brothers for the sole supremacy. Constantine II. was slain by Constans (340), who was in turn murdered by a barbarian field officer and rival, Magnentius (350). After the defeat and the suicide of Magnentius, Constantius, who had hitherto reigned in the East, became sole emperor, and maintained himself through many storms until his natural death (353–361). The sons of Constantine did their Christian education little honor, and departed from their father’s wise policy of toleration. Constantius, a temperate and chaste, but jealous, vain, and weak prince, entirely under the control of eunuchs, women, and bishops, entered upon a violent suppression of the heathen religion, pillaged and destroyed many temples, gave the booty to the church, or to his eunuch, flatterers, and worthless favorites, and prohibited, under penalty of death, all sacrifices and worship of images in Rome, Alexandria, and Athens, though the prohibition could not be carried out. Hosts now came over to Christianity, though, of course, for the most part with the lips only, not with the heart. But this emperor proceeded with the same intolerance against the adherents of the Nicene orthodoxy, and punished them with confiscation and banishment. His brothers supported Athanasius, but he himself was a fanatical Arian. In fact, he meddled in all the affairs of the church, which was convulsed during his reign with doctrinal controversy. He summoned a multitude of councils, in Gaul, in Italy, in Illyricum, and in Asia; aspired to the renown of a theologian; and was fond of being called bishop of bishops, though, like his father, he postponed baptism till shortly before his death. There were there, it is true, who justified this violent suppression of idolatry, by reference to the extermination of the Canaanites under Joshua.56 But intelligent church teachers, like Athanasius, Hosius, and Hilary, gave their voice for toleration, though even they mean particularly toleration for orthodoxy, for the sake of which they themselves had been deposed and banished by the Arian power. Athanasius says, for example: "Satan, because there is no truth in him, breaks in with axe and sword. But the Saviour is gentle, and forces no one, to whom he comes, but knocks and speaks to the soul: Open to me, my sister?57 If we open to him, he enters; but if we will not, he departs. For the truth is not preached by sword and dungeon, by the might of an army, but by persuasion and exhortation. How can there be persuasion where fear of the emperor is uppermost?

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Ignoring the summons, Rygge appointed Repyngdon, another of Wyclif’s supporters, to preach, and when Peter Stokys, "a professor of the sacred page," armed with a letter from the archbishop, attempted to silence him, the students and tutors at Oxford threatened the Carmelite with their drawn swords. But Courtenay would permit no trifling and, summoning Rygge and the proctors to Lambeth, made them promise on their knees to take the action indicated. Parliament supported the primate. The new preaching was suppressed, but Wyclif stood undaunted. He sent a Complaint of 4 articles to the king and parliament, in which he pleaded for the supremacy of English law in matters of ecclesiastical property, for the liberty for the friars to abandon the rules of their orders and follow the rule of Christ, and for the view that on the Lord’s table the real bread and wine are present, and not merely the accidents.569 The court was no longer ready to support the Reformer, and Richard II. sent peremptory orders to Rygge to suppress the new teachings. Courtenay himself went to Oxford, and there is some authority for the view that Wyclif again met the prelate face to face at St. Frideswides. Rigid inquisition was made for copies of the condemned teacher’s writings and those of Hereford. Wyclif was inhibited from preaching, and retired to his rectory at Lutterworth. Hereford, Repyngdon, Aston and Bedeman, his supporters, recanted. The whole party received a staggering blow and with it liberty of teaching at Oxford.570 Confined to Lutterworth, Wyclif continued his labors on the translation of the Bible, and sent forth polemic tracts, including the Cruciata,571 a vigorous condemnation of the crusade which the bishop of Norwich, Henry de Spenser, was preparing in support of Urban VI. against the Avignon pope, Clement VII. The warlike prelate had already shown his military gifts during the Peasants’ Uprising. Urban had promised plenary indulgence for a year to all joining the army. Mass was said and sermons preached in the churches of England, and large sums collected for the enterprise. The indulgence extended to the dead as well as to the living. Wyclif declared the crusade an expedition for worldly mastery, and pronounced the indulgence "an abomination of desolation in the holy place." Spenser’s army reached the Continent, but the expedition was a failure. The most important of Wyclif’s theological treatises, the Trialogus, was written in this period. It lays down the principle that, where the Bible and the Church do not agree, we must obey the Bible, and, where conscience and human authority are in conflict, we must follow conscience.572 Two years before his death, Wyclif received a paralytic stroke which maimed but did not completely disable him. It is possible that he received a citation to appear before the pope.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Accordingly, they fared on and came, after some days, to Antioch, where Giosefo kept Melisso with him, that he might rest himself a day or two, and being scurvily enough received of his wife, he bade her prepare supper according as Melisso should ordain; whereof the latter, seeing that it was his friend's pleasure, acquitted himself in a few words. The lady, as her usance had been in the past, did not as Melisso had ordained, but well nigh altogether the contrary; which Giosefo seeing, he was vexed and said, 'Was it not told thee on what wise thou shouldst prepare the supper?' The lady, turning round haughtily, answered, 'What meaneth this? Good lack, why dost thou not sup, an thou have a mind to sup? An if it were told me otherwise, it seemed good to me to do thus. If it please thee, so be it; if not, leave it be.' Melisso marvelled at the lady's answer and blamed her exceedingly; whilst Giosefo, hearing this, said, 'Wife, thou art still what thou wast wont to be; but, trust me, I will make thee change thy fashion.' Then turning to Melisso, 'Friend,' said he, 'we shall soon see what manner of counsel was Solomon's; but I prithee let it not irk thee to stand to see it and hold that which I shall do for a sport. And that thou mayest not hinder me, bethink thee of the answer the muleteer made us, when we pitied his mule.' Quoth Melisso, 'I am in thy house, where I purpose not to depart from thy good pleasure.' Giosefo then took a round stick, made of a young oak, and repaired a chamber, whither the lady, having arisen from table for despite, had betaken herself, grumbling; then, laying hold of her by the hair, he threw her down at his feet and proceeded to give her a sore beating with the stick. The lady at first cried out and after fell to threats; but, seeing that Giosefo for all that stinted not and being by this time all bruised, she began to cry him mercy for God's sake and besought him not to kill her, declaring that she would never more depart from his pleasure. Nevertheless, he held not his hand; nay, he continued to baste her more furiously than ever on all her seams, belabouring her amain now on the ribs, now on the haunches and now about the shoulder, nor stinted till he was weary and there was not a place left unbruised on the good lady's back. This done, he returned to his friend and said to him, 'To-morrow we shall see what will be the issue of the counsel to go to Goosebridge.' Then, after he had rested awhile and they had washed their hands, he supped with Melisso and in due season they betook themselves to bed.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Perceiving that he had been duped, the scholar, whose teeth were chattering so vigorously that he seemed to have been turned into a stork,3 tried the door several times to see whether it would open, and searched all round the courtyard for some other way out. But finding none, he paced to and fro like a lion in a cage, cursing the severity of the weather, the perfidy of the lady, the inordinate length of the night, and his own stupidity. So indignant did he feel about the way he had been treated by the lady that his fervent and longstanding love was transformed into savage and bitter hatred, and his mind dwelt on various elaborate schemes for securing his revenge, which he now desired far more ardently than he had formerly yearned to hold her in his arms. It seemed to him that the night would never end, but eventually the dawn began to appear, and the maidservant, following the instructions of her mistress, came down to open the courtyard gate. Pretending to be very sorry for him, she said: ‘A curse on that brother of hers for coming here yesterday evening. He’s kept us in suspense the entire night, and frozen you to the marrow. But you know how it is! Don’t be disheartened, try again some other night, and perhaps you’ll have better luck. My mistress is heartbroken that this should have happened, she really is.’ Though seething with indignation, the scholar was wise enough to know that menaces simply forearm the person who is threatened, and so, swallowing all the resentment that was striving within him for an outlet, he said to her in a quiet voice, without betraying the slightest hint of his anger: ‘To be honest, it was the worst night I have ever spent, but I could see that the lady was in no way to blame, for she was so concerned about me that she came down in person to apologize and offer me her sympathy. And as you say, perhaps I shall have better luck some other night. So fare you well, and commend me to your mistress.’ Paralysed in every limb and every joint, he returned as best he could to his own house, where, feeling utterly exhausted, he flung himself on to his bed and fell fast asleep. Some time later, he woke up to find that he could scarcely move his arms or his legs, and having sent for physicians and told them about the chilling he had suffered, he placed himself under their care.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Tofano, on the other hand, told them, like an ass as he was, how the case stood and threatened her sore; but she said to the neighbours, 'Look you now what a man he is! What would you say, were I in the street, as he is, and he in the house, as am I? By God His faith, I doubt me you would believe he said sooth. By this you may judge of his wits; he saith I have done just what methinketh he hath himself done. He thought to fear me by casting I know not what into the well; but would God he had cast himself there in good sooth and drowned himself, so he might have well watered the wine which he hath drunken to excess.' The neighbours, both men and women, all fell to blaming Tofano, holding him at fault, and chid him for that which he said against the lady; and in a short time the report was so noised abroad from neighbour to neighbour that it reached the ears of the lady's kinsfolk, who came thither and hearing the thing from one and another of the neighbours, took Tofano and gave him such a drubbing that they broke every bone in his body. Then, entering the house, they took the lady's gear and carried her off home with them, threatening Tofano with worse. The latter, finding himself in ill case and seeing that his jealousy had brought him to a sorry pass, for that he still loved his wife heartily,[351] procured certain friends to intercede for him and so wrought that he made his peace with the lady and had her home again with him, promising her that he would never be jealous again. Moreover, he gave her leave to do her every pleasure, provided she wrought so discreetly that he should know nothing thereof; and on this wise, like a crack-brained churl as he was, he made peace after suffering damage. So long live Love and death to war and all its company!" [Footnote 351: Lit. wished her all his weal.] THE FIFTH STORY [Day the Seventh] A JEALOUS HUSBAND, IN THE GUISE OF A PRIEST, CONFESSETH HIS WIFE, WHO GIVETH HIM TO BELIEVE THAT SHE LOVETH A PRIEST, WHO COMETH TO HER EVERY NIGHT; AND WHILST THE HUSBAND SECRETLY KEEPETH WATCH AT THE DOOR FOR THE LATTER, THE LADY BRINGETH IN A LOVER OF HERS BY THE ROOF AND LIETH WITH HIM