Contentment

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

  The plaintive minor key, the gently persuasive tone of the work are adapted to attract serious souls seeking the inner chamber of religious peace and purity of thought, but especially those who are under the shadow of pain and sorrow. The praise of Christ is so unstinted, and the dependence upon him so unaffected, that one cannot help but feel, in reading this book, that he is partaking of the essence of the Gospel. The work, however, presents only one side of the Christian life. It commends humility, submission, gentleness and the passive virtues. It does not emphasize the manly virtues of courage and loyalty to the truth, nor elaborate upon Christian activities to be done to our fellow-men. To fall in completely with the spirit of Thomas à Kempis, and to abide there, would mean to follow the best cloistral ideal of the Middle Ages, or rather of the fourteenth century. Its counsels and reflections were meant primarily for those who had made the convent their home, not for the busy traffickers in the marts of the world, and in association with men of all classes. It leans to quietism, and is calculated to promote personal piety for those who dwell much alone rather than to fit men for engaging in the public battles which fall to men’s usual lot. Its admonitions are adapted to help men to bear with patience rather than to rectify the evils in the world, to be silent rather than to speak to the throng, to live well in seclusion rather than set an example of manly and womanly endeavor in the shop, on the street and in the family. The charge has been made, and not without some ground, that the Imitation of Christ sets forth a selfish type of religion.518 Its soft words are fitted to quiet the soul and bring it to meek contentment rather than to stir up the combatant virtues of courage and of assistance to others. Its message corresponds to the soft glow of the summer evening, and not to the fresh hours filled with the rays of the morning sun. This plaintive note runs through Thomas’ hymns, as may be seen from a verse taken from "The Misery of this Life" :— Most wonderful would it be If one did not feel and lament That in this world to live Is toil, affliction, pain.519 Over the pages of the book is written the word Christ. It is for this reason that Protestants cherish it as well as Catholics. The references to mediaeval errors of doctrine or practice are so rare that it requires diligent search to find them. Such as they are, they are usually erased from English editions, so that the English reader misses them entirely. Thomas introduces the merit of good works, transubstantiation, IV. 2, the doctrine of purgatory, IV. 9, and the worship of saints, I. 13, II. 9, II. 6, 59.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  On the whole, townsmen were more likely to give trouble than peasants. It was the refusal of a Londoner to hand over his child’s burial-robe, as mortuary, which led to the notorious ‘murder in the Lollard’s Tower’ in 1515, a real harbinger of the English Reformation. Yet townsmen in the later Middle Ages were not exactly anti-Church, as such. They supported an enormous number of clergy – about twenty times as many, per head of population, as today. Most of these were paid by voluntary contributions or out of endowments. A survey of urban wills shows that wealthier townsmen, at least, left a huge percentage of their property for religious purposes or charities. And the sums they contributed to the building or rebuilding of their parish churches, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were enormous. The great majority of extant English medieval churches, for instance, were rebuilt in the Perpendicular style, from about 1320 onwards – usually the naves, in contrast to the chancels, which were the responsibility of the rector. Nor did they spend their money simply on the stone fabric: parishioners installed glorious tie-beams, arch-beams, waggon-beams, coffered ceilings, angel-and-hammer beams, chancel and parclose screens, carved oak pulpits, lecterns, font-covers and pews, and reredoses and effigies of alabaster; and they presented pattens, chalices, vestments, altar-cloths, bells, crucifixes, lamps and censers in prodigious quantities, to judge only from those that have survived. It would be true to say that laymen in the towns and large villages spent more on building and adorning churches, in the later part of the Middle Ages, than the clergy. But the money was spent essentially on aspects of religion directly related to their own lives, and within a stone’s throw of their houses and workshops: on the parish church or, even more, on thousands of chantry chapels and religious guilds to which they belonged (Norwich alone had 164 guilds in 1389). It could be called a selfish form of religion; indeed, the whole trend of Christianity in these centuries – led by the clergy as a caste – was in the direction of the pursuit of eternal self-interest. Clergy used their privileges, and laity used their money (when they had it) to buy the mechanical means to salvation. The idea of the anonymous Christian community, so very powerful in earlier times, was pushed into the background. One outstanding example of this tendency was the construction, maintenance and functioning of the medieval cathedrals. There are a good many common illusions about these institutions. In the first place, they were not built by the clergy, or by the community, but by professional workmen, on a strict cash basis. This is made quite clear by surviving fabric-rolls and other documents.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I text Lauren, laughing about my confusion over Outlook, admitting that I thought he meant my general outlook for life, like look out ahead, dinner approaching. With that, his name permanently becomes “Outlook” between us. The next night he texts me late at night to see if I’m still awake, and within seconds of my responding that I am indeed awake, my phone rings. We chat about the events of our day and he expresses anxiety about the sale of the apartment in which he raised his children. I’m confused as to why he’s calling me, waiting for him to get to the point, but it seems he just wants to talk. It’s sweet, but also worrisome – is this a red flag that he is needy? The next night he doesn’t call, and the night after that he calls again. I like talking to him – he asks me a lot of questions and is empathetic and interested – but I’m concerned that maybe he doesn’t have anyone else to call. * On Saturday, Georgia and I bake six small cakes and decorate them with orange frosting, candy corn, and as many Halloween-themed sprinkles as I’ve been able to find. She dons her panda costume and I put on my annual costume of a pink tutu with a garland of flowers in my hair to be a quasi-fairy princess. Michael will meet us at school to take Georgia to the haunted house and the craft rooms while I man the special cake room. As the fair begins and a sea of pint-sized princesses and Harry Potters fill the classroom, a man dressed in a ’70s-style kelly green leisure suit and platinum blonde wig hands me a hefty cake box to add to my collection. I thank him and turn away, but he puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Laura, it’s me.” I turn back and realize it’s Michael. I raise my eyebrows. Every year that we’ve attended this event, I have put the kibosh on his wearing an elaborate costume, reminding him it’s for the kids and just a small touch of a costume will suffice for adults. He is finally free to do what he wants now and he has gone all out, kicked my token costume squarely in the ass.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  Who was I if I wasn’t trying to make someone love me? I knew that Dominic, unlike the men, would never hurt me. But why then did his pure love feel a little scary while the others had strangely felt safe? I suspected that I was afraid it might make me lazy, not through any fault of my own, but because of a lack of friction: a gradual atrophying of the muscles with nothing to push against, nothing to resist. Or maybe it was something else? Since my mother’s death I had been mistrustful of love, or anything, really, that came too easily, as though it were fool’s gold and could one day, just like she did, disappear. I had spent so much time creating friction for myself: not only in whom I chose to love but in the work I did. I’d made my thesis impossibly hard—harder than it needed to be, ensuring that I might never complete it. Somehow it always felt safer psychologically to do that. But where had it gotten me? Well, now I was doing things differently, living in a state of what might be called sisterly purity. Upon returning from the park I would feed Dominic and make myself a breakfast of Greek yogurt, honey, and nuts, like I had done when I’d first started my thesis. I felt that if I could eat like Sappho I could somehow get closer to her. Looking at the ocean, a different ocean from hers but also the same, might have a similar effect. Unlike my apartment in Phoenix, Annika’s house didn’t make me feel like I wanted to put my head in an oven. But just in case, I made sure to spend some time away. I would go to a café and drink espresso, writing for hours, feeling a sense of purpose and meaning that I hadn’t felt in years. Skater boys, surfer boys, and boys with guitars floated in and out the door: shirtless, shorts low-slung, lean and muscular above the pelvis alluding to what was below. But I felt like a goddess, above them somehow. Something removed them from my field of want, as though I were protected. I wore white. Twice that week I went to group and felt more of a sense of sisterly love toward the other women. Now I was able to help. I was even maternal in a way that didn’t feel scary, but strong. I had figured it out. If you just stayed away from everything dangerous long enough, other people in your life would show you yourself and what you shouldn’t be doing. You could get high on their conquests but not have to suffer their losses. Diana, who was suffering, called every day.

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

  The book, starting out with the words of St. Paul, "when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away," declares that that which is imperfect has only a relative existence and that, whenever the Perfect becomes known by the creature, then "the I, the Self and the like must all be given up and done away." Christ shows us the way by having taken on him human nature. In chs. XV.-LIV., it shows that all men are dead in Adam, and that to come to the perfect life, the old man must die and the new man be born. He must become possessed with God and depossessed of the devil. Obedience is the prime requisite of the new manhood. Sin is disobedience, and the more "of Self and Me, the more of sin and wickedness and the more the Self, the I, the Me, the Mine, that is, self-seeking and selfishness, abate in a man, the more doth God’s I, that is, God Himself, increase." By obedience we become free. The life of Christ is the perfect model, and we follow him by hearkening unto his words to forsake all. This is nothing else than saying that we must be in union with the divine will and be ready either to do or to suffer. Such a man, a man who is a partaker of the divine nature, will in sincerity love all men and things, do them good and take pleasure in their welfare. Knowledge and light profit nothing without love. Love maketh a man one with God. The last word is that no man can come unto the Father but by Christ. In 1621 the Catholic Church placed the Theologia Germanica on the Index. If all the volumes listed in that catalogue of forbidden books were like this one, making the way of salvation plain, its pages would be illuminated with ineffable light.528 § 37. English Mystics. England, in the fourteenth century, produced devotional writings which have been classed in the literature of mysticism. They are wanting in the transcendental flights of the German mystics, and are, for the most part, marked by a decided practical tendency.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Mary loved Prunier’s in the Rue Duphot, because of its galaxy of sea-monsters. A whole counter there was of incredible creatures—Oursins, black armoured and covered with prickles; Bigorneaux; serpent-like Anguilles Fumées; and many other exciting things that Stephen mistrusted for English stomachs. They would sit at their own particular table, one of the tables upstairs by the window, for the manager came very quickly to know them and would smile and bow grandly: ‘Bon jour, mesdames.’ When they left, the attendant who kept the flower-basket would give Mary a neat little bouquet of roses: ‘Au revoir, mesdames. Merci bien—à bientôt!’ For every one had pretty manners at Prunier’s. A few people might stare at the tall, scarred woman in her well-tailored clothes and black slouch hat. They would stare first at her and then at her companion: ‘Mais regardez moi ça! Elle est belle, la petite; comme c’est rigolo!’ There would be a few smiles, but on the whole they would attract little notice—ils en ont vu bien d’autres—it was post-war Paris. Sometimes, having dined, they would saunter towards home through streets that were crowded with others who sauntered—men and women, a couple of women together—always twos—the fine nights seemed prolific of couples. In the air there would be the inconsequent feeling that belongs to the night life of most great cities, above all to the careless night life of Paris, where problems are apt to vanish with sunset. The lure of the brightly lighted boulevards, the lure of the dim and mysterious bystreets would grip them so that they would not turn homeward for quite a long while, but would just go on walking. The moon, less clear than at Orotava, less innocent doubtless, yet scarcely less lovely, would come sailing over the Place de la Concorde, staring down at the dozens of other white moons that had managed to get themselves caught by the standards. In the cafés would be crowds of indolent people, for the French who work hard know well how to idle; and these cafés would smell of hot coffee and sawdust, of rough, strong tobacco, of men and women. Beneath the arcades there would be the shop windows, illuminated and bright with temptation. But Mary would usually stare into Sulka’s, picking out scarves or neckties for Stephen. ‘That one! We’ll come and buy it to-morrow. Oh, Stephen, do wait—look at that dressing-gown!’ And Stephen might laugh and pretend to be bored, though she secretly nurtured a weakness for Sulka’s.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  2Stephen and Mary arrived at the Villa del Ciprés, not very long after Christmas. They had spent their Christmas Day aboard ship, and on landing had stayed for a week at Santa Cruz before taking the long, rough drive to Orotava. And as though the fates were being propitious, or unpropitious perhaps—who shall say?—the garden was looking its loveliest, almost melodramatic it looked in the sunset. Mary gazed round her wide-eyed with pleasure; but after a while her eyes must turn, as they always did now, to rest upon Stephen; while Stephen’s uncertain and melancholy eyes must look back with great love in their depths for Mary. Together they made the tour of the villa, and when this was over Stephen laughed a little; ‘Not much of anything, is there, Mary?’ ‘No, but quite enough. Who wants tables and chairs?’ ‘Well, if you’re contented, I am,’ Stephen told her. And indeed, so far as the Villa del Ciprés went, they were both very well contented. They discovered that the indoor staff would consist of two peasants; a plump, smiling woman called Concha, who adhered to the ancient tradition of the island and tied her head up in a white linen kerchief, and a girl whose black hair was elaborately dressed, and whose cheeks were very obviously powdered—Concha’s niece she was, by name Esmeralda. Esmeralda looked cross, but this may have been because she squinted so badly. In the garden worked a handsome person called Ramon, together with Pedro, a youth of sixteen. Pedro was light-hearted, precocious and spotty. He hated his simple work in the garden; what he liked was driving his father’s mules for the tourists, according to Ramon. Ramon spoke English passably well; he had picked it up from the numerous tenants and was proud of this fact, so while bringing in the luggage he paused now and then to impart information. It was better to hire mules and donkeys from the father of Pedro—he had very fine mules and donkeys. It was better to take Pedro and none other as your guide, for thus would be saved any little ill-feeling. It was better to let Concha do all the shopping—she was honest and wise as the Blessèd Virgin. It was better never to scold Esmeralda, who was sensitive on account of her squint and therefore inclined to be easily wounded. If you wounded the heart of Esmeralda, she walked out of the house and Concha walked with her. The island women were often like this; you upset them and per Dios, your dinner could burn! They would not even wait to attend to your dinner. ‘You come home,’ smiled Ramon, ‘and you say, “What burns? Is my villa on fire?” Then you call and you call. No answer . . . all gone!’ And he spread out his hands with a wide and distressingly empty gesture.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  He was trying to be like a dog in the wild or a wolf. Did dogs still live in the wild? Did anything? Was there any wildness anywhere, or was all of it inhabited by tech dudes now, juice places and blow-dry bars? Had anything been left undiscovered, or did the Internet snatch it all up the moment it existed? Nothing remained untouched. Or maybe some things weren’t completely mapped out yet and there was still a little room for the mystery. Maybe some strange and beautiful boy could still pop out of the sea and surprise you. “Dominic, no,” I said. “Absolutely not. We don’t growl. We never growl at Mama.” Suddenly, I felt giddy and silly. No longer scared, not even at all. I wondered if the gods or maybe the universe had actually heard my amethyst prayer. Everything was so strange. Life was okay, though. Life was maybe even kind of cute. You simply had to expect nothing from it. That’s what the Stoics believed—Zeno and Seneca, those ancient fuckers. The trick, I now agreed, was you had to remain unattached to any future wishes or vision. You had to never get attached to any other person or expect anything good to come to you, and that was how you fell in love with life and how maybe certain fun and good things could happen to you. They only happened as long as you didn’t need anything from anyone. As long as you didn’t take anything from anyone or give any part of yourself away to another person, but you just sort of met the other person in space, good things could happen. You had to fall in love with quiet first. 7. After a few days in Venice I went to my first group therapy session: a specialty group for women with depression, and sex and love issues. There were four women in the group, plus the therapist and me. But they all blurred together into a multiheaded hydra of desperation. Judith, our therapist and leader, was definitely unmarried. With her unringed hands she held a ceramic mug of steaming green tea and said very little, periodically murmuring sounds of “mmmmm” and “ahhhh.” Occasionally, she asked how some event made a person feel. Everyone called her “Dr. Jude.” Dr. Jude was a collector of things—her office stuffed with tchotchkes: Buddha statuettes, a small Freud action figure, licorice pastilles, air plants, an old gumball machine, angel cards, little signs with sayings like “What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?” and “Trust yourself! You know more than you think you do!” Clearly none of us could trust ourselves or we wouldn’t be there.

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

  On the floor of the council, the Bohemians coupled praise with the names of Wyclif and Huss, and would tolerate no references to themselves as heretics. The discussions were prolonged to a wearisome length, some of their number occupying as much as two or three days in their addresses. Among the chief speakers was the Englishman, Peter Payne, whose address consumed three days. The final agreement of four articles, known as the Campactata, was ratified by deputies of the council and of the three Bohemian parties giving one another the hand. The main article granted the use of the cup to the laity, where it was asked, but on condition that the doctrine be inculcated that the whole Christ is contained in each of the elements. The use of the cup was affirmed to be wholesome to those partaking worthily.711 The Compacts were ratified by the Bohemian diet of Iglau, July 5, 1436. All ecclesiastical censures were lifted from Bohemia and its people. The abbot of Bonnival, addressing the king of Castile upon the progress of the Council of Basel, declared that the Bohemians at the start were like ferocious lions and greedy wolves, but through the mercy of Christ and after much discussion had been turned into the meekest lambs and accepted the four articles.712 Although technically the question was settled, the Taborites were not satisfied. The Utraquists approached closer to the Catholics. Hostilities broke out between them, and after a wholesale massacre in Prag, involving, it is said, 22,000 victims, the two parties joined in open war. The Taborites were defeated in the battle at Lipan, May 30, 1434, and Procopius slain. This distinguished man had travelled extensively, going as far as Jerusalem before receiving priestly orders. He was a brilliant leader, and won many successes in Austria, Moravia and Hungary. The power of the Taborites was gone, and in 1452 they lost Mt. Tabor, their chief stronghold. The emperor now entered upon possession of his Bohemian kingdom and granted full recognition to the Utraquist priests, promising to give his sanction to the elections of bishops made by the popular will and to secure their ratification by the pope. Rokyzana was elected archbishop of Prag by the Bohemian diet of 1435. Sigismund died soon after, 1437, and the archbishop never received papal recognition, although he administered the affairs of the diocese until his death, 1471. Albert of Austria, son-in-law of Sigismund and an uncompromising Catholic, succeeded to the throne. In 1457 George Podiebrad, a powerful noble, was crowned by Catholic bishops, and remained king of Bohemia till 1471. He was a consistent supporter of the national party which held to the Compactata. The papal authorities, refusing to recognize Rokyzana, despatched emissaries to subdue the heretics by the measures of preaching and miracles. The most noted among them were Fra Giacomo and John of Capistrano. John, whose miraculous agency equalled his eloquence, succumbed to a fever after the battle of Belgrade.

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

  They were at liberty to leave the community whenever they chose. John Brinkerinck further developed the idea of the female community. The origin of the Brothers of the Common Life was on this wise. After the inhibition of lay preaching, Groote settled down at Deventer, spending much time in the house of Florentius Radewyn. He had employed young priests to copy manuscripts. At Radewyn’s suggestion they were united into a community, and agreed to throw their earnings into a common fund. After Groote’s death, the community received a more distinct organization through Radewyn. Other societies were established after the model of the Deventer house, which was called "the rich brother house,"—het rijke fraterhuis,—as at Zwolle, Delft, Liége, Ghent, Cologne, Münster, Marburg and Rostock, many of them continuing strong till the Reformation.502 A second branch from the same stock, the canons Regular of St. Augustine, established by the influence of Radewyn and other friends and pupils of Groote, had as their chief houses Windesheim, dedicated 1387, and Mt. St. Agnes, near Zwolle. These labored more within the convent, the Brothers of the Common Life outside of it. The Brotherhood of the Common Life never reached the position of an order sanctioned by Church authority. Its members, including laymen as well as clerics, took no irrevocable vow, and were at liberty to withdraw when they pleased. They were opposed to the Brethren of the Free Spirit, and were free from charges of looseness in morals and doctrine. Like their founder, they renounced worldly goods and remained unmarried. They supported the houses by their own toil.503 To gardening, making clothes and other occupations pertaining to the daily life, they added preaching, conducting schools and copying manuscripts. Groote was an ardent lover of books, and had many manuscripts copied for his library. Among these master copyists was Thomas à Kempis. Classical authors as well as writings of the Fathers and books of Scripture were transcribed. Selections were also made from these authors in distinct volumes, called ripiaria — little river banks. At Liege they were so diligent as copyists as to receive the name Broeders van de penne, Brothers of the Quill. Of Groote, Thomas à Kempis reports that he had a chest filled with the best books standing near his dining table, so that, if a course did not please him, he might reach over to them and give his friends a cup for their souls. He carried books about with him on his preaching tours. Objection was here and there made to the possession of so many books, where they might have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor.504 Translations also were made of the books of Scripture and other works. Groote translated the Seven Penitential Psalms, the Office for the Dead and certain Devotions to Mary. The houses were not slow in adopting type, and printing establishments are mentioned in connection with Maryvale, near Geissenheim, Windesheim, Herzogenbusch, Rostock, Louvaine and other houses.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  Each sat on a bench or stool, with his feet on a footstool, and wrote on his knees; a desk in front held the book he was copying, and a side-table his quills, ink, knife, eraser, compasses and ruler. Scribes worked in absolute silence (dictating of original work and letters was done in another room), but they communicated with posterity by marginal graffiti: ‘Christ, favour my work’; ‘Only three fingers are writing: the whole body is in agony’; ‘This work is slow and difficult’; ‘Now it is night and dinner-time’; ‘The scribe has the right to the best wine.’ The Irish were great margin-writers. Thus, in a ninth-century Irish manuscript of Cassiodorus on the psalms, we find: ‘Pleasant is the glint of the sun today on these margins. It flickers so.’ During the seventh and throughout the eighth centuries, the scriptoria reached a high stage of activity, especially at Canterbury, Ripon, Wearmouth, Jarrow, York and Lindisfarne in England; at Bangor, Burrow and Kells in Ireland; at Autun, Luxeuil, Corbie, St Medard-de-Soissons in Gaul, and, further east and south, at Echtenach, St Gall, Bobbio and Noantola. The work was very slow. It was said that Columba of Iona was such a fast copyist that he completed the Book of Durrow in twelve days, at the rate of twenty to thirty pages a day. In fact he cannot have been responsible for this manuscript, which dates from a century after his time. A first-class bible would take a monastic scriptorium a whole year to produce. When the copying was done, the head copyist assembled all the copy-books, put them in order, reread and collated them, and then handed over the assembled codex to be bound in skin. Thus several shorter works were often bound together in one volume. Production was small, in our terms. Corbie produced well over fifty codices, but this was exceptional. We hear of libraries which contained thirty-three, eighteen, fifty volumes, and so on. In the eighth century a library with a hundred books was outstanding. But they grew steadily: by the ninth century the library of St Rémy at Reims, enjoying royal patronage, had six hundred volumes. And many of these books were made to last. A small seventh-century St John’s Gospel, from Wearmouth or Jarrow, which was once probably Bede’s own copy and is now at Stonyhurst, survives in superb condition in its original binding of red African goatskin. The monks were cultural carriers, not creators. The most learned and enterprising of them – Bede of Jarrow is a good example – interested themselves in biblical translations and commentaries, in chronology, and in the writing of history. Other monastic centres of historiography arose in the ninth century. Thus the abbey of St Denis, near Paris, became closely associated with the French crown and the history of the men that had worn it.

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

  The synodical canons against clerical marriage were renewed and made more rigorous (1102, 1107, 1108); but the pope consented for a time that the sons of priests might be admitted to orders, for the remarkable reason, as Eadmer reports, that "almost the greater and the better part of the English clergy" were derived from this class.115 During the remaining years of his life, Anselm enjoyed the friendship and respect of the king, and during the latter’s absence on the Continent in 1108, he was intrusted with the regency and the care of the royal family. He was canonized by the voice of the English people long before the formal canonization by the pope.116 After his death, in April, 1109, the primacy remained vacant till 1114, when it was conferred upon Ralph of Escures, bishop of Rochester, who had administered its affairs during the interval. He is described as a learned, cheerful, affable, good-humored, facetious prelate. He was called "nugax," but his jests and repartees have not been recorded. He and his two Norman successors, William of Corbeuil, 1123–1136. and Theobald, 1139–1161, lived on good terms with the king and his successor, Stephen. Thomas Becket, an English man, resumed, in 1162, the controversy between the mitre and the crown with greater energy, but less wisdom, than Anselm. CHAPTER IV.

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

  des 13ten Jahrhunderts, Münster, 1891.—For Coelestin V., Finke: Aus den Tagen Bonifaz VIII., Münster, 1902; H. Schulz, Peter von Murrhone, 1894; and Celidonio, Vita di S. Pietro del Morrone, 1896.—The articles on the above popes in Wetzer-Welte and Herzog (Gregory X, by Mirbt, Coelestin V., Innocent V., Honorius IV., etc., by Hans Schulz).—The Histories of Gregorovius, Ranke, etc. The death of Clement IV. was followed by the longest interregnum the papacy has known, lasting thirty-three months, Nov. 29, 1268, to Sept. 1, 1271. It was due largely to the conflict between the French and Italian parties in the conclave and was prolonged in spite of the stern measures taken by the municipality of Viterbo, where the election occurred. Cardinals were even imprisoned. The new pope, Gregory X., archdeacon of Liège, was not an ordained priest. The news reached him at Acre while he was engaged in a pilgrimage. A man of peaceful and conciliatory spirit, he is one of the two popes of the thirteenth century who have received canonization. Pursuing the policy of keeping the empire and the kingdom of Southern Italy apart, and setting aside the pretensions of Alfonso of Castile,284 he actively furthered the election of Rudolf of Hapsburg to the imperial throne. The elevation of Rudolf inaugurated a period of peace in the relations of the papacy and the empire. Gregory X. had gained a brilliant victory. The emperor was crowned at Aachen, Oct. 24, 1273. The place of the Hohenstaufen was thus taken by the Austrian house of Hapsburg, which has continued to this day to be a reigning dynasty and loyal to the Catholic hierarchy. In the present century its power has been eclipsed by the Hohenzollern, whose original birth seat in Württemberg is a short distance from that of the Hohenstaufen.285 The establishment of peace by Rudolf’s election is celebrated by Schiller in the famous lines:286— "Then was ended the long, the direful strife, That time of terror, with no imperial lord." Rudolf was a man of decided religious temper, was not ambitious to extend his power, and became a just and safe ruler. He satisfied the claims of the papacy by granting freedom to the chapters in the choice of bishops, by promising to protect the Church in her rights, and by renouncing all claim to Sicily and the State of the Church. In a tone of moderation Gregory wrote: "It is incumbent on princes to protect the liberties and rights of the Church and not to deprive her of her temporal property. It is also the duty of the spiritual ruler to maintain kings in the full integrity of their authority." The emperor remained on good terms with Gregory’s successors, Innocent V., a Frenchman, Adrian V., a Genoese, who did not live to be consecrated, and John XXI., the only priest from Portugal who has worn the tiara. Their combined reigns lasted only eighteen months. John died from the falling of a ceiling in his palace in Viterbo.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  His initial reaction to the Arian dispute was that it was about a trifle – ‘a point of discussion . . . suggested by the contentious spirit fostered by misused leisure... merely an intellectual exercise.’ He thought the matter ‘too sublime and abstruse’ to be settled with certainty, or, if settled, above the heads of most people. The issue was ‘small and very insignificant’. He urged both sides to be ‘sparing of words’ and to ‘exhibit an equal degree of forbearance and receive the advice which your fellow-servant righteously gives.’ It was in this spirit that Constantine (and the great majority of his successors) approached his role in Church politics. He was to be a mediator, a role he was good at and enjoyed. From Eusebius’s descriptions of Constantine presiding at the Council of Nicea in 325 and at other great ecclesiastical gatherings we see the emperor in his element, arranging elaborate ceremony, dramatic entrances and processions and splendid services. He brought his skill in public relations to the management of Church affairs. It was a far cry from the days of the ‘pillars’ and the Council of Jerusalem. Constantine, in fact, may be said to have created the décor and ritual of Christian conciliar practice. He tried also to set the tone of debate: eirenic, conciliatory, urbane. It was he who insisted, as a formula for compromise, the insertion of the phrase ‘consubstantial with the father’ in the credal agreement. ‘He advised all present to agree to it,’ says Eusebius, ‘and to subscribe its articles and assent to them, with the insertion of the single word “consubstantial” which, moreover, he interpreted himself.’ Constantine, in accordance with the interests of the State, was anxious to avoid a row if possible and, if one occurred, to look for an honourable solution. Thus, although at Nicea he arranged for an overwhelming majority of the bishops to condemn certain specific beliefs of Arius and his followers, he later showed himself very eager to have Arius restored, on the basis of a confession of faith; again, in 321, to avoid a wrangle with the Donatists over the church he had built at Constantine (Cirta), which they occupied and the orthodox claimed, he gave the latter the State customs house as a substitute. Constantine, in brief, put order and stability, the rule of law, before any other religious consideration. But when dissent in his view challenged the rule of law he acted quite ruthlessly.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The spot in question8 was some distance away from any road, on a small hill that was agreeable to behold for its abundance of shrubs and trees, all bedecked in green leaves. Perched on its summit was a palace, built round a fine, spacious courtyard, and containing loggias, halls, and sleeping apartments, which were not only excellently proportioned but richly embellished with paintings depicting scenes of gaiety. Delectable gardens and meadows lay all around, and there were wells of cool, refreshing water. The cellars were stocked with precious wines, more suited to the palates of connoisseurs than to sedate and respectable ladies. And on their arrival the company discovered, to their no small pleasure, that the place had been cleaned from top to bottom, the beds in the rooms were made up, the whole house was adorned with seasonable flowers of every description, and the floors had been carpeted with rushes. Soon after reaching the palace, they all sat down, and Dioneo, a youth of matchless charm and readiness of wit, said: ‘It is not our foresight, ladies, but rather your own good sense, that has led us to this spot. I know not what you intend to do with your troubles; my own I left inside the city gates when I departed thence a short while ago in your company. Hence you may either prepare to join with me in as much laughter, song and merriment as your sense of decorum will allow, or else you may give me leave to go back for my troubles and live in the afflicted city.’ Pampinea, as though she too had driven away all her troubles, answered him in the same carefree vein.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  My friends always make me feel welcome and wanted on my own, but I’ve had to reluctantly accept that it’s not the same as it was and I can’t get it back – one more loss to swallow. A few friends have invited me to come to their New Year’s celebrations, but they will have younger kids in tow and I fear I will find it painful to be around them without Georgia in the mix. Other friends have invited me to stop by with #6, but we haven’t met each other’s friends yet and doing so feels like a level of commitment for which we are not yet ready. We are on our own, which is how we like it at this point and what we can comfortably handle, safely nestled inside our little bubble for two. * #6 leaves his office in the late afternoon so we can meet at a theater for an early movie. It’s pouring with rain as I walk through a deserted Washington Square Park to meet him. I am the only person standing by the fountain in the center as the park’s street lamps flicker on. As I pause to take in the moment I feel a sense of peace descend on me; in the past I would not have slowed down long enough to experience this lovely stillness, the darkening sky, the rhythmic sound of the rain beating on the pavement. I am aware that I am present in a way I have not been in the past, but now I relish these moments of beauty and serenity. Let the world stand still for a few breaths, I think. A few minutes later, I see #6 waiting for me in the lobby, tickets in hand. He is so unlike Michael that sometimes I fret I’m attracted to him solely for the ways in which he meets those of my needs that Michael couldn’t: he’s always on time, is organized and prepared for every potential scenario – like a Boy Scout, he likes to say. Next to him, I’m a slacker, an odd and new experience for me but not entirely unpleasant, giving me the feeling that I’m laid-back and easy-going, two qualities no one has ever assigned to me. If I were to add up all the hours I had spent waiting for Michael, I would probably get back entire months of my life. Time was a fluid concept to him, whereas for #6 it is fixed and one has to be accountable for it. After the movie, we debate what to do next. We aren’t intimate enough yet that we understand intuitively what the other wants, so it’s a bit of a dance.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I hear a cacophony of noise behind me and turn my head, just enough to catch a glimpse of a woman juggling toddler twins. I feel for her but am practically giddy that I’m not her. The swelling of noise from the toddlers increases and falls and then becomes so intensely high-pitched that even Georgia raises an eyebrow and makes a tsk, tsk face. When we rise from our seats halfway through the flight so Georgia can use the bathroom, I see that one twin is in the window seat four rows behind us with her mother holding the other twin in the middle seat, and there, next to them in the aisle seat, is Michael. Oh, the justice of it all! I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. “That’s mean,” she says. “What’s mean? I didn’t put him there,” I say, trying to position my phone surreptitiously to snap a photo of this uncomfortable trio. “It’s mean that you think it’s funny and are taking a picture,” she says. “Well, come on, admit that it’s pretty funny. Anyway, it doesn’t look like he’s struggling, does it?” I say, watching him sleep peacefully through the chaos, his neck encircled by a travel pillow. I know I could have been that mother, trying to contain a squalling baby – his squalling baby, not a random one – and he still would have been as peaceful. I snap the photo. * A few hours later, we are spread on chaise longues by the shimmering blue pool. I want to lie still for a few minutes, soaking in the smoldering heat of the midday sun, but the kids are antsy. Hudson wanders off to get the first frozen mocktail of probably ten that he will drink today, and Georgia begs Michael to walk her down the beach to find Blaze to get a coconut and if she’s lucky, some passionfruit and soursop. Ten minutes later, Georgia comes bounding over, her hands sticky with juice and the skin around her mouth already orange from the mango she’s been eating. “Mommy, Blaze is here! He gave me extra soursop for you! He wants you to come say hi, can we go now?” I pat the spot next to me and promise we will go as soon as she’s done eating. I accept the wedge of dripping fruit she hands me and watch her tear into the array in front of her. Georgia has a voracious appetite and eats with such gusto that I watch with bemusement. She lacks self-consciousness, allowing juice to drip down her face and bits of fruit to stick to her cheeks, even her hair.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  He not only wrote Benedict’s biography, which became famous, but did everything in his very considerable power to push the Benedictine rule as the norm for monasticism in the West. The great merit of Benedict’s system is common sense. It steered a skilful middle way between severity and decency. Monks were to have separate beds, except the younger ones, who were to be ‘dispersed among the seniors’. They were to be properly and warmly clad, with two tunics and cowls each; and they were issued with a mattress, a woollen blanket, under-blanket and pillow, shoes, stockings, girdle, knife, pen and writing tablets, needle and handkerchiefs. Otherwise no property was to be held individually, ‘neither a book, nor tablets, nor a pen . . . nothing at all’; and beds were to be searched frequently for private possessions. Monks were to be adequately but simply fed: two cooked dishes a day, a pound of bread, a pint of wine, and fruit and vegetables in season, but no meat, at any rate of four-footed beasts. On the other hand monks who were ill were to have a special diet; they must be kept healthy. ‘Before all things, and above all things, care must be taken of the sick’. ‘All guests are to be received as Christ himself, for which a special separate kitchen (also used by the abbot) was to be provided. The monks were to spend their time in manual labour and sacred reading, when not attending divine services. They were to ‘practise silence at all times, especially during the night’. Grumbling was the ‘greatest sin’, and ‘idleness is the enemy of the soul’. Infractions of the rules were to be met by withdrawal of communion; the abbot and the older and wiser brothers were to try to reconcile the excommunicated; but ‘the punishment of the lash’ was to be used if necessary, and ‘the surgeon’s knife’ (expulsion) in the last resort; boys were to be ‘punished with extra fasts or coerced with severe blows’. We possess the Benedictine rule in virtually its original state. In the time of Charlemagne, the then Abbot of Monte Cassino, Theodemar, had a copy made direct from Benedict’s holograph, and sent to him at Aix; there a fine copy was made, which still survives. It is perhaps unique in antique texts, a copy separated from the original by a single intermediary. It is written in Vulgar Latin – the vernacular of the day in central Italy – for comparatively simple men. It does not envisage the monastery as a great centre of learning, or indeed of anything else except piety and hard work. But one can see exactly why it appealed to the practical-minded Gregory. It is wholly lacking in eccentricity. It does not expect heroic virtue. It is full of provisions for exceptions, changes and relaxations in its rules; yet at the same time it insists that rules must be kept, once made.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The King, being served with many dishes one after another and with choice and precious wines, and gazing contentedly from time to time at the beautiful Marchioness, was filled with intense pleasure. But as one dish was followed by the next, he began to feel somewhat perplexed, for he could not help noticing that although the courses were different, each and every one of them consisted solely of chicken. He was well enough acquainted with that particular region to know that it should be well stocked with a variety of game, and by sending the lady advance notice of his arrival he had given her ample time to organize a hunt. But although he was greatly surprised by all this, he had no desire to give her any cause for embarrassment, except for putting in a word about her chickens. So smiling broadly, he turned towards her and said: ‘Madam, is it only hens that flourish in these parts, and not a single cock?’ The Marchioness, who understood his question perfectly, saw this as exactly the kind of Heaven-sent opportunity she had hoped for in order to make clear her intentions. On hearing the King’s inquiry, she turned boldly towards him and replied: ‘No, my lord, but our women, whilst they may differ slightly from each other in their rank and the style of their dress, are made no differently here than they are elsewhere.’ On hearing this, the King saw clearly the reason for the banquet of chickens, and the virtue that lay concealed beneath her little homily. He realized that honeyed words would be wasted on a lady of this sort, and that force was out of the question. And thus, in the same way that he had foolishly become inflamed, so now he wisely decided that he was honour-bound to extinguish the ill-conceived fires of his passion. Fearing her replies, he teased her no further, but applied himself to his meal, by now convinced that all hope was lost. And as soon as he had finished eating, in order to compensate for his dishonourable coming by his swift departure, he thanked her for her generous hospitality and departed for Genoa, with the lady wishing him God-speed. SIXTH STORYWith a clever remark, an honest man exposes the wicked hypocrisy of the religious. All the ladies applauded the courage of the Marchioness and the cloquent rebuff she had given to the King of France. Then in deference to the wishes of the queen, Emilia, who was seated next to Fiammetta, started boldly to speak: I likewise will describe a stinging rebuke, but one which was administered by an honest layman to a grasping friar, with a gibe no less amusing than it was laudable.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  * * * Dioneo’s story was thus concluded, and if the ladies’ laughter was restrained, this was more out of modesty than because it had failed to amuse them. But now the queen, perceiving that her sovereignty had come to an end, rose to her feet; and transferring the laurel crown from her own head to that of Elissa, she said to her: ‘Madam, it is now for you to command us.’ Elissa, having accepted the honour, proceeded as before, first of all arranging with the steward about what was to be done during her term of office, and then, to the general satisfaction of the company, she addressed them as follows: ‘Already we have heard many times how various people, with some clever remark or ready retort, or some quick piece of thinking, have been able, by striking at the right moment, to draw the teeth of their antagonists or avert impending dangers. This being so splendid a topic, and one which may also be useful, I desire that with God’s help our discussion on the morrow should confine itself to the following: those who, on being provoked by some verbal pleasantry, have returned like for like, or who, by a prompt retort or shrewd manoeuvre, have avoided danger, discomfiture or ridicule.’ This proposal was warmly approved by one and all, and so the queen, having risen to her feet, dismissed the whole company till suppertime. On seeing that the queen had risen, the honourable company did likewise; then all of them turned their attention, in the usual way, to whatever pleased them most. But when the cicadas’ song was no longer to be heard, everyone was called back, and they all sat down to supper. Of this they partook in a gay and festive spirit, and when the meal was over they proceeded to sing and make music. Emilia having begun to dance, Dioneo was called upon to sing them a song, and he promptly came out with: ‘Monna Aldruda, lift up your tail, for marvellous tidings I bring.’ 1 Whereupon all the ladies began to laugh, especially the queen, who ordered him to stop and sing them another. ‘My lady,’ said Dioneo, ‘if I had a drum, I’d sing you “Skirts up, Monna Lapa”, or “The grass beneath the privet grows”, or, if you preferred, “The waves of the sea are my torment”. But I haven’t a drum, so take your pick from among these others. Would you like “Out you come to wither away, like to the flower that blossoms in May”?’ ‘No,’ said the queen, ‘sing us something else.’ ‘In that case,’ said Dioneo, ‘I’ll sing you “Monna Simona, put wine in your cask. Not till October, sir, she said”.’ ‘Oh, confound you,’ said the queen, with a laugh, ‘if you’re going to sing, choose something nice. We don’t want to hear that one.’ ‘Come, my lady,’ said Dioneo, ‘don’t take offence. Which do you like best? I know a thousand of them, at least.