Despair

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)

  It was becoming evident that the preacher was fighting a losing battle. His assaults against the morals of the clergy and the Vatican stirred up the powers in the Church against him; his political attitude, factions in Florence. His assertions, dealing more and more in exaggerations, were developing an expectant and at the same time a critical state of mind in the people which no religious teacher could permanently meet except through the immediate and startling intervention of God. He called heaven to witness that he was "ready to die for His God" and invited God to send him to the fires of hell, if his motives were not pure and his work inspired. On another occasion, he invoked the Lord to strike him dead on the spot, if he was not sincere. Landucci reports some of these wild protestations which he heard with his own ears. One weapon still remained to the pope to bring Savonarola to terms,—the interdict. This he threatened to fulminate over Florence, unless the signory sent this "son of the evil one" to Rome or cast him into prison. In case the first course was pursued, Alexander promised to treat Savonarola as a father would treat a son, provided he repented, for he "desired not the death of a sinner but that he might turn from his way and live."1195 He urged the signory not to allow Savonarola to be as the fly in the milk, disturbing its relations with Rome or "to tolerate that pernicious worm fostered by their warmth." Through epistolary communications and legates, the signory continued its attempts to remove Alexander’s objections and protect Savonarola. But, while all the members continued to express confidence in the friar’s purity of motive, the majority came to take the position that it was more expedient to silence the preacher than to incur the pope’s ban. At the public meeting, called by the signory March 9,1498, to decide the course of action to be taken, the considerations pressed were those of expediency. The pope, as the vicar of Christ, has his authority directly from God and ought to be obeyed. A second consideration was the financial straits of the municipality. A tenth was needed and this could only be ordered through the pope. Some proposed to leave the decision of the matter to Savonarola himself. He was the best man the world had seen for 200 years. Others boldly announced that Alexander’s letters were issued through the machinations of enemies of Florence and the censures they contained, being unjust, were not to be heeded.1196 On March 17,1498, the signory’s decision was communicated to Savonarola that he should thenceforth refrain from preaching and the next day he preached his last sermon.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  When we got to the grand, fairytale Banff Hotel in Canada, I had thought it would enchant them, as it had me. We were going to put on our best clothes and go to dinner in the hotel dining room, but they began shouting earsplitting curses at each other again. I put my hands over my ears and tried to make myself disappear, but this time, some cyclone seized and threw me out of my usual frozen silence, and I heard myself scream, “Stop it! Stop it! Don’t you see what you are doing to me?” Astonished, they did stop. I saw my mother’s heartbreaking recognition of my pain, and my father took me for a walk in the woods even though it was pouring rain. Years later, he told me what I’d already known—that my outburst marked the moment he’d decided to leave.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The lady had been hearing many reports of the wonderful garden, and when she saw the flowers and the fruits, she began to repent of her promise. But for all her repentance, being curious to observe so rare a phenomenon, she went with several other ladies of the town to see the garden, and after commending it greatly and betraying no little astonishment, she made her way home in the depths of despair, thinking of what it obliged her to do. So profound was her distress, in fact, that she was unable to conceal it, with the inevitable result that her husband, noticing how melancholy she looked, demanded to know the reason. For some little time she remained silent, being too embarrassed to say anything, but finally he forced her to tell him the whole story from beginning to end. Gilberto was at first extremely angry, but after mature reflection, bearing in mind the purity of his wife’s intentions, he put aside his anger and said: ‘Dianora, no wise or virtuous woman should ever pay heed to messages of that sort, nor should she ever barter her chastity with anyone, no matter what terms she may impose. The power of words received by the heart through the ears is greater than many people think, and to those who are in love nearly everything becomes possible.2 Hence you did wrong, first of all to pay any heed to him and secondly to barter with him. But because I know you were acting from the purest of motives, I shall allow you, so as to be quit of your promise, to do something which possibly no other man would permit, being swayed also by my fear of the magician, whom Messer Ansaldo, if you were to play him false, would perhaps encourage to do us a mischief. I therefore want you to go to him, and endeavour in every way possible to have yourself released from this promise without loss of honour; but if this should prove impossible, just for this once you may give him your body, but not your heart.’ On hearing her husband speak in this way, the lady burst into tears, maintaining that she wanted no such favour from him; but no matter how loudly she protested, Gilberto was adamant. And so next morning, just as dawn was breaking, the lady set out, by no means richly adorned, together with one of her maids, and preceded by two of her husband’s retainers she made her way to Messer Ansaldo’s house. Messer Ansaldo was astounded to hear that his lady had come, and leaping out of bed he summoned the magician and said to him: ‘I want you to see for yourself how great a prize your skill has procured me.’

• From Adam, Eve, and the Serpent (1988)

  Yet stories of heroic ascetics, including the story of Jerome’s protégée the young widow Blaesilla, who died in her attempted asceticism, raised obvious questions among Christians, as well as among their critics. What is the extent—and what are the limits—of human choice? What can we control, and what is beyond us? Can we actually govern sexual desire, suffering, and death, or do these conditions belong to the structure of nature? Are they “acts of God” and thus beyond our power—or is this power a matter of degree? Is death, in particular, natural? Or is it unnatural, an enemy, as Paul said (1 Corinthians 15:26), intruding on human life because of Adam’s sin? During the formative period of Christian tradition, as we have seen, many thoughtful Christians struggled to understand not only the nature of the universe but human nature in particular. During the fourth and fifth centuries, certain Christians—including Pelagius, a devout Catholic ascetic from Britain—influenced by Greek science and philosophy, argued in his later teaching that human desires and human will, in themselves, have no effect on natural events—that humanity neither brought death upon itself nor could it, by an act of will, overcome death: death was in the nature of things, despite the clear statement to the contrary in Genesis. But Pelagius’s contemporary Augustine vehemently rejected this view of nature, and the majority of Christians for more than a thousand years thereafter followed his example. During his later years, as we have seen, Augustine argued against those who agreed with John Chrysostom,2 and then against followers of Pelagius, both of whom insisted that Christians, through their baptism, are free to make moral choices; that, although our will cannot affect the course of nature, it can—and must—effect our moral decisions. By 417, the city of Rome was so divided between the supporters and the opponents of Pelagius that partisans of both sides had actually rioted in the streets. Two years earlier, two councils of bishops in Palestine had declared Pelagius orthodox; but two opposing councils of African bishops, led by Augustine and his colleagues, condemned him and persuaded Pope Innocent, bishop of Rome, to take their side. When Innocent died, his successor, Pope Zosimus, at first declared Pelagius’s teaching orthodox; but after receiving vehement protests from Augustine and other African bishops, he reversed himself and excommunicated Pelagius.3 By this time, too, Christian bishops had learned to use for their own purposes not only ecclesiastical censure but also imperial power.4 During the battle against Pelagius and his advocates, many of them influential Romans,5 Augustine and his colleagues openly courted the emperor’s support. Augustine’s friend and fellow African bishop Alypius brought eighty Numidian stallions as bribes to the imperial court and successfully lobbied there against Pelagius. The result gratified Augustine: in April 418, not only did the pope excommunicate Pelagius, but the emperor Honorius condemned the newly declared heretic and ordered him fined, expelled from office, and exiled along with his intransigent supporters.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I’d prevaricated because, even after months of internal debate, I was still unable to decide whether to accept the offer. On the one hand, it would mean I’d have to leave everything I loved in my life: Anaïs and Renate, living with Philip at the beach house, my sisterhood of women friends. On the other hand, I knew I should grab a three-year, guaranteed tenure-track job at a major university in a market where suddenly there were no jobs to be had. Those of us on the cusp of the Boomer bubble had run like lemmings when told there was a need for more college professors, but no one had figured out that by the time we’d gotten our PhDs, the bubble would have burst. My fellow grad students were hissing at my rare good fortune to have any offers, even if they all had been in less than desirable locations. After the filming, when my friends gathered around Anaïs, I slipped out alone to the backyard. Standing by the hedge where the hillside dropped, I could see house lights begin to twinkle on the slopes below. They spread like the Milky Way down to the lake’s shimmering surface. I felt Anaïs approach and slip her arm around my waist. “What’s wrong, Tristine?” I told her about my inability to decide whether to take the Indiana job. “Oh, I thought you had already decided to turn it down.” “No; I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want to leave Philip, but Indiana is letting me create my own Women’s Lit classes, and if I turn it down I’ll be selling out the Women’s Movement, and all the women before me who fought for my opportunity, and my students who see me as an example. So I changed my mind. Then I changed it again. Over and over. It’s making me crazy. Either way I choose, it feels like I’m cleaving off half of myself.” “Why doesn’t Philip come with you?” she asked. “I knew that would be your suggestion. I knew you’d say, ‘Find a creative solution,’ so I begged him to come with me, but he said there was no market for mod men’s fashion in Indiana.” In fact, Philip’s response had shocked me. Sweet, passive Philip had said, unequivocally, “No.” He wouldn’t move to Indiana; he wouldn’t leave his work. I knew we would not survive long-distance. And even if after three years I were lucky enough to find a job back in California (which had been Renate’s recommendation), I didn’t believe Philip would wait. I’d begged him, “Tell me not to go. Just tell me to stay with you.” “I can’t do that,” he’d said gently. He sat on the waterbed that rocked under his weight. He dropped his head, and his hands disappeared into his blond shag. “Why not?” I sniffled. “Because later you would blame me.” I probably would.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Things did not start out so badly. I rented a house with some photography students who blew up their grainy black-and-white images of fallow fields and lonely churches and plastered them on billboards set along the country roads. Though I ignored the rabid English department politics, I enjoyed my role as an avant-garde feminist lecturer from California, hired because I could teach both the traditional canon and the hot new field of women’s studies. Then, over summer break, the only good friend I’d made on the IU faculty blew his brains out in a soybean field. Soon after, a group of coeds from my spring semester’s Twentieth-Century Women’s Lit class declared that they, too, had been seduced by the romance of suicide thanks to having read Sylvia Plath’s Ariel in my class; though I resolved never to teach Plath again, her black gloves beckoned me as well. The bottom didn’t fall out, though, until Clara phoned to report back to me on Philip’s sustained silence. When I’d left him after summer vacation, we were on good terms. My understanding was that he was still my boyfriend, who would be waiting when I flew back at Christmas. But Clara reported that Philip had moved out of the beach house, given notice to the landlord, and taken an apartment with a new girlfriend to whom he was engaged, all without mentioning a word about it to me. And one other piece of news: I’d left my cat Jadu in Philip’s care, and Jadu was dead, either eaten by coyotes or hit by a car on Pacific Coast Highway. The hidden explosive device—buried when my father left—was triggered by Philip’s betrayal and detonated. Eight years before, when Neal had left me, I’d been surprised that all existence was not wiped out. Anaïs and Rupert and Renate had encircled and protected me from impact. This time, though, I was entirely alone. With detached interest, I watched myself become a perpetual motion machine that did nothing but shake and leak tears. It didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and had no stop switch, although it somehow turned itself off for the hours I taught in the classroom. Anaïs had been right; she was the only one who had understood that although taking the job was the honorable and feminist thing to do, my emotions and nerves could not follow suit. I’d let happen what Anaïs had warned me about in the beginning: I had failed to protect myself from re-injury by a man. I hid in my upstairs bedroom, watching the endless, frigid rain roll down my windowpane and splash in the courtyard below. When the phone rang and Anaïs said hello, it was a voice from another life. “Tristine, are you alright? I got worried that I haven’t heard from you. How is it there?” “Not so good.” Gently she asked, “What’s the most immediate problem?” “I have a blister on my foot that’s infected.” “Have you been to the doctor?”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Father,’ she said, ‘for the past few nights I have been dreaming about various departed relatives of mine, and they all appear to be suffering dreadful torments and continually asking for alms, especially my mother, who seems to be in such a state of affliction and misery that it would break your heart to see her. I think she is suffering abominably at seeing me persecuted like this by that enemy of God, and hence I should like you to pray for their souls and say the forty masses of Saint Gregory, 1 so that God may release them from this scourging fire.’ And so saying, she slipped a florin into his hand. The reverend friar gleefully pocketed the money, and having poured out a torrent of fine words and pious tales to reinforce her godliness, he gave her his blessing and let her go. Unaware that he had been hoodwinked, the friar watched her depart and then summoned his friend, who realized as soon as he arrived, from the friar’s agitated appearance, that he was about to receive some news from the lady, and waited to hear what the friar had to say. The latter repeated all that he had said to him previously, and for the second time, angrily and without mincing his words, gave him a severe scolding for what the lady alleged he had done. Being as yet unsure of which way the friar was going to jump, the gentleman denied having sent the purse and the belt, speaking without much conviction so as not to undermine the friar’s belief in the story, just in case he had heard it from the lady herself. The friar practically exploded with rage. ‘What!’ he said. ‘Can you really have the effrontery to deny it, you scoundrel? Here, take a look at them – she brought them to me herself, with her eyes full of tears – and tell me whether or not you recognize them!’ The gentleman put on a display of acute embarrassment. ‘Yes, indeed I do,’ he said. ‘I admit that it was wrong of me, and now that I fully appreciate her inclinations, I guarantee that you won’t be troubled again.’ The words now started to flow in good earnest, and eventually the blockhead of a friar handed over the purse and the belt to his friend. Finally, after preaching him a lengthy sermon and getting him to promise that he would call a halt to his importunities, he sent him about his business. The gentleman was feeling absolutely delighted, for not only did it appear quite certain that the lady loved him, but he had also received a handsome present. On leaving the friar, he went and stood in a sheltered place from which he showed his lady that both of the items were now in his possession, all of which made her very happy, the more so because her scheme appeared to be working better and better.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I had reached ground zero, but I had done what Jung warns those who would dive into the unconscious never to do: descend without a tether back into the real world. Not having his ties of home and family, I’d isolated myself and refused to come up for air. I was determined to solve Anaïs’s riddle before I quit. The mask should be held eighteen inches in front of the face. Anaïs did not say I should not have a mask. She’d said to hold it far enough away not to confuse it with my essential self. I had confused a lot of masks with myself. I’d worn the persona of an uncomplicated coed at USC, of the seductress Sabina to hide my fear of men, of a staunch leftist-feminist to stand up to my father, and the bright makeup of a happy-go-lucky party girl in film school to cover the cracks of my shattered trust. Anaïs certainly had worn masks, too—dazzling creations, their beauty attracting her followers and their artificiality repelling her detractors. She’d switched them with her acrobat’s dexterity: the polished persona of an international banker’s wife, the mask of a surrealist artist, the seductress she’d named Sabina, her impersonation of a forest ranger’s wife, and the literary persona of a free, independent woman, created by eliminating any husbands from her public image. No, Anaïs could hardly tell me to give up my masks when she’d so effectively flicked hers like flamenco fans. Maybe she was saying that personas, while seductive and useful, are not the dancer, and like the dancer’s fan, they can be discarded, replaced, or retrieved when the music changes. Perhaps I could lay aside my current persona of a glamorous, up-and-coming filmmaker to adopt the prematurely mature persona of a wise, how-to-write-a-diary author, and afterward lay it down and pick up my hip filmmaker persona again. CHAPTER 31 Los Angeles, California, 1976 TRISTINE RENATE’S PHONE CALL WAS A barbed hook that pulled me up from my submersion. “When was the last time you saw Anaïs?” With a stab of guilt, I realized that while nursing my bitterness and looking inward, I’d avoided Anaïs for over five months. “You better go right away,” Renate said sternly. “She’s in the hospital.” And she added bitterly, “You’ll have to call Rupert to get permission. He’s now her gatekeeper. He’s barred me from the hospital.” “Why?” “He never liked Anaïs spending time with me.” To my relief, Rupert seemed pleased to hear from me. He arranged for me to visit Anaïs at the hospital on an evening when he would be delayed because he was meeting with Digby Diehl of the LA Times. He asked that I keep her company until 6 p.m., when he should be back at the hospital.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘My lord,’ said the man, ‘I left the galley in Crete, where I later heard that her voyage ended in disaster; for as she was approaching Sicily, she ran into a northerly gale which drove her on to the Barbary reefs, and everyone aboard was drowned, including two of my brothers.’ Messer Torello believed every word of this account, which happened to be all too accurate, and when he recalled that less than a week remained of the period he had asked his wife to await his return, and realized that nothing had been heard of him in Pavia, he was convinced that she was by now betrothed to another. So deep was the despair into which he was cast that he lost the desire to eat, took to his bed, and resolved to die. When Saladin, who greatly loved Messer Torello, heard news of this, he came in person to see him. And having, by dint of earnest and repeated entreaties, discovered the reason for his sorrow and his malady, he censured him severely for not confiding in him earlier, then begged him to take heart, declaring that if Torello would cheer up he would arrange for him to be in Pavia on the date he had prescribed. And he explained how it was to be accomplished. Messer Torello took Saladin at his word, and since he had frequently heard that this sort of thing was possible and had often been done before, he began to feel more optimistic and to urge Saladin that he should attend to it at once. Saladin therefore enjoined one of his magicians, 8 with whose skill he was already well acquainted, to seek out a way of transporting Messer Torello on a bed to Pavia, in the space of a single night. The magician replied that this would be done, but that for Torello’s own good he must first of all put him to sleep. This arranged, Saladin returned to Messer Torello, and finding him still entirely resolved to be in Pavia by the date agreed if this were possible, and to die if it were not, he addressed him as follows: ‘God knows, Messer Torello, that I cannot blame you in the slightest for loving your wife so dearly and for being so concerned at the thought of losing her to another. For of all the ladies I ever recall having met, she is the one whose way of life, whose manners, and whose demeanour – to say nothing of her beauty, which will fade like the flower – seem to me most precious and commendable. Nothing would have given me greater joy, since Fortune has brought you to Alexandria, than for us to have spent the rest of our lives together here, ruling as equals over the kingdom I now govern.

• From Adam, Eve, and the Serpent (1988)

  18thorns and thistles it shall bring forth to you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. 19In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” 20 The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living. 21And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins, and clothed them. 22 Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil; and now, lest he put forth his hand and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever” —23therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which he was taken. 24He drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life. CONTENTSCover Other Books by This Author Title Page Copyright Dedication Acknowledgments The Book of Genesis Introduction I “The Kingdom of God Is at Hand” II Christians Against the Roman Order III Gnostic Improvisations on Genesis IV The “Paradise of Virginity” Regained V The Politics of Paradise VI The Nature of Nature Epilogue Notes About the Author INTRODUCTIONABRUPT CHANGES in social attitudes have recently become commonplace, especially with respect to sexuality, including marriage, divorce, homosexuality, abortion, contraception, and gender. Whether we welcome these changes or not, they have altered the way we think of other people and ourselves, how we act, and how we respond to the actions of others. For Christians, in particular, such changes may seem to challenge not only traditional values but the very structure of human nature. But how did these traditional patterns of gender and sexual relationship arise in the first place—patterns so obvious and “natural” to those who have accepted them that nature itself seemed to have ordained them? Reflecting on this question, I soon began to see that the sexual attitudes we associate with Christian tradition evolved in western culture at a specific time—during the first four centuries of the common era, when the Christian movement, which had begun as a defiant sect, eventually transformed itself into the religion of the Roman Empire. I saw, too, that these attitudes had not previously existed in their eventual Christian form; and that they represented a departure from both pagan practices and Jewish tradition. Many Christians of the first four centuries took pride in their sexual restraint; they eschewed polygamy and often divorce as well, which Jewish tradition allowed; and they repudiated extramarital sexual practices commonly accepted among their pagan contemporaries, practices including prostitution and homosexuality.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It seems that you do not believe me when I tell you, here and now, that I long to see you dead: but if you want proof of my words in the life hereafter, why not throw yourself to the ground without any further ado, in which case your soul, which I truly believe to be nestling already in the arms of the Devil, will soon see whether or not your headlong fall has brought any tears to my eyes? But since you are unlikely to afford me so great a pleasure as this, I shall simply advise you, if you find yourself being scorched, to remember the freezing you gave me, and if you mix the hot with the cold, you will doubtless find the rays of the sun more bearable.’ On perceiving from the scholar’s words that he was determined to wreak vengeance upon her, the hapless lady burst once more into tears, and said: ‘Since nothing pertaining to me can move you to pity me, at least be moved by the love you bear this other lady, who is so much wiser than myself, and by whom you claim to be loved. Forgive me for her sake, fetch me my clothes so that I may dress, and let me come down.’ Whereupon the scholar burst out laughing, and observing that it was already well past the hour of tierce, he replied: ‘Ah, how can I refuse your request, now that you have appealed to me in her name? Tell me where your clothes are, so that I can go and fetch them and arrange for you to descend.’ The lady took him seriously and, feeling somewhat reassured, described to him exactly where she had hidden her clothes, whereupon the scholar issued forth from the tower and ordered his servant not to move away from the spot, but to stay close to the tower and do his best to see that no one set foot inside it until he returned. And having given him these instructions, he made his way to his friend’s house, where in due course, after eating a most leisurely meal, he retired for a siesta. The lady continued to lie on the roof of the tower, foolishly entertaining some faint hope of a speedy end to her predicament, until, feeling exceedingly sore, she sat up and crawled over to that section of the parapet which afforded a little shade from the sun, where she settled down to wait with no other company than her own bitter thoughts. By turns brooding and weeping, now hoping and now despairing of the scholar’s return with her clothes, her mind flitting from one doleful reflection to the next, she eventually succumbed to her grief, and since she had been awake for the whole of the previous night, she fell into a deep slumber.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  The day went on and the sun shone out brightly, dazzling the tired eyes of the drivers. Dusk fell, and the roads grew treacherous and vague. Night came—they dared not risk having lights, so that they must just stare and stare into the darkness. In the distance the sky turned ominously red, some stray shells might well have set fire to a village, that tall column of flame was probably the church; and the Boches were punishing Compiègne again, to judge from the heavy sounds of bombardment. Yet by now there was nothing real in the world but that thick and almost impenetrable darkness, and the ache of the eyes that must stare and stare, and the dreadful, patient pain of the wounded—there had never been anything else in the world but black night shot through with the pain of the wounded. 4On the following morning the two ambulances crept back to their base at the villa in Compiègne. It had been a tough job, long hours of strain, and to make matters worse the reliefs had been late, one of them having had a breakdown. Moving stiffly, and with red rimmed and watering eyes, the four women swallowed large cups of coffee; then just as they were they lay down on the floor, wrapped in their trench coats and army blankets. In less than a quarter of an hour they slept, though the villa shook and rocked with the bombardment. CHAPTER 361T here is something that mankind can never destroy in spite of an unreasoning will to destruction, and this is its own idealism, that integral part of its very being. The ageing and the cynical may make wars, but the young and the idealistic must fight them, and thus there are bound to come quick reactions, blind impulses not always comprehended. Men will curse as they kill, yet accomplish deeds of self-sacrifice, giving their lives for others; poets will write with their pens dipped in blood, yet will write not of death but of life eternal; strong and courteous friendships will be born, to endure in the face of enmity and destruction. And so persistent is this urge to the ideal, above all in the presence of great disaster, that mankind, the wilful destroyer of beauty, must immediately strive to create new beauties, lest it perish from a sense of its own desolation; and this urge touched the Celtic soul of Mary.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  On learning of her husband’s intentions, from which it appeared she would have to return to her father’s house, in order perhaps to look after the sheep as she had in the past, meanwhile seeing the man she adored being cherished by some other woman, Griselda was secretly filled with despair. But she prepared herself to endure this final blow as stoically as she had borne Fortune’s earlier assaults. Shortly thereafter, Gualtieri arranged for some counterfeit letters of his to arrive from Rome, and led his subjects to believe that in these, the Pope had granted him permission to abandon Griselda and remarry. He accordingly sent for Griselda, and before a large number of people he said to her: ‘Woman, I have had a dispensation from the Pope, allowing me to leave you and take another wife. Since my ancestors were great noblemen and rulers of these lands, whereas yours have always been peasants, I intend that you shall no longer be my wife, but return to Giannùcole’s house with the dowry you brought me, after which I shall bring another lady here. I have already chosen her and she is far better suited to a man of my condition.’ On hearing these words, the lady, with an effort beyond the power of any normal woman’s nature, suppressed her tears and replied: ‘My lord, I have always known that my lowly condition was totally at odds with your nobility, and that it is to God and to yourself that I owe whatever standing I possess. Nor have I ever regarded this as a gift that I might keep and cherish as my own, but rather as something I have borrowed; and now that you want me to return it, I must give it back to you with good grace. Here is the ring with which you married me: take it. As to your ordering me to take away the dowry that I brought, you will require no accountant, nor will I need a purse or a pack-horse, for this to be done. For it has not escaped my memory that you took me naked as on the day I was born.6 If you think it proper that the body in which I have borne your children should be seen by all the people, I shall go away naked. But in return for my virginity, which I brought to you and cannot retrieve, I trust you will at least allow me, in addition to my dowry, to take one shift away with me.’ Gualtieri wanted above all else to burst into tears, but maintaining a stern expression he said: ‘Very well, you may take a shift.’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Although he had fallen from a goodly height, he mercifully suffered no injury; but he got himself daubed from head to foot in the filthy mess with which the place was literally swimming. Now in order to give you a clearer picture of what has preceded and what follows, I shall describe the sort of place it was. In a narrow alleyway, such as we often see between two houses, some boards, and a place to sit, had been rigged up on two beams, running across from one house to the next; and it was one of these boards that had collapsed under Andreuccio’s weight. So finding himself down there in the alley, Andreuccio, cursing his bad luck, began calling out to the boy. But as soon as he had heard him falling, the boy had hurried off to tell his mistress, who rushed into her room and made a rapid search for Andreuccio’s clothes. These she found, together with his money, which being a doubting sort of fellow he stupidly carried with him wherever he went. And so it was that this woman of Palermo, this self-styled sister of a Perugian, obtained the prize for which she had laid her trap. Being no longer interested in Andreuccio, she quickly went and locked the door through which he had passed just before he fell. Receiving no answer from the boy, Andreuccio began to call more loudly, but it was of no use. His suspicions being already aroused, he began, now that it was too late, to see how he had been hoodwinked, and having climbed a low wall dividing the alleyway from the road, he scrambled down into the street and went up to the front-door, which he was easily able to identify. He stood there for ages, vainly calling out, and shaking and beating the door for all he was worth. Finally, plainly perceiving the predicament he was in, he burst into tears and said to himself: ‘Oh, poor me! What a sudden way to lose five hundred florins and a sister!’ He said a lot more besides, then began to shout and to pummel on the door all over again, creating such a disturbance that he woke a number of the people living nearby, who got up out of bed as they could not endure the racket. One of the woman’s maids came to the window, all bleary-eyed, and said in tones of annoyance: ‘Who is knocking down there?’ ‘Oh,’ said Andreuccio, ‘don’t you recognize me? I am Andreuccio, the brother of Madonna Fiordaliso.’ 4 ‘My good man,’ she replied, ‘if you have had too much to drink, go and sleep it off and come back in the morning. I don’t know any Andreuccio; you are talking nonsense. Be off with you, for goodness’ sake, and let us sleep.’ ‘What!’ said Andreuccio. ‘Talking nonsense, am I? You know very well I’m not.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  When we are unable to flow through trauma and complete instinctive responses, these incompleted actions often undermine our lives. Unresolved trauma can keep us excessively cautious and inhibited, or lead us around in ever-tightening circles of dangerous re-enactment, victimization, and unwise exposure to danger. We become the perpetual victims or therapy clients. Trauma can destroy the quality of our relationships and distort sexual experiences. Compulsive, perverse, promiscuous, and inhibited sexual behaviors are common symptoms of traum a- not just sexual trauma. The effects of trauma can be pervasive and global or they can be subtle and elusive. When we do not resolve our traumas, we feel that we have failed, or that we have been betrayed by those we chose to help us. We need not blame this failure and betrayal on ourselves or others. The solution to the problem lies in increasing our knowledge about how to heal trauma. Until we understand that traumatic symptoms are physiological as well as psychological, we will be woefully inadequate in our attempts to heal them. The heart of the matter lies in being able to recognize that trauma represents animal instincts gone awry. When harnessed, these instincts can be used by the conscious mind to transform traumatic symptoms into a state of well-being. Acts must be carried through to their completion. Whatever their point of departure, the end will be beautiful. It is (only) because an action has not been completed that it is vile. — Jean Genet, from Thiefs Journal 3. Wounds That Can Heal When a young tree is injured it grows around that injury. As the tree continues to develop, the wound becomes relatively small in proportion to the size of the tree. Gnarls, burls and misshapen limbs speak of injuries and obstacles encountered through time and overcome. The way a tree grows around its past contributes to its exquisite individuality, character, and beauty. I certainly don’t advocate traumatization to build character, but since trauma is almost a given at some point in our lives, the image of the tree can be a valuable mirror. Although human beings have been experiencing trauma for thousands of years, it is only in the last ten years that it has begun to receive widespread professional and public attention. Trauma is now a household word, with true confessions from stars appearing in weekly supermarket tabloids. In that context, trauma has been associated primarily with sexual abuse. In spite of growing professional interest, and the sensationalism and saturation of the media, we see little evidence of trauma being healed.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Then Stephen must tell her the cruel truth, she must say: ‘I am one of those whom God marked on the forehead. Like Cain, I am marked and blemished. If you come to me, Mary, the world will abhor you, will persecute you, will call you unclean. Our love may be faithful even unto death and beyond—yet the world will call it unclean. We may harm no living creature by our love; we may grow more perfect in understanding and in charity because of our loving; but all this will not save you from the scourge of a world that will turn away its eyes from your noblest actions, finding only corruption and vileness in you. You will see men and women defiling each other, laying the burden of their sins upon their children. You will see unfaithfulness, lies and deceit among those whom the world views with approbation. You will find that many have grown hard of heart, have grown greedy, selfish, cruel and lustful; and then you will turn to me and will say: “You and I are more worthy of respect than these people. Why does the world persecute us, Stephen?” And I shall answer: “Because in this world there is only toleration for the so-called normal.” And when you come to me for protection, I shall say: “I cannot protect you, Mary, the world has deprived me of my right to protect; I am utterly helpless, I can only love you.” ’ And now Stephen was trembling. In spite of her strength and her splendid physique, she must stand there and tremble. She felt deathly cold, her teeth chattered with cold, and when she moved her steps were unsteady. She must climb the wide stairs with infinite care, in case she should inadvertently stumble; must lift her feet slowly, and with infinite care, because if she stumbled she might wake Mary. 4Ten days later Stephen was saying to her mother: ‘I’ve been needing a change for a very long time. It’s rather lucky that a girl I met in the Unit is free and able to go with me. We’ve taken a villa at Orotava, it’s supposed to be furnished and they’re leaving the servants, but heaven only knows what the house will be like, it belongs to a Spaniard; however, there’ll be sunshine.’ ‘I believe Orotava’s delightful,’ said Anna. But Puddle, who was looking at Stephen, said nothing. That night Stephen knocked at Puddle’s door: ‘May I come in?’ ‘Yes, come in do, my dear. Come and sit by the fire—shall I make you some cocoa?’ ‘No, thanks.’ A long pause while Puddle slipped into her dressing-gown of soft, grey Viyella. Then she also drew a chair up to the fire, and after a little: ‘It’s good to see you—your old teacher’s been missing you rather badly.’ ‘Not more than I’ve been missing her, Puddle.’ Was that quite true? Stephen suddenly flushed, and both of them grew very silent.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “I don’t really have one here.” In no time I was telling her about Philip having abandoned me and the airless, black depression I’d fallen into. “Come home immediately, Tristine. You need the support of your women friends.” “I can’t bail on this job. I’d never get another.” “Why not?” “I’d have a permanent black mark on my name for breaking my contract. Chairs of English departments talk to the chairs of other English departments.” “I see,” she said calmly. “Alright, don’t do anything until you hear back from me. Just try to eat and sleep—and go to a doctor, any doctor. Remember, I love you.” The next day I received a forwarded letter from the UCLA School of Theater, Film, and Television accepting me into their graduate film program. The letter was baffling because, while I’d thought about going, I’d never applied to film school. Admission to UCLA’s grad film program in 1974, as now, was a coup and required an application with sample film work and recommendations, none of which I had and none of which I’d submitted. Yet when I phoned, the film department secretary assured me that I was expected to show up to register for classes the following week. When Anaïs called a few days later, I asked her, “Did you get me admitted to UCLA Film School?” “No, I don’t know anything about that.” She sounded confused. “I’m calling to tell you about a teaching job waiting for you here in Los Angeles if you will accept it.” She had cooked up a faculty position with International College in Westwood, a British-style tutorial program started by some maverick UCLA administrators where, for a lot of money, students could get an advanced degree studying one-on-one with Marshall McLuhan, Buckminster Fuller, Judy Chicago, Ravi Shankar, Yehudi Menuhin, Lawrence Durrell, Kenneth Rexroth, Gary Snyder, or Anaïs Nin. So many students had signed on to study with Anaïs that she was able to tell the college she wanted me to co-teach with her. She would be the big name that pulled in the students and she’d meet with them at her house once a month, while I would do the bread-and-butter work of teaching them weekly. “Do you think it’s unfair that I’d be taking half the money and only doing a quarter of the work?” Anaïs asked me, concerned. “No!” It would be more than I was making at IU for a fraction of the time. I could pay the rent on the beach house by myself and have enough free time to go to film school and become a filmmaker. I didn’t understand how UCLA Film School had intuited my dream, but at this point I was willing to give myself over to fate, since all my intellectual effort to make a rational, politically correct career decision had landed me alone and miserable.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Meanwhile Gisippus stayed on in Athens, but could no longer command much esteem among most of his fellow citizens; and not long afterwards, through factional strife in the city, he was driven out of Athens, poor and destitute, and condemned to perpetual exile along with all the members of his family. Now that he was banished, before very long he became not only a pauper but a beggar, and made his way as best he could to Rome, in order to discover whether Titus still remembered him. On learning that Titus was alive and that all the Romans sang his praises, he found out where he was living, then went and stood outside his house. Eventually Titus made his appearance, and though Gisippus would not venture to address him because of his beggarly condition, he endeavoured to let himself be seen so that Titus might recognize and send for him. When, therefore, Titus passed him by without any show of recognition, Gisippus was convinced that he had been deliberately snubbed, and remembering all he had done for Titus in the past, he retreated from the scene in dudgeon and despair. It was already dark when Gisippus, hungry and penniless, having nowhere to go and heartily wishing he were dead, strayed into a very lonely part of the city where he came across a large cave, into which he crept with the intention of sheltering there for the night. And on the cave’s bare floor, ill-apparelled and exhausted by prolonged weeping, he fell fast asleep. Just before dawn, however, a pair of burglars came to this very cave with the proceeds of their night’s activities, and having started to quarrel with one another, the more powerful of the two killed his companion and made off. All of this was seen and heard by Gisippus, who, being himself intent upon dying, felt that he had now discovered a way of achieving his goal without resorting to suicide. So he stayed where he was until the praetorian guards, having quickly got wind of the affair, arrived at the scene of the crime and bundled him off into custody. He was then interrogated and confessed to the murder, adding that he had been unable to find his way out of the cave; whereupon the praetor, whose name was Marcus Varro, sentenced him to death by crucifixion, which in those days was the regular method of execution.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SEVENTH STORY On hearing that a young woman called Lisa has fallen ill on account of her fervent love for him, King Peter goes to comfort her, and later on he marries her to a young nobleman; and having kissed her on the brow, he thenceforth always styles himself her knight . When Fiammetta had reached the end of her tale, and fulsome praise had been accorded to the heroic munificence of King Charles (albeit one of the ladies present, being a Ghibelline, refused to extol him), Pampinea at the king’s behest began as follows: Winsome ladies, no sensible person would disagree with what you have said about good King Charles, unless she had other reasons for disliking him; but since his deed has now reminded me of another, perhaps equally commendable, that was performed by an adversary of his for the sake of yet another young country-woman of ours, I should like to tell you about it. At the time when the French were driven from Sicily, 1 there was living in Palermo a very rich Florentine apothecary called Bernardo Puccini, whose wife had borne him one child only, an exquisitely beautiful daughter who was now of marriageable age. King Peter of Aragon, 2 having made himself master of the island, was staging a magnificent tournament in Palermo with all his lords, and whilst he was jousting in the Catalan style, 3 it happened that Bernardo’s daughter, whose name was Lisa, was viewing the proceedings from a window along with some other ladies. When she saw the King riding in the joust, she was filled with so much admiration that after watching him perform in one or two further contests she fell passionately in love with him. The festivities came to an end, and Lisa went about her father’s house, unable to think of anything else but the lofty and splendid love to which she aspired. But that which grieved her most was the knowledge of her lowly condition, which left her with scarcely any hope that her love could be brought to a happy conclusion. Nevertheless she would not be deterred from loving the King, though for fear of making things worse for herself, she dared not reveal her love to a single living soul. The King neither noticed nor cared about any of this, which made her affliction all the more difficult to bear. As her love continued to increase, so also did her melancholy, till eventually, being unable to endure it any longer, the beautiful Lisa fell ill and began to waste visibly away from one day to the next, like snow in the rays of the sun. Her father and mother, who were heartbroken by the turn that events had taken, assisted her in every way they could, nursing her day and night, calling in various physicians, and plying her with medicines. But it was all to no avail, for the girl, having despaired of her love, had chosen not to go on living.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And now there crept into Stephen’s brain the worst torment of all, a doubt of her father. He had known and knowing he had not told her; he had pitied and pitying had not protected; he had feared and fearing had saved only himself. Had she had a coward for a father? She sprang up and began to pace the room. Not this—she could not face this new torment. She had stained her love, the love of the lover—she dared not stain this one thing that remained, the love of the child for the father. If this light went out the engulfing darkness would consume her, destroying her entirely. Man could not live by darkness alone, one point of light he must have for salvation—one point of light. The most perfect Being of all had cried out for light in His darkness—even He, the most perfect Being of all. And then as though in answer to prayer, to some prayer that her trembling lips had not uttered, came the memory of a patient, protective back, bowed as though bearing another’s burden. Came the memory of horrible, soul-sickening pain: ‘No—not that—something urgent—I want—to say. No drugs—I know I’m—dying—Evans.’ And again an heroic and tortured effort: ‘Anna—it’s Stephen—listen.’ Stephen suddenly held out her arms to this man who, though dead, was still her father. But even in this blessèd moment of easement, her heart hardened again at the thought of her mother. A fresh wave of bitterness flooded her soul so that the light seemed all but extinguished; very faintly it gleamed like the little lantern on a buoy that is tossed by tempest. Sitting down at her desk she found pen and paper.