Embarrassment

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 The Decameron (1353)

  And tomorrow you shall have the new smock.’ ‘If need be,’ said Ciutazza, ‘I would sleep with half-a-dozen men, let alone one.’ After dark that evening, the Provost came to the house as arranged, and in accordance with the lady’s plans, the two young men were in their own room, making a good deal of noise. The Provost entered the lady’s bedroom without a sound, and groped his way through the dark, as instructed, to the bed, on which Ciutazza was already lying, having been carefully briefed by her mistress about what she was to do. Master Provost, thinking it was the lady who was lying beside him, took Ciutazza in his arms and began to kiss her without saying a word, and Ciutazza returned the compliment. And so the Provost began to disport himself with her, taking possession of the prize he had so long been coveting. Having thus brought the pair together, the lady directed her brothers to put the rest of her plan into effect. They therefore stole quietly out of their room and made their way towards the piazza; and Fortune was even kinder to their scheme than they had hoped, for since it was a very hot evening, the Bishop had been looking for the two young men and was already on his way to their house for a convivial chat and some liquid refreshment. As soon as he saw them coming, he told them what he had in mind, and they all returned to the house, where, to his no small pleasure, he sat with them in a cool little courtyard in which numerous lanterns had been lit, and drank some excellent wine of theirs. When they had taken their fill, the young men said: ‘Since you have been so kind as to honour us with your company in our humble little abode, to which we were just about to invite you, we should like you to take a look at something we are anxious to show you.’ The Bishop readily agreed, and so one of the young men seized a lighted torch and led the way, being followed by the Bishop and all the rest of the company, to the room where Master Provost was lying in bed with Ciutazza. In order to make up for lost time, the Provost had been riding at a furious pace, and already, by the time all these people arrived, he had covered at least three miles, so that, in spite of the heat, feeling a little weary, he had dropped off to sleep with Ciutazza in his arms. So when the young man bearing the torch entered the room with the Bishop and all the others in their wake, the first thing they saw was the Provost lying there with Ciutazza in his arms. At that precise moment, the Provost woke up, and seeing all these people standing round him in the torchlight, he thrust his head under the bedclothes, feeling thoroughly ashamed and confused.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  No one in his right mind would ever have believed all that talk about finding such a valuable stone in the Mugnone.’ Hearing them talk in this fashion, Calandrino concluded that he must have picked up the stone without knowing it, and that because of its special powers they were unable to see him, even though he was standing just a few yards away. He therefore decided, being delighted with his good fortune, to go back home; and without saying anything to the others, he turned about and started to return by the way he had come. On seeing this, Buffalmacco turned to Bruno and said: ‘What’ll we do now? Why don’t we go home, the same as he did?’ ‘Come on then,’ Bruno replied. ‘But I swear to God that I won’t fall for any more of Calandrino’s tricks. If he were as close to me now as he’s been all morning, I’d give him such a rap on the heels with this pebble that he wouldn’t forget this little hoax of his for the best part of a month.’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he took aim and caught Calandrino squarely on the heel with the pebble, whereupon Calandrino, grimacing with pain, jerked his foot high in the air and began to puff and gasp for breath. But he none the less managed to hold his tongue, and continued on his way. Then Buffalmacco took between his fingers one of the stones he had collected earlier, and said to Bruno: ‘D’you see this nice sharp bit of flint? How I’d love to send it whizzing into Calandrino’s back!’ He then let it go, and it caught Calandrino a nasty blow in the small of the back. But to cut a long story short, they kept stoning Calandrino in this fashion, making various abusive remarks, all the way back along the Mugnone to the Porta San Gallo, where, having thrown away the rest of the stones they had collected, they paused to chat with the customs guards. These latter, having been let into the secret beforehand, had allowed Calandrino to pass unchallenged, and were splitting their sides with laughter. Calandrino walked on without stopping until he reached his house, which was situated near the Canto alla Macina, and Fortune favoured the hoax to such an extent that at no point along his route, either beside the river or in the city streets, did anyone address a single word to him, though as a matter of fact he encountered very few people because nearly everyone was at breakfast.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIFTH STORY The Marchioness of Montferrat, with the aid of a chicken banquet and a few well-chosen words, restrains the extravagant passion of the King of France . As they listened to Dioneo’s story, the ladies at first felt some embarrassment, which showed itself in the modest blushes that appeared on all their faces. Then, glancing at one another and barely managing to restrain their laughter, they giggled as they listened. When it came to an end, however, they gently rebuked him with a few well-chosen words, in order to show that stories of that kind should not be told when ladies were present. Then the queen turned to Fiammetta, who was sitting on the grass next to him, and indicated that it was her turn to continue. Whereupon, with a cheerful smile towards the queen, she gracefully began: Whereas men, if they are very wise, will always seek to love ladies of higher station than their own, women, if they are very discerning, will know how to guard against accepting the advances of a man who is of more exalted rank. For which reason, and also because of the pleasure I feel at our having, through our stories, begun to demonstrate the power of good repartee, I have been prompted to show you, fair ladies, in the story that I have to tell, how through her words and actions a gentlewoman avoided this pitfall and guided her suitor clear of its dangers. The Marquis of Montferrat 1 was a man of outstanding worth, who had sailed as Gonfalonier of the Church with a Christian host on a Crusade to the Holy Land. 2 And one day, during a conversation about his merits at the court of King Philippe Le Borgne, 3 who was also preparing to leave France to join the Crusade, a courtier observed that there was not a wedded couple under the sun to compare with the Marquis and his lady; for just as the Marquis was a paragon of all the knightly virtues, so the lady was more beautiful and worthy of esteem than any other woman in the world. These words left such a deep impression on the French king’s mind, that without having ever seen the lady, he at once became fervently enamoured of her, and decided that under no circumstances would he embark for the Crusade at any other port but Genoa, so that, by travelling overland, he would have a plausible pretext for paying the Marchioness a visit. In this way he thought he would succeed, since the Marquis would be absent, in bringing his desires to fruition. He lost no time in putting his deep-laid scheme into effect. Having sent all his men on ahead, he set out with a small retinue of nobles, and as they approached the territory of the Marquis, he sent word to the lady, a day in advance, that she was to expect him for breakfast on the following morning.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  would thenceforth become greater friends than ever. Having taken his fill of pleasure, Zeppa stepped down from the chest, and on being asked by the lady for the jewel he had promised, he opened the door and summoned his wife. The only words she uttered, on entering the room, were: ‘My dear, you’ve paid me back in my own coin.’ And as she said this, she laughed. Then Zeppa said to her: ‘Open up this chest.’ She duly obeyed, and turning to the lady, Zeppa pointed to the huddled figure of her husband, Spinelloccio, who was now revealed inside it. It would be hard to decide which of the two was the more embarrassed: Spinelloccio, on seeing Zeppa standing over him and knowing that he knew what he had done; or the lady, on seeing her husband and realizing that he had heard and felt what she had been doing directly above his head. However, Zeppa broke the silence, saying to the lady: ‘Here’s the jewel I promised to give you.’ Spinelloccio now emerged from the chest, and without making too much fuss, he said: ‘Now we are quits, Zeppa. So let us remain friends, as you were saying just now to my wife. And since we have always shared everything in common except our wives, let us share them as well.’ Zeppa having consented to this proposal, all four breakfasted together in perfect amity. And from that day forth, each of the ladies had two husbands, and each of the men had two wives, nor did this arrangement ever give rise to any argument or dispute between them.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIRST STORY A knight offers to take Madonna Oretta riding through the realm of narrative, but makes such a poor job of it that she begs him to put her down . Tender ladies, as stars bedeck the heavens on cloudless nights, and in the spring the green meadows are adorned with flowers, and hillsides with saplings newly come into leaf, so likewise are graceful manners and polite discourse enriched by shafts of wit. These, being brief, are much better suited to women than to men, since it is more unseemly for a woman to make long speeches than it is for a man. But for some reason or other, whether because we are lacking in intelligence or because all the women of our generation were born under an unlucky star, few if any women now remain who can produce a witticism at the right moment, or who, on hearing a witticism uttered, can understand its meaning. Since Pampinea has already spoken at some length on this subject, 1 I do not propose to elaborate further upon it. But in order to show you how exquisite these sayings can be if proffered at the right moment, I should like to tell you about the courteous way in which a lady imposed silence upon a certain knight. * As many of you will know, either through direct personal acquaintance or through hearsay, a little while ago there lived in our city a lady of silver tongue and gentle breeding, whose excellence was such that she deserves to be mentioned by name. She was called Madonna Oretta, and she was the wife of Messer Geri Spina. One day, finding herself in the countryside like ourselves, and proceeding from place to place, by way of recreation, with a party of knights and ladies whom she had entertained to a meal in her house earlier in the day, one of the knights turned to her, and, perhaps because they were having to travel a long way, on foot, to the place they all desired to reach, he said: ‘Madonna Oretta, if you like I shall take you riding along a goodly stretch of our journey by telling you one of the finest tales in the world.’ ‘Sir,’ replied the lady, ‘I beseech you most earnestly to do so, and I shall look upon it as a great favour.’ Whereupon this worthy knight, whose swordplay was doubtless on a par with his storytelling, began to recite his tale, which in itself was indeed excellent. But by constantly repeating the same phrases, and recapitulating sections of the plot, and every so often declaring that he had ‘made a mess of that bit’, and regularly confusing the names of the characters, he ruined it completely. 2 Moreover, his mode of delivery was totally out of keeping with the characters and the incidents he was describing, so that it was painful for Madonna Oretta to listen to him. She began to perspire freely, and her heart missed several beats, as though she had fallen ill and was about to give up the ghost. And in the end, when she could endure it no longer, having perceived that the knight had tied himself inextricably in knots, she said to him, in affable tones: ‘Sir, you have taken me riding on a horse that trots very jerkily. Pray be good enough to set me down.’ The knight, who was apparently far more capable of taking a hint than of telling a tale, saw the joke and took it in the cheerfullest of spirits. Leaving aside the story he had begun and so ineptly handled, he turned his attention to telling her tales of quite another sort.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Abbess, having taken her seat in the chapter-house in the presence of all the nuns, who only had eyes for the delinquent, began to administer the most terrible scolding that any woman was ever given, telling her that by her foul and abominable conduct, if it ever leaked out, she had defiled the sanctity, the honour, and the good name of the convent; and by way of addition to this torrent of abuse, she threatened her with the direst of penalties. Knowing herself to be at fault, the girl was at a loss for an answer, so she simply stood there looking shy and embarrassed without saying a word, with the result that the others began to feel sorry for her. But as the strictures of the Abbess continued to flow thick and fast, she happened to raise her eyes and perceive what the Abbess had on her head, with the braces dangling down on either side. Realizing what the Abbess had been up to, she took heart and said: ‘By the grace of God, Mother Abbess, tie up your bonnet, and then you may say whatever you like to me.’ The Abbess, having no idea what she meant by this, said to her: ‘What bonnet, you little whore? Are you going to have the effrontery to stand there making witty remarks? Do you think it funny to have behaved in this disgraceful manner?’ And so, for the second time, the girl said: ‘I would ask you once again, Mother Abbess, to tie up your bonnet, and then you may address me in whatever way you please.’ Accordingly, several of the nuns looked up at the Abbess, and the Abbess likewise raised her hands to die sides of her head, so that they all saw what Isabetta was driving at. Whereupon the Abbess, recognizing that she was equally culpable and that there was no way of concealing the fact from all the nuns, who were gazing at her with their eyes popping out of their heads, changed her tune and began to take a completely different line, arguing that it was impossible to defend oneself against the goadings of the flesh. And she told them that provided the thing was discreetly arranged, as it had been in the past, they were all at liberty to enjoy themselves whenever they pleased. Isabetta was then set at liberty, and she and the Abbess returned to their beds, the latter with the priest and the former with her lover. She thenceforth arranged for him to visit her at frequent intervals, undeterred by the envy of those of her fellow nuns, without lovers, who consoled themselves in secret as best they could.

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

  Maybe Jean-Jacques would ask Anaïs for it. I should have Lenore’s number written down and ready when I went to retrieve the forgotten books. That afternoon I repeated my steps from Lenore’s Bowery loft to Anaïs’s Greenwich Village apartment. She buzzed me right up but seemed flustered when she opened the door. “Did I interrupt you?” I asked. “No, but I only have ten minutes. I have to meet Gore for lunch.” I didn’t know who Gore was but thought it unusual she was leaving for lunch at three. She was wearing flared silk trousers and a chiffon blouse with one large ruffle down the front, more suitable for hostessing than going out, so I guessed Gore, whoever he was, was coming there. “Sit down for a few minutes.” Anaïs indicated the couch. In the soft light of her living room with the shades drawn against the sunlight, she looked younger and more natural, and suddenly I knew why she’d seemed familiar the first time I saw her. Though aged, she had the face of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea on a clamshell, the same heart shape, the same arched brows, identical lips, a likeness emphasized by how she penciled the upper twin peaks. As if Anaïs knew I was thinking about her as the goddess of love, she asked gaily, “How did it go with Jean-Jacques last night?” Hearing her pronounce his name made my inner thighs, where he’d pushed against me, melt into butterscotch pudding, but I tried to keep my voice noncommittal. “Oh, he got me back to Lenore’s.” For the first time, I realized he must have told the limo driver to wait for him all the while he was upstairs with me. Had the driver told Hugo? Did Anaïs know? I was afraid she could see the flush that was now burning on my chest and cheeks. “Jean-Jacques seemed very taken with you.” She smiled. “He’s too old to be interested in me,” I protested, hoping she would contradict me. There was a twinkle in her aquamarine eyes, but perhaps to spare me further embarrassment, she changed the subject. “So, tell me, how did Lenore Tawney become your godmother?” “She and my mother were good friends when I was born. They were both Catholic—” “I was once Catholic, too,” Anaïs said, adding, “It’s a very sexually repressive religion, you know.” I nodded, feeling tongue-tied. During the night with Jean-Jacques, my Catholic repression had disappeared. I would have liked to talk with Anaïs about that, but I had no words to describe what had happened. Anaïs waited a moment patiently, then shrugged as if recognizing that I was not going to say anything, and went back to the topic of my godmother. “You said your mother and Lenore were friends in the past tense. They aren’t any more?” “Well, they lost touch after my father left.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FOURTH STORY Cecco Fortarrigo gambles away everything he possesses at Buonconvento, together with the money of Cecco Angiulieri. He then pursues Ceceo Angiulieri in his shirt claiming that he has been robbed, causes him to be seized by peasants, dons his clothes, mounts his palfrey, and rides away leaving Angiulieri standing there in his shirt. All the members of the company roared with laughter on hearing what Calandrino had said about his wife; but when Filostrato had finished speaking, Neifile began, at the queen’s behest, as follows: Worthy ladies, but for the fact that it is more difficult for people to display their wisdom and their virtues than it is to show their folly and their vices, it would be so much wasted effort for them to reflect carefully before opening their mouths to speak; all of which has been amply demonstrated by the stupidity of Calandrino, who was under no obligation whatever, in order to recover from the malady from which in his simplicity he believed himself to be suffering, to hold forth about the secret pleasures of his wife in public. But the story of Calandrino brings to mind a tale of a totally different sort, wherein one man’s cunning defeats the wisdom of another, to the latter’s extreme distress and embarrassment; and I should now like to tell you about it. In Siena, not many years ago, there lived two young men, who had both come of age and were both called Cecco, the one being the son of Messer Angiulieri 1 and the other of Messer Fortarrigo. 2 And whilst they failed to see eye-to-eye with each other on several matters, there was one respect at least – namely, their hatred of their respective fathers 3 – in which they were in such total agreement that they became good friends and were often to be found in one another’s company. But Angiulieri, who was as handsome a man as he was courteous, feeling that he was leading a poor sort of life in Siena on the meagre allowance he was given by his father, and hearing that the new papal ambassador in the March of Ancona was a certain cardinal who was very well disposed towards him, resolved to make his way there in the belief that by doing this he would better his lot. And having spoken to his father on the subject, he came to an arrangement with him whereby he would receive six months’ allowance in advance, so that he could purchase new clothes and a good horse, and go there looking reasonably respectable.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Lauretta then resumed her seat, leaving Emilia feeling somewhat ill at ease, not so much in having been made their queen as in hearing herself praised in public for something to which ladies are wont to attach most importance, and her face turned the colour of fresh roses at dawn. But having lowered her gaze until her blushes had receded, she summoned the steward and made appropriate arrangements for their activities of the morrow, after which she addressed them as follows: ‘Delectable ladies, we may readily observe that when oxen have laboured in chains beneath the yoke for a certain portion of the day, their yoke is removed and they are put out to grass, being allowed to roam freely through the woods wherever they please. Similarly, we may perceive that gardens stocked with numerous different trees are much more beautiful than forests consisting solely of oaks. And therefore, having regard to the number of days during which our deliberations have been confined within a predetermined scheme, I consider that it would be both appropriate and useful for us to wander at large for a while, and in so doing recover the strength for returning once again beneath the yoke. ‘Accordingly, when we resume our storytelling on the morrow, I do not propose to confine you to any particular topic; on the contrary, I desire that each of us should speak on whatever subject he or she may choose, 1 it being my firm conviction that we shall find it no less rewarding to hear a variety of themes discussed than if we had restricted ourselves to one alone. Moreover, by doing as I have suggested, we shall all recruit our strength, and thus my successor will feel more justified in forcing us to observe our customary rule.’ The members of the company applauded the queen for proposing so sensible an arrangement; and rising from their places, they turned to various forms of relaxation, the ladies making garlands and otherwise amusing themselves whilst the young men sang songs and played games. In this way they whiled away their time until supper, to which in due course they gaily addressed themselves, sitting in a circle round the delectable fountain. And when supper was over they freely engaged in their usual pastimes of singing and dancing. Finally the queen, out of deference to the ways of her predecessors, ordered Panfilo to sing a song, notwithstanding the fact that various members of the company had already sung several of their own accord. And so Panfilo promptly began, as follows: ‘Love, I take such delight in thee, And find such joy and pleasure in thy name, That I am happy burning in thy flame. ‘I feel such joy within my breast, Grown from the precious grace Which thou hast brought to me, So strong it cannot be suppressed But shines out from my face Declaring me to be Enamoured joyfully– Happy to stay and burn so nigh To one in place and name so high! ‘I cannot sing aloud in song Or sketch forth with my hand The joy, Love, that I know; For to reveal it would be wrong, That I well understand. A torment it would grow; But I am happy so. All speech would be subdued and broken ‘Ere one small part of it were spoken. ‘Who is there who aright could guess My arms would find that place That they were clasped around? None would believe my happiness That I might bend my face Whither I did, and found Salvation sweet and grace. Hence I with burning joy conceal A rapture I may not reveal.’ Thus did Panfilo’s song come to an end, and though everyone had joined wholeheartedly in the refrain, there was not a single person present who did not attend more carefully than usual to the words, striving to guess what Panfilo had implied he was obliged to conceal. And whilst several formed their own opinions as to his meaning, they were all well wide of the mark. But in the end the queen, perceiving that Panfilo’s song was finished and that the young ladies and the gentlemen were showing clear signs of fatigue, ordered them all to retire to bed. Here ends the Eighth Day of the Decameron

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Let’s pull those breeches right down for the fellow. We can do it quite easily.’ The other two had already seen how it could be done, and having arranged with one another what they were to say and do, they returned there the following morning. Despite the fact that the courtroom was crowded, Matteuzzo managed to crawl into the space beneath the platform without being seen, and positioned himself exactly below the spot where the judge’s feet were resting. Then Maso went up to the judge on one side and seized the hem of his robe, whilst Ribi approached him from the other side and did the same. ‘Sir,’ Maso began. ‘O sir, I beseech you in God’s name not to let this petty thief, who is standing at the other side of you, escape from this courtroom before you have made him give me back the pair of thigh-boots he has stolen from me. He claims he didn’t do it, and yet I saw him, less than a month ago, having them re-soled.’ Then Ribi shouted in his other ear: ‘Don’t you believe him, sir; he’s a lying rogue, and because he knows that I’ve come to lay a complaint against him for stealing a saddlebag of mine, he comes out with this story about the thigh-boots, which I’ve had in my house for donkey’s years. If you don’t believe me, I can call any number of witnesses, such as the woman next door, who runs the fruit stall, and Grassa the tripe-merchant, and a dustman from Santa Maria a Verzaia, who saw him on his way home from town.’ Maso for his part was not prepared to leave all the talking to Ribi, but he too began to shout, and Ribi shouted even louder. And as the judge stood up and edged closer to them in order to follow what they were saying, Matteuzzo seized his opportunity, thrust his hand through the hole in the plank, took a firm hold on the seat of the judge’s breeches, and pulled hard. The breeches came down forthwith, for the judge was a scraggy fellow, and very lean in the buttocks. Being at a loss to understand how this had come about, the judge tried to cover himself up by drawing his clothes across the front of his body and sitting down, but Maso and Ribi were still holding on to them at either side and shouting their heads off, saying:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Being at a loss to understand how this had come about, the judge tried to cover himself up by drawing his clothes across the front of his body and sitting down, but Maso and Ribi were still holding on to them at either side and shouting their heads off, saying: ‘It’s monstrous, sir, that you should refuse me a hearing, and try to withdraw without giving your verdict. Surely you don’t need written evidence to decide a trifling matter of this sort.’ And whilst they were saying all this, they held on to his clothes sufficiently long for everyone in court to perceive that he had lost his breeches. Then finally, Matteuzzo, having clung to them for some little time, released his hold and made good his escape from the courtroom without being seen, whilst Ribi, deciding he had done quite enough, exclaimed: ‘I swear to God I’ll appeal to the Senate.’ At the same time, Maso let go the judge’s robe on his side, saying: ‘I shan’t go to any Senate. I’ll keep coming back here, sir, until I find you in less of a muddle than you seem to be in this morning.’ Then they both made off in opposite directions as fast as their legs would carry them. It was only at this point that Master Judge, having pulled up his breeches before all those present, as though he were just getting up out of bed, became aware of the deception and demanded to know what had become of the two men who were arguing about the thigh-boots and the saddlebag. But when they couldn’t be found, he began to swear by the bowels of God that somebody should tell him whether it was the custom in Florence for a judge to have his breeches removed whilst sitting on the bench of justice. When the podestà , for his part, was told what had happened, he practically threw a fit. But when it was pointed out by his friends that this had only been done in order to show him that the Florentines knew he had brought fools with him instead of judges so as to save money, he thought it best to hold his tongue, and nothing more was said about the matter.

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

  The author of Matthew not only apparently changes words and injects phrases but goes further, deliberately juxtaposing Jesus’ more radical sayings with more moderate sayings on the same theme. According to Matthew, for example, Jesus concludes his ringing rejection of divorce—“What God has joined together, let no man put asunder”—with Matthew’s modification allowing for divorce—“Whoever divorces his wife, except for immorality, and marries another, is guilty of adultery” (Matthew 19:9). Only a few verses later, Matthew juxtaposes Jesus’ promise of great rewards to “every one that has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands for my name’s sake” (19:29), with Jesus’ reaffirmation of the traditional commandment “Honor your father and mother” (19:19). Thus Matthew, obviously aware of such discrepancies, and perhaps embarrassed by them, implicitly discriminates between two types of saying—and two levels of discipleship. Matthew gives the reader the impression that Jesus’ message and the movement he inspired need not place extreme demands upon every believer, but only upon would-be spiritual heroes—those who want to follow Jesus’ command to “be perfect” (Matthew 5:48). But followers of Jesus who want to stay home with their spouses and children and continue to support their aging parents can, according to Matthew, remain committed to family life and still find their place within the Christian community. Certain followers of Paul, concerned to make Paul’s message equally accessible, and finding some statements in his first letter to the Corinthians, for example, too extreme, decided that he could not have meant what he said there, much less what enthusiastically ascetic Christians took him to mean. Thus some of Paul’s followers proceeded to compose, in Paul’s name, letters of their own designed to correct what they believed were dangerous misinterpretations of Paul’s teaching. Several of these anonymous admirers of Paul, a generation or two after his death, forged letters, filling them with personal details of Paul’s life and greetings to his friends, hoping to make them appear authentic. Many people—then and now—have assumed that these letters are genuine, and five of them were in fact incorporated into the New Testament as “letters of Paul.” Even today, scholars dispute which are authentic and which are not. Most scholars, however, agree that Paul actually wrote only eight of the thirteen “Pauline” letters now included in the New Testament collection: Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon. Virtually all scholars agree that Paul himself did not write 1 or 2 Timothy or Titus—letters written in a style different from Paul’s and reflecting situations and viewpoints very different from those in Paul’s own letters. About the authorship of Ephesians, Colossians, and 2 Thessalonians, debate continues; but the majority of scholars include these, too, among the “deutero-Pauline”—literally, secondarily Pauline—letters.42

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

  “Do you know them?” I hissed. “No, I’ve never seen them before in my life.” She glanced back at one of the men, who lit up in a smile. “Are they bothering you? We can leave.” She started to rise. The two men rose as well. One said, “We have to get back to work … unless?” He let the unspoken question hang in the air. Anaïs’s guttural laugh was the throaty sound she’d described in her novels as Sabina’s. She gave me a questioning look. I felt paralyzed in the moment; I had no volition of my own. I was like an insect she’d pinned to a board. I glared at the dawdling pair of men who were too old for me and too young for her. Finally, they took the hint and left. As soon as they were gone Anaïs’s laughter, like a temple bell, cleansed the air. “I was just playing with them. I thought you were participating. No? Nothing would have happened. I am completely faithful to Rupert now.” “They thought we were prickteases,” I said. “Prrrickteases? I’ve never heard that one! Prrricktease! I have to tell Renate.” “It’s not a compliment.” “No? How is it used?” “When a guy is mad because you acted sexy but won’t follow through. I used to get called it all the time.” “Give me an example of a time you were a prrricktease.” I recalled again, as I had at her Greenwich Village apartment, my pubescent hunt for boys. “When I was just twelve, my girlfriend and I would put on makeup and look for boys to make out with at miniature golf or the movies. When I refused to go past kissing, the guy would call me a pricktease.” “So that’s what happens when girls don’t have chaperones,” she mused. “You were fortunate. At that age I couldn’t go anywhere without one of my older brothers.” “You think that was lucky? I think you were lucky to have older brothers.” “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “What’s interesting is that you were already a baby Sabina.” She went to pay the check rather than wait for the cook to bring it. Returning to our patio table, she leaned down, set her hands lightly on my shoulders, and said into my ear, “But where did Sabina go today, Tchrristine? Nowhere to be found! Into the ether like a genie! You should have flirted with them, had some fun, watched to see what would have happened. It would have given you a better story than a stupid shoe. You should write about being a prrricktease.” [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Thursday morning, after Anaïs had left for New York, I intended to sleep in. I’d been up late studying and didn’t have a class until the afternoon. But the phone jangled insistently at 8:30 a.m.

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

  Upon her arrival at the motel, the desk clerk handed her a note from Rupert, an invitation to dinner at his mother’s house. Rupert had warned Anaïs that his mother, Helen, and her second husband, Lloyd, son of the famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright, were guarded about whom they let into their world. Likely they wanted to look her over. As Anaïs stepped out of a taxi at 858 Doheny that evening, she thought how perfectly the site expressed the family’s reserve. She was already forming the metaphors in her mind that she would use in her diary to describe it: The crossed arms of a giant tree guarding the entrance. The high stone wall surrounding the house like a castle moat. Anaïs tried hard to charm Rupert's mother, but found the short, restrained woman impenetrable. Seated next to Helen at the dinner table, Anaïs could feel her scrutinizing the side of her face, studying her crow’s-feet and likely searching for plastic surgery scars. Helen questioned Anaïs about her life in New York: did they know any of the same people? How long had it been, she asked, since Anaïs had gotten divorced? Feeling defensive, Anaïs said the first thing that jumped into her head. “I just got my divorce in Mexico.” “And do you intend to continue writing novels?” “Oh, yes. Dutton is planning on publishing my next one.” Well, she hoped they would. Helen commented, “The artist’s life is difficult. It does not create a base for a full life or stable relationships. Rupert has learned that, not only from having been an actor but from marrying an actress.” “So he told me.” “I read one of your books,” Helen said as she poured mint sauce from a chrome Bauhaus pitcher for the pink sliced lamb on Anaïs’s plate. “The book had a troubling title, what was it? Yes, House of Incest?” Accepting the perfectly presented plate, Anaïs looked across the table to Rupert for help. Where was her brave, manly lover now? Letting her be subjected to his mother’s scrutiny and digs without jumping in to support her. He got the message, finally, in Anaïs’s pleading eyes. “Mother,” he said, “the title refers to incest as a metaphor for self-absorption, for being able only to see other people as projections of oneself.” So, Anaïs thought, Rupert does listen. He can even repeat as his own what I’ve told him. “That’s very interesting,” said Lloyd. Anaïs looked at Rupert’s stepfather, the famous architect’s son, with sympathy. “My father was a world-famous musician,” she said. “Not as famous as Frank Lloyd Wright, of course, but I know what it feels like to be the child of a famous artist. Like you, I have had to work to create my own identity.” Rupert and his brother Eric turned their eyes on Lloyd as he was about to respond, but Helen slid in a question as smoothly as her silver-handled knife through the leg of lamb. “Do you enjoy cooking, Anaïs?”

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

  Maybe Jean-Jacques would ask Anaïs for it. I should have Lenore’s number written down and ready when I went to retrieve the forgotten books. That afternoon I repeated my steps from Lenore’s Bowery loft to Anaïs’s Greenwich Village apartment. She buzzed me right up but seemed flustered when she opened the door. “Did I interrupt you?” I asked. “No, but I only have ten minutes. I have to meet Gore for lunch.” I didn’t know who Gore was but thought it unusual she was leaving for lunch at three. She was wearing flared silk trousers and a chiffon blouse with one large ruffle down the front, more suitable for hostessing than going out, so I guessed Gore, whoever he was, was coming there. “Sit down for a few minutes.” Anaïs indicated the couch. In the soft light of her living room with the shades drawn against the sunlight, she looked younger and more natural, and suddenly I knew why she’d seemed familiar the first time I saw her. Though aged, she had the face of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea on a clamshell, the same heart shape, the same arched brows, identical lips, a likeness emphasized by how she penciled the upper twin peaks. As if Anaïs knew I was thinking about her as the goddess of love, she asked gaily, “How did it go with Jean-Jacques last night?” Hearing her pronounce his name made my inner thighs, where he’d pushed against me, melt into butterscotch pudding, but I tried to keep my voice noncommittal. “Oh, he got me back to Lenore’s.” For the first time, I realized he must have told the limo driver to wait for him all the while he was upstairs with me. Had the driver told Hugo? Did Anaïs know? I was afraid she could see the flush that was now burning on my chest and cheeks. “Jean-Jacques seemed very taken with you.” She smiled. “He’s too old to be interested in me,” I protested, hoping she would contradict me. There was a twinkle in her aquamarine eyes, but perhaps to spare me further embarrassment, she changed the subject. “So, tell me, how did Lenore Tawney become your godmother?” “She and my mother were good friends when I was born. They were both Catholic—” “I was once Catholic, too,” Anaïs said, adding, “It’s a very sexually repressive religion, you know.” I nodded, feeling tongue-tied. During the night with Jean-Jacques, my Catholic repression had disappeared. I would have liked to talk with Anaïs about that, but I had no words to describe what had happened. Anaïs waited a moment patiently, then shrugged as if recognizing that I was not going to say anything, and went back to the topic of my godmother. “You said your mother and Lenore were friends in the past tense. They aren’t any more?” “Well, they lost touch after my father left.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  * * * No sooner had Dioneo reached the end of his story, than Lauretta, knowing that the time had come for her to abdicate, commended the advice given by Pietro dello Canigiano, which to judge by its effects had been very sound; and having also praised the sagacity of Salabaetto, who was no less worthy of commendation for translating Pietro’s advice into practice, she removed the laurel crown from her head and placed it upon Emilia’s, saying with womanly grace: ‘I know not, madam, whether you will make an agreeable queen, but we shall certainly have a fair one. See to it, then, that your actions are in keeping with your beauty.’ Lauretta then resumed her seat, leaving Emilia feeling somewhat ill at ease, not so much in having been made their queen as in hearing herself praised in public for something to which ladies are wont to attach most importance, and her face turned the colour of fresh roses at dawn. But having lowered her gaze until her blushes had receded, she summoned the steward and made appropriate arrangements for their activities of the morrow, after which she addressed them as follows: ‘Delectable ladies, we may readily observe that when oxen have laboured in chains beneath the yoke for a certain portion of the day, their yoke is removed and they are put out to grass, being allowed to roam freely through the woods wherever they please. Similarly, we may perceive that gardens stocked with numerous different trees are much more beautiful than forests consisting solely of oaks. And therefore, having regard to the number of days during which our deliberations have been confined within a predetermined scheme, I consider that it would be both appropriate and useful for us to wander at large for a while, and in so doing recover the strength for returning once again beneath the yoke. ‘Accordingly, when we resume our storytelling on the morrow, I do not propose to confine you to any particular topic; on the contrary, I desire that each of us should speak on whatever subject he or she may choose, 1 it being my firm conviction that we shall find it no less rewarding to hear a variety of themes discussed than if we had restricted ourselves to one alone. Moreover, by doing as I have suggested, we shall all recruit our strength, and thus my successor will feel more justified in forcing us to observe our customary rule.’ The members of the company applauded the queen for proposing so sensible an arrangement; and rising from their places, they turned to various forms of relaxation, the ladies making garlands and otherwise amusing themselves whilst the young men sang songs and played games. In this way they whiled away their time until supper, to which in due course they gaily addressed themselves, sitting in a circle round the delectable fountain. And when supper was over they freely engaged in their usual pastimes of singing and dancing.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘You might as well know, Calandrino, that one of the fellows we were drinking and eating with this morning told me that you had a girl up here, that you kept her for your pleasure and gave her all the little titbits that came your way, and that he was quite certain you had sent her this pig of yours. You’ve become quite an expert at fooling people, haven’t you? Remember the time you took us along the Mugnone?3 There we were, collecting those black stones, and as soon as you’d got us stranded up the creek without a paddle, you cleared off home, and then tried to make us believe that you’d found the thing. And now that you’ve given away the pig, or sold it rather, you think you can persuade us, by uttering a few oaths, that it’s been stolen. But you can’t fool us any more: we’ve cottoned on to these tricks of yours. As a matter of fact, that’s why we took so much trouble with the spell we cast on the sweets; and unless you give us two brace of capons for our pains, we intend to tell Monna Tessa the whole story.’ Seeing that they refused to believe him, and thinking that he had enough trouble on his hands without letting himself in for a diatribe from his wife, Calandrino gave them the two brace of capons. And after they had salted the pig, they carried their spoils back to Florence with them, leaving Calandrino to scratch his head and rue his losses. SEVENTH STORYA scholar falls in love with a widow, who, being in love with someone else, causes him to spend a winter’s night waiting for her in the snow. But on a later occasion, as a result of following his advice, she is forced to spend a whole day, in mid July, at the top of a tower, where, being completely naked, she is exposed to the flies and the gadflies and the rays of the sun. Though the ladies shook with laughter over the hapless Calandrino, they would have laughed even more if the people who had stolen his pig had not relieved him also of his capons, which made them feel sorry for him. However, the story having come to an end, the queen called upon Pampinea to tell hers, and she began forthwith, as follows:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Whilst Pinuccio and the girl were thus employed, a cat, somewhere in the house, happened to knock something over, causing the man’s wife to wake up with a start. Being anxious to discover what it was, she got up and groped her way naked in the dark towards that part of the house from which the noise had come. Meanwhile Adriano also happened to get up, not for the same reason, but in order to obey the call of nature, and as he was groping his way towards the door with this purpose in view, he came in contact with the cradle deposited there by the woman. Being unable to pass without moving it out of his way, he picked it up and set it down beside his own bed; and after doing what he had to do, he returned to his bed and forgot all about it. Having discovered the cause of the noise and assured herself that nothing important had fallen, the woman swore at the cat, and, without bothering to light a lamp and explore the matter further, returned to the bedroom. Picking her way carefully through the darkness, she went straight to the bed where her husband was lying; but on finding no trace of the cradle, she said to herself: ‘How stupid I am! What a fine thing to do! Heavens above, I was just about to step into the bed where my guests are sleeping.’ So she walked a little further up the room, found the cradle, and got into bed beside Adriano, thinking him to be her husband. On perceiving this, Adriano, who was still awake, gave her a most cordial reception; and without a murmur he tacked hard to windward over and over again, much to her delight and satisfaction. This, then, was how matters stood when Pinuccio, who had gratified his longings to the full and was afraid of falling asleep in the young lady’s arms, abandoned her so as to go back and sleep in his own bed. But on reaching the bed to find the cradle lying there, he moved on, thinking he had mistaken his host’s bed for his own, and ended up by getting into bed with the host, who was awakened by his coming. And being under the impression that the man who lay beside him was Adriano, Pinuccio said: ‘I swear to you that there was never anything so delicious as Niccolosa. By the body of God, no man ever had so much pleasure with any woman as I have been having with her. Since the time I left you, I assure you I’ve been to the bower of bliss half a dozen times at the very least.’ The host was not exactly pleased to hear Pinuccio’s tidings, and having first of all asked himself what the devil the fellow was doing in his bed, he allowed his anger to get the better of his prudence, and exclaimed:

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Her face would grow splotched with resentment and worry; she would feel her neck flush and her hands become awkward. Embarrassed, she would sit staring down at her hands, which would seem to be growing more and more awkward. No escape! No escape! Captain Ramsay was kind-hearted, he would try very hard to be complimentary; his grey eyes would try to express admiration, polite admiration as they rested on Stephen. His voice would sound softer and more confidential, the voice that nice men reserve for good women, protective, respectful, yet a little sex-conscious, a little expectant of a tentative response. But Stephen would feel herself growing more rigid with every kind word and gallant allusion. Openly hostile she would be feeling, as poor Captain Ramsay or some other victim was manfully trying to do his duty. In such a mood as this she had once drunk champagne, one glass only, the first she had ever tasted. She had gulped it all down in sheer desperation—the result had not been Dutch courage but hiccups. Violent, insistent, incorrigible hiccups had echoed along the whole length of the table. One of those weird conversational lulls had been filled, as it were, to the brim with her hiccups. Then Anna had started to talk very loudly; Mrs. Antrim had smiled and so had their hostess. Their hostess had finally beckoned to the butler: ‘Give Miss Gordon a glass of water,’ she had whispered. After that Stephen shunned champagne like the plague—better hopeless depression, she decided, than hiccups! It was strange how little her fine brain seemed able to help her when she was trying to be social; in spite of her confident boasting to Raftery, it did not seem able to help her at all. Perhaps is was the clothes, for she lost all conceit the moment she was dressed as Anna would have her; at this period clothes greatly influenced Stephen, giving her confidence or the reverse. But be that as it might, people thought her peculiar, and with them that was tantamount to disapproval. And thus, it was being borne in upon Stephen, that for her there was no real abiding city beyond the strong, friendly old gates of Morton, and she clung more and more to her home and to her father. Perplexed and unhappy she would seek out her father on all social occasions and would sit down beside him. Like a very small child this large muscular creature would sit down beside him because she felt lonely, and because youth most rightly resents isolation, and because she had not yet learnt her hard lesson—she had not yet learnt that the loneliest place in this world is the no-man’s-land of sex. CHAPTER 91S

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

  I said, “You know that I admire you and I want to be like you—” “Oh, I don’t know why anyone would want that!” Her hand brushed away the thought as if it were smoke. “No, Jamie thinks you overcompensate; that you try to act sophisticated and Hollywood so you appear superficial, and that’s not who you really are. I used to do that, too. I wore hats and flamboyant outfits, because I didn’t feel interesting enough in myself.” “Maybe Jamie’s right,” I admitted to Anaïs. “Maybe I do want to seem Hollywood and glamorous because I’m afraid of being boring.” I hoped that copping to it would stop what felt like her attack on me. My admission did seem to disarm her. Her pitch lowered to her wise Djuna voice, soothing and gentle. “It’s because you grew up in the Valley with such a limited life.” Even though I was upset, I was struck by her insight. “But that is past now,” she crooned. “Now you have interesting friends and work. You have a wonderful house at the beach. The research you have done on women’s diaries is very important. I believe in your writing. I’ve shown you in every way that I want your friendship. Why do you think that is?” “Because I’m devoted to you?” “No, Tristine! I think you are a sensitive, intelligent, and talented person, and I’m telling you not to be devoted to me. To be my friend but to be devoted to your own growth. You know that in all the years we have known each other, you have never let me read your diary. Why is that?” I told her the truth. That I was too embarrassed by the writing. “Do you write about sex? You know how much I liked those tapes you made with your women friends.” Yes, I knew. I thought about reminding her that she’d never returned the tapes but realized that would only raise her hackles again. Yet I could hardly trust her with my diaries. I answered her truthfully and strategically: “Sometimes I write about sex, but that’s not why I’m embarrassed. It’s because my thoughts are all over the place and so much of my diary is just moaning and griping about my life. Believe me, my diaries aren’t like yours. They’re no fun to read, even for me.” “Tristine! You know my diaries are rewritten. You can’t compare! Why don’t you let me read just one volume?” “My handwriting is so sloppy you’d never be able to make it out.” “Oh yes, after a few pages, I’ll be able to.” I recognized she was not going to back down and conceded. “Maybe I could type out a volume like you used to.” At least then I could cut out the most chaotic parts and the sexual descriptions she’d likely share with Rupert. “Do what you wish.” She sounded exhausted. “But don’t wait long.” She didn’t object when I offered to go.