Excitement

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 A History of Christianity (1976)

  on the site of the Bastile, and based around a huge statue of Nature, spurting water from her breasts. A member of the Committee of Public Safety intoned: ‘Sovereign of nations, savage or civilized – Oh, Nature! – this great people is worthy of thee. It is free. After traversing so many centuries of errors and servitudes, it had to return to the simplicity of thy ways to rediscover equality and liberty.’ Then he drank from the fountain. For the Festival of Reason in Nôtre-Dame on 10 November, the Church itself was declared a Temple of Reason, and a stage mountain, crowned with a Temple of Philosophy, was built inside it. But there was no agreement on the forms of worship, or even on the subject, or object. At Poitiers, priests were forced to make humiliating abjurgations, and people dressed as popes and monks were whipped through the streets. (This ceremony, atheist in objective, was almost identical with anti-Catholic masquerades staged by Protestants in the mid sixteenth century.) Most of the ceremonies were deist. Occasionally, as an alternative to reason, such abstractions as law, truth, liberty or nature were worshipped. But God had a way of popping up behind these concepts; at Beauvais, reason, liberty and nature emerged as three goddesses, and at Auch, the celebrant asked: ‘What is the cult of reason, if not the homage we render to the order established by the eternal wisdom?’ Robespierre ended de-Christianization, and replaced reason with the Supreme Being; the creed he laid down included immortality of the soul, so it went beyond Locke’s minimal Anglicanism. But without the savage excitement of de-Christianization, the ceremonies were tedious to the mob, and attracted only those solid bourgeois citizens who had a vested interest in them (like late-Roman paganism). The props were repainted and renamed. For a time, enthusiasts called their children Marat, Brutus, and so forth. Poupinel, who wrote republican hymns, urged: ‘Let us use civic pomp to make people forget the old displays of superstition; in a word, provide more striking and attractive alternatives to the ceremonies that for so long have deceived the people, and the skeleton of sacerdotalism will disintegrate of its own accord.’ This was more easily said than done. Christianity, with its many insights and matrices, had found no difficulty at all in absorbing elements of pagan ceremonial, and transforming them. The Republicans, divided and self-conscious, floundered, and their ceremonies oscillated between parody and empty bombast, like the Red Square displays of Soviet Communism or the neo-gymnastics of Mao’s China. It seems to have been assumed that public morale depended on religious or gnostic displays of one kind of another; the Erasmian emphasis on private belief and piety

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The woman assured him that it would be done, and Friar Alberto took his leave of her. As soon as he had gone, she strutted up and down sticking her head so high in the air that her smock rose clear of her bottom, and thinking that the hour for the Angel Gabriel’s visit would never come, so slowly did the time seem to pass. Meanwhile, Friar Alberto, working on the assumption that his role would be that of a paladin rather than an angel during the night ahead, began to gorge himself on sweetmeats and various other delicacies so as to ensure that he would not be easily thrown from his mount. And as soon as darkness had fallen, having received permission to be absent, he departed with a companion and went to the house of a lady-friend which he had used as his base before when setting out to sow his wild oats. At what he judged a suitable hour, he made his way thence, suitably disguised, to Monna Lisetta’s house; and having let himself in, he transfigured himself into an angel with the aid of certain gewgaws that he had brought along for the purpose. Then he climbed the stairs and strode into her bedroom. When she saw this pure white object advancing towards her, the woman fell upon her knees before it. The Angel gave her his blessing, helped her to her feet, and motioned her to get into bed. This she promptly did, being only too ready to obey, and the Angel lay down at his votary’s side. Friar Alberto was a powerful, handsomely proportioned fellow at the peak of physical fitness, and his approach to the bedding of Monna Lisetta, who was all soft and fresh, was altogether different from the one employed by her husband; hence he flew without wings several times before the night was over, causing the lady to shriek with delight at his achievements, which he supplemented with a running commentary on the glories of Heaven. Then, shortly before dawn, having made arrangements to visit her again, he collected his trappings - and returned to his companion, with whom the mistress of the house had generously bedded down for the night so that he would not be afraid of the dark. After breakfast, the lady went with her maidservant to call upon Friar Alberto and brought him tidings of the Angel Gabriel, describing what he was like, repeating all the things he had told her about the glories of the Life Eternal, and filling out her account with wondrous inventions of her own.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And without a doubt he could easily have got away with it in those days, because the luxuries of Egypt had not yet infiltrated to any marked degree into Tuscany, as they were later to do on a very wide scale, to the ruination of the whole of Italy. A few people in Tuscany were aware that such things existed, but they were almost totally unknown in Certaldo, where, since the lives of the people still conformed to the honest precepts of an earlier age, not only had they never seen any parrots, but the vast majority had never even heard of them. Delighted, then, with their discovery, the young men removed the feather from the casket, and in its place, so as not to leave the casket empty, they put a few pieces of coal, which they had found lying in a corner of the room. They then closed the lid, and, leaving everything just as they had found it, they made off, undetected, with the feather, chortling with glee, and waited to see what Friar Cipolla, on finding the coals instead of the feather, would have to say for himself. When mass was over, the simple folk who were in the church, having heard that they would be seeing the feather of the Angel Gabriel after nones, had returned to their homes and passed the news on to all their friends and neighbours. And after they had eaten their midday meal, they thronged the citadel in such vast numbers, all agog to see the feather, that they scarcely had sufficient room to move their limbs. Having eaten a hearty breakfast and taken a short siesta, Friar Cipolla arose shortly after nones, and on perceiving that a great multitude of peasants had come to see the feather, he sent word to Guccio Imbratta that he was to come up to the citadel, bringing with him the bells and the saddle-bags. So Guccio tore himself away from the kitchen and from Nuta, and made his way up at a leisurely pace. His body was swollen up like a balloon with all the water he had been drinking, and so he arrived there puffing and panting; but having, in accordance with Friar Cipolla’s instructions, taken up his stance in the church doorway, he began to ring the bells with great gusto.

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

  This band was probably a part of the swarm, estimated at the incredible number of two hundred thousand,356 led by banners bearing the likeness of a goose and a goat, which were considered as bearers of the divine Spirit.357 Three thousand horsemen, headed by some noblemen, attended them, and shared the spoils taken from the Jews.358 When they arrived at the Hungarian frontier they had to encounter a regular army. A panic seized them, and a frightful carnage took place. These preliminary expeditions of the first Crusade may have cost three hundred thousand lives. The regular army consisted, according to the lowest statements, of more than three hundred thousand. It proceeded through Europe in sections which met at Constantinople and Nicaea. Godfrey, starting from lower Lorraine, had under him thirty thousand men on foot and ten thousand horse. He proceeded along the Danube and by way of Sofia and Philipoppolis, Hugh of Vermandois went by way of Rome, where he received the golden banner, and then, taking ship from Bari to Durazzo, made a junction with Godfrey in November, 1096, under the walls of Constantinople. Bohemund, with a splendid following of one hundred thousand horse and thirty thousand on foot,359 took the same route from Bari across the Adriatic. Raymund of Toulouse, accompanied by his countess, Elvira, and the papal legate, bishop Adhemar,360 traversed Northern Italy on his way eastward. The last of the main armies to start was led by Robert, duke of Normandy, and Stephen of Blois, who crossed the Alps, received the pope’s blessing at Lucca, and, passing through Rome, transported their men across the Adriatic from Bari and Brindisi. Godfrey of Bouillon361 was accompanied by his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace. Hugh, count of Vermandois, was a brother of Philip I. of France. Robert of Normandy was the eldest son of William the Conqueror, and had made provision for his expedition by pledging Normandy to his brother, William Rufus, for ten thousand marks silver. Raymund, count of Toulouse, was a veteran warrior, who had a hundred thousand horse and foot at his command, and enjoyed a mingled reputation for wealth, wisdom, pride, and greed. Bohemund, prince of Tarentum, was the son of Robert Guiscard. His cousin, Tancred, was the model cavalier. Robert, count of Flanders, was surnamed, "the Sword and Lance of the Christians." Stephen, count of Chartres, Troyes, and Blois, was the owner of three hundred and sixty-five castles. These and many other noblemen constituted the flower of the French, Norman, and Italian nobility. The moral hero of the First Crusade is Godfrey of Bouillon, a descendant of Charlemagne in the female line, but he had no definite command. He had fought in the war of emperor Henry IV. against the rebel king, Rudolf of Swabia, whom he slew in the battle of Mölsen, 1080. He had prodigious physical strength. With one blow of his sword he clove asunder a horseman from head to saddle.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Where pencils and pens are found in their legions, of all makes, all shapes, all colours, all prices; while outside on the trustful trays in the Passage, lives Gomme Onyx, masquerading as marble, and as likely to rub a hole in your paper. For those who prefer the reading of books to the writing of them, there is always Lemerre with his splendid display of yellow bindings. And for those undisturbed by imagination, the taxidermist’s shop is quite near the corner—they can stare at a sad and moth-eaten flamingo, two squirrels, three parrots and a dusty canary. Some are tempted by the cheap corduroy at the draper’s, where it stands in great rolls as though it were carpet. Some pass on to the little stamp merchant, while a few dauntless souls even enter the chemist’s—that shamelessly anatomical chemist’s, whose wares do not figure in school manuals on the practical uses of rubber. And up and down this Passage Choiseul, pass innumerable idle or busy people, bringing in mud and rain in the winter, bringing in dust and heat in the summer, bringing in God knows how many thoughts, some part of which cannot escape with their owners. The very air of the Passage seems heavy with all these imprisoned thoughts. Stephen’s thoughts got themselves entrapped with the others, but hers, at the moment, were those of a schoolgirl, for her eye had suddenly lit on Lavrut, drawn thereto by the trays of ornate india-rubber. And once inside, she could not resist the ‘Bracelets de caoutchouc,’ or the blotting paper as red as a rose, or the manuscript books with the mottled blue borders. Growing reckless, she gave an enormous order for the simple reason that these things looked different. In the end she actually carried away one of those inspiring manuscript books, and then got herself driven home by a taxi, in order the sooner to fill it. 2 That spring, in the foyer of the Comédie Francaise, Stephen stumbled across a link with the past in the person of a middle-aged woman. The woman was stout and wore pince-nez; her sparse brown hair was already greying; her face, which was long, had a double chin, and that face seemed vaguely familiar to Stephen. Then suddenly Stephen’s two hands were seized and held fast in those of the middle-aged woman, while a voice grown loud with delight and emotion was saying: ‘Mais oui, c’est ma petite Stévenne!’ Back came a picture of the schoolroom at Morton, with a battered red book on its ink-stained table—the Bibliothèque Rose—‘Les Petites Filles Modèles,’ ‘Les Bons Enfants,’ and Mademoiselle Duphot. Stephen said: ‘To think—after all these years! ’ ‘Ah, quelle joie!

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  anything, Wesley was an Arminian. He thought: ‘God willeth all men to be saved.’ Among his associates were strict Calvinists, like the great preacher George Whitfield, who subscribed to double predestination, accused Wesley of the heresy of universalism, and told him: ‘Your God is my devil’. It was necessary to ‘rouse the soul out of its carnal security’ which Wesley’s ‘assurances of salvation’ induced. But Wesley did not concern himself much with such matters. Right to the end he thought of himself as an Anglican: ‘I live and die a member of the Church of England. None who regard my judgment or advice will ever separate from it.’ But he believed he had been appointed by God to assume the role of a modern Paul, and ‘proclaim the glad tidings of salvation’ among a supposedly Christian people who had forgotten them. This meant breaking the conventions of the Anglican parochial system and preaching wherever he could find an audience. He travelled over 250,000 miles, and spoke to gatherings in the open air of up to 30,000 people. On forty-two occasions he crossed the Irish Sea, and it is calculated he preached over 40,000 sermons, some of which lasted for three hours. Moreover, Wesley was not just a Montanist charismatic: he had the organizing ability of a Gregory the Great or a Benedict. He discovered that religious enthusiasm was an ephemeral thing unless it was harnessed to a carefully defined structure, periodically galvanized by meetings, and given a chance to express itself in regular, planned and arduous activities. He started with ‘societies’ and ‘classes’. Then he introduced the Methodist Conference, ‘circuits or rounds’, quarterly meetings, then district meetings. Lay leadership was organized in the shape of ‘class leaders’, stewards, trustees, and local preachers. Every member was drawn into a corporate life, giving (or receiving) financial support, and all pledged themselves to take part in activities such as Bible-meetings, sewing for charity, and so forth. He produced regulations about clothes, food and drink, ornaments, money, buying and selling, and language. There was strict corporate and personal discipline; victories and defeats were reported at class meetings, and offenders excommunicated. Thus at Newcastle in 1743, Wesley himself expelled sixty-four members for a variety of sins ranging from swearing and Sabbath-breaking to vaguer categories such as ‘idleness, railing, lightness, etc.’. In short, Wesley despite his disclaimers was creating an alternative Church, especially among the lower orders; and there was a natural and widespread belief it would be a radical one. Like the early Christians, whom they resembled in some ways,

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

  thee!"291 The spot where this happened is still shown outside the Elster Gate at Wittenberg, under a sturdy oak surrounded by an iron railing.292 Several hundred students tarried at the fire, which had been kindled by a master of the university, some chanting the Te Deum, others singing funeral dirges on the papal laws; then they made a mock procession through the town, collected piles of scholastic and Romish books, and returning to the place of execution, threw them into the flames. Luther, with Melanchthon, Carlstadt, and the other doctors and masters, returned home immediately after the act. He at first had trembled at the step, and prayed for light; but after the deed was done, he felt more cheerful than ever. He regarded his excommunication as an emancipation from all restraints of popery and monasticism. On the same day he calmly informed Spalatin of the event as a piece of news.293 On the next day he warned the students in the lecture-room against the Romish Antichrist, and told them that it was high time to burn the papal chair with all its teachers and abominations.294 He publicly announced his act in a Latin and German treatise, "Why the Books of the Pope and his Disciples were burned by Dr. Martin Luther." He justified it by his duties as a baptized Christian, as a sworn doctor of divinity, as a daily preacher, to root out all unchristian doctrines. He cites from the papal law- books thirty articles and errors in glorification of the papacy, which deserve to be burned; and calls the whole Canon-law "the abomination of desolation" (Matt. 24:15) and antichristian (2 Thess. 2:4), since the sum of its teaching was, that "the Pope is God on earth, above all things, heavenly and earthly, spiritual and temporal; all things belong to the Pope, and no one dare ask, What doest thou?" Simultaneously with this tract, he published an exhaustive defense of all his own articles which had been condemned by the Pope, and planted himself upon the rock of God’s revelation in the Scriptures. Leo X., after the expiration of the one hundred and twenty days of grace allowed to Luther by the terms of the bull, proceeded to the last step, and on the third day of January, 1521, pronounced the ban against the Reformer, and his followers, and an interdict on the places where they should be harbored. But Luther had deprived the new bull of its effect. The burning of the Pope’s bull was the boldest and most eventful act of Luther. Viewed in itself, it might indeed have been only an act of fanaticism and folly, and proved a brutum fulmen. But it was preceded and followed by heroic acts of faith in pulling down an old church, and building up a new one. It defied the greatest power on earth, before which emperors, kings, and princes, and all the nations of Europe bowed in reverence and awe.

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

  "Here in Basel," he wrote to King Henry VIII., "nobody dares to print a word against Luther, but you may write as much as you please against the pope." Romish authors, as we learn from Cochlaeus and Wizel, could scarcely find a publisher, except at their own expense; and the Leipzig publishers complained that their books were unsalable. The strongest impulse was given to the book trade by Luther’s German New Testament. Of the first edition, Sept. 22, 1522, five thousand copies were printed and sold before December of the same year, at the high price of one guilder and a half per copy (about twenty-five marks of the present value). Hans Luft printed a hundred thousand copies on his press in Wittenberg. Adam Petri in Basel published seven editions between 1522 and 1525; Thomas Wolf of the same city, five editions between 1523 and 1525. Duke George commanded that all copies should be delivered up at cost, but few were returned. The precious little volume, which contains the wisdom of the whole world, made its way with lightning speed into the palaces of princes, the castles of knights, the convents of monks, the studies of priests, the houses of citizens, the huts of peasants. Mechanics, peasants, and women carried the New Testament in their pockets, and dared to dispute with priests and doctors of theology about the gospel.748 As there was no copyright at that time, the works of the Reformers were multiplied by reprints in Nürnberg, Augsburg, Strassburg, Basel. Republication was considered a legitimate and honorable business. Luther complained, not of the business itself, but of the reckless and scandalous character of many reprints of his books, which were so full of blunders that he could hardly recognize them.749 Sometimes the printers stole his manuscript, and published it elsewhere. He was not hindered by any censorship, except that he received occasionally a gentle warning from the Elector when he did not spare the princes. He took no honorarium for his books, and was satisfied with a number of free copies for friends. Authors were usually supported by a professorship, and considered it beneath their dignity, or as ungentlemanlike, to receive a royalty, but were indirectly rewarded by free copies or other presents of the publishers or rich patrons, in return for dedications, which were originally, as they are now, nothing more than public testimonies of regard or gratitude, though often used, especially during the seventeenth century, for selfish purposes.750 Cash payments to authors were, down to the eighteenth century, rare and very low. Few could make a decent living from writing books; and, we may add, few publishers acquired wealth from their trade, which is very uncertain, and subject to great losses.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Now that you’ve discovered what is meant, my precious Master, by going the course, you will see for yourself how important it is that you should keep it a secret; so there’s no need for me to say any more on the subject.’ Master Simone, the extent of whose medical knowledge was sufficient, perhaps, to treat an infant for thrush, took everything Bruno had said as the gospel truth, and was inflamed with an intense longing to become a member of their society, as though this were the highest good to which any mortal being could possibly aspire. He accordingly told Bruno that he was no longer in the least surprised that they were always so cheerfully disposed; and it was with the greatest difficulty that he restrained himself from urging him to enrol him there and then, rather than waiting until he had plied him more generously with his hospitality, after which he could plead his cause with a better chance of success. Having therefore held himself in check, he assiduously began to court Bruno’s friendship, regularly inviting him to breakfast and supper, and displaying boundless affection towards him. And they spent so much time in one another’s company that it began to look as though the physician was unable to exist without him. Bruno counted his blessings, and in order not to appear ungrateful for the physician’s lavish hospitality, he painted a Lenten mural for him on the wall of his dining-room and an Agnus Dei at the entrance to his bedroom and a chamber-pot over his front door,9 so that those people who needed to consult him could distinguish his house from the rest. Moreover, he decorated the loggia with a painting of the battle between the cats and the mice, which in the eyes of the physician was something of a masterpiece. One morning, after failing to turn up to supper the previous evening, Bruno said to the physician: ‘I was with the company last night, but as I’m tiring a little of the Queen of England, I got them to fetch me the Gumedra of the Great Khan of Altarisi.’ ‘Gumedra?’ said the physician. ‘What does that signify? I don’t understand these titles.’ ‘I’m not a bit surprised, my dear Master,’ said Bruno, ‘for I’ve heard that neither Watercress nor Avadinner say anything on the subject.’ ‘You mean Hippocras and Avicenna,’10 said the physician. ‘You may well be right,’ said Bruno, ‘for these names of yours mean about as much to me as mine do to you. However, the word Gumedra in the language of the Great Khan is equivalent to the word Empress in ours. And believe you me, she’s really delicious! She’d soon make you forget all about your medicines and your pills and your poultices, I can tell you.’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And in those parts there was a mountain made entirely of grated Parmesan cheese, on whose slopes there were people who spent their whole time making macaroni and ravioli, which they cooked in chicken broth and then cast it to the four winds, and the faster you could pick it up, the more you got of it. And not far away, there was a stream of Vernaccia wine, the finest that was ever drunk, without a single drop of water in it.’ ‘That’s a marvellous place, by the sound of it,’ said Calandrino, ‘but tell me, what do they do with all the chickens they cook?’ ‘They are all eaten by the Basques,’ Maso replied. Then Calandrino asked him whether he had ever been there himself, and Maso replied: ‘Been there myself? If I’ve been there once, I’ve been there a thousand times at least.’ Whereupon Calandrino asked: ‘How many miles away is it?’ ‘More than a milling, that spends the whole night trilling,’ 3 said Maso. ‘In that case,’ said Calandrino, ‘it must be further than the Abruzzi.’ ‘It is indeed,’ Maso replied. ‘Just a trifle.’ Seeing that Maso was saying this with a completely straight face, the simple-minded Calandrino took every word of it as gospel, and he said: ‘It’s too far away for me, then; but if it were nearer, I can assure you that one of these days I’d come with you, so as to see all that macaroni tumbling down, and feed my face on it. But do please tell me, are there none of these magical stones to be found in this part of the world?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Maso. ‘There are two kinds of stone that are very magical indeed. First of all we have the sandstones of Settignano and Montici, from which, when they are turned into millstones, we get all our flour; hence the popular saying, in the countries I was telling you about, that blessings come from God and millstones from Montici. But we have such a lot of these sandstones, that we think as little of them as they do of emeralds, of which they have whole mountains, higher than Monte Morello, 4 that sparkle and glitter in the middle of the night, believe you me if they don’t! And by the way, did you know that anyone who could master the art of setting millstones in rings, before a hole was bored in them, and who took them to the Sultan, could have anything he chose? Now, the second is a stone that we lapidaries call the heliotrope, 5 which has the miraculous power of making people invisible when they are out of sight, provided they are carrying it on their person.’ ‘Amazing!’ said Calandrino. ‘But this second stone, where is it to be found?’ Maso replied that one could usually find decent specimens in the valley of the Mugnone, 6 whereupon Calandrino said: ‘How big are these stones? What colour are they?’ ‘The size varies,’ Maso replied.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Ah, yes!’ said Bruno. ‘You’ll make a proper meal out of her. I can see you now, in my mind’s eye, nibbling her sweet red lips and her rosy cheeks with those lute-peg teeth of yours, and then devouring her whole body, piece by succulent piece.’ On hearing these words, Calandrino felt as though he was already getting down to business, and he skipped and sang, being seized by such a transport of delight that he almost split his hide. Next day he brought along his rebeck, to the strains of which, much to the delight of all the others, he sang a number of songs. But to cut a long story short, he became so frantically eager to see the girl as often as possible, that he did practically no work at all, for he would be dashing to and fro a thousand times a day, first to the windows, then to the door, then to the courtyard, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. And for her part, the girl, astutely following Bruno’s instructions, gave Calandrino as many opportunities to see her as she possibly could. But Bruno also played the role of go-between, supplying Calandrino with answers to the messages he sent her, and from time to time delivering a note in Niccolosa’s own hand. And whenever she was not actually there, as was more often than not the case, he got her to write letters to Calandrino in which, whilst holding out every hope that his devoted love would soon have its reward, she explained that she was staying at the house of her kinsfolk, where for the present it was impossible for him to see her. Bruno and Buffalmacco kept a careful watch on the progress of the affair, being hugely entertained by Calandrino’s antics; and every so often they persuaded him to hand over various objects which they claimed his lady had requested, such as an ivory comb, a purse, a small dagger, and other such trifles, in return bringing him some worthless little rings, which sent Calandrino into raptures. But apart from this they coaxed one or two good meals out of him, and he showed them various other little favours to encourage them in their efforts on his behalf. Now, after being kept on tenterhooks in this manner for at least two months without making any further progress, Calandrino, seeing that the work was nearing completion, and realizing that unless he gathered the fruits of his love before the frescoes were finished he would never have another opportunity, began to solicit Bruno’s aid with all the power at his command. So when she next came to stay at the house, Bruno made arrangements with Filippo and the girl about what they were to do, then he went to Calandrino and said:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me today, when I told you. But you must admit, comrade, that when it comes to obtaining what I want, I know better than anybody else how to go about it. What other man could have persuaded a lady of her quality to fall in love with him so quickly? Could any of those young gallants have done it, who parade up and down the whole day long, spouting like a tap, and who wouldn’t know how to gather three handfuls of nuts in a thousand years? Just wait till you see what I can do with my rebeck: you’ll be amazed! You needn’t think I’m past the age for this sort of thing, because I’m not, and she knows it. And once I lay my paws on her, she’ll know it even better. God’s truth! I’ll sport with her so merrily that she’ll cling to me like a mother besotted with her son.’ ‘Ah, yes!’ said Bruno. ‘You’ll make a proper meal out of her. I can see you now, in my mind’s eye, nibbling her sweet red lips and her rosy cheeks with those lute-peg teeth of yours, and then devouring her whole body, piece by succulent piece.’ On hearing these words, Calandrino felt as though he was already getting down to business, and he skipped and sang, being seized by such a transport of delight that he almost split his hide. Next day he brought along his rebeck, to the strains of which, much to the delight of all the others, he sang a number of songs. But to cut a long story short, he became so frantically eager to see the girl as often as possible, that he did practically no work at all, for he would be dashing to and fro a thousand times a day, first to the windows, then to the door, then to the courtyard, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. And for her part, the girl, astutely following Bruno’s instructions, gave Calandrino as many opportunities to see her as she possibly could. But Bruno also played the role of go-between, supplying Calandrino with answers to the messages he sent her, and from time to time delivering a note in Niccolosa’s own hand. And whenever she was not actually there, as was more often than not the case, he got her to write letters to Calandrino in which, whilst holding out every hope that his devoted love would soon have its reward, she explained that she was staying at the house of her kinsfolk, where for the present it was impossible for him to see her.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Salabaetto was delighted, for he knew exactly what was prompting her to do him this favour, and perceived that it was she herself who would be lending him the money. So after he had thanked her, he told her that he would not be deterred by the exorbitant rate of interest, as he needed the money very badly; and he then went on to explain that by way of surety he would place the merchandise he had at the dogana to the credit of the person who was to lend him the money. However, he wished to retain the key to the warehouse, so as to be able to display his merchandise if anyone should ask him to do so, and also to ensure that his goods were not interfered with or exchanged or moved elsewhere. The lady agreed that this was a wise precaution, and declared that a surety of this kind would be more than adequate. Early next morning, she sent for a broker who was privy to most of her secrets, and having explained the situation to him, she gave him a thousand gold florins, which the broker lent to Salabaetto, having first ensured that all the goods that Salabaetto had at the dogana were transferred to his own name. Various documents were signed and countersigned by the two men, and when all was settled between them, they went their separate ways to attend to their other affairs. At the earliest opportunity, Salabaetto took ship with his fifteen hundred gold florins, and returned to Pietro dello Canigiano in Naples, whence he made full remittance to his principals in Florence for the woollens with which they had originally sent him to Palermo. And having paid Pietro and all his other creditors, he made merry with Canigiano over the trick he had played on the Sicilian woman, celebrating his success for several days on end. He then left Naples, and having decided to retire from commerce, made his way to Ferrara. When Jancofiore learned that Salabaetto was no longer to be found in Palermo, her suspicions were aroused and she began to wonder what had become of him. After waiting for at least two months without seeing any sign of him, she got the broker to force a way into the warehouse. And having first of all tested the casks, which were supposed to be full of oil, she discovered that they were filled with sea-water, apart from about a firkin of oil that was floating at the top of each cask, near the bung-hole. Then, untying the bales, she found that all except two (which consisted of woollens) were filled with tow. And in fact, to cut a long story short, the whole consignment was worth no more than two hundred florins.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIFTH STORY Calandrino falls in love with a young woman, and Bruno provides him with a magic scroll, with which he no sooner touches her than she goes off with him. But on being discovered with the girl by his wife, he finds himself in very serious trouble. Neifile’s story was of no great length, and when it drew to a close it was passed off by the company without much laughter or comment. The queen now turned to Fiammetta, ordering her to follow. Fiammetta gaily replied that she would do so with pleasure, and began: Noble ladies, as you will doubtless be aware, the more one returns to any given subject, the greater the pleasure it brings, provided the person by whom it is broached selects the appropriate time and place. And since we are assembled here for no other purpose than to rejoice and be merry, I consider this a suitable time and a proper place for any subject that will promote our joy and pleasure; for even if it had been aired a thousand times already, we could return to it as many times again, and it would still afford delight to us all. Hence, albeit we have referred many times to the doings of Calandrino, they are invariably so amusing, as Filostrato pointed out a little earlier, that I shall venture to add a further tale to those we have already heard about him. I could easily have told it in some other way, using fictitious names, had I wished to do so; but since by departing from the truth of what actually happened, the storyteller greatly diminishes the pleasure of his listeners, I shall turn for support to my opening remarks, and tell it in its proper form. Niccolò Cornacchini, 1 a wealthy fellow citizen of ours, owned various lands including a beautiful estate at Camerata, 2 on which he caused a fine and splendid mansion to be built, commissioning Bruno and Buffalmacco to paint it throughout with frescoes. So enormous was the task with which they were confronted that they first enlisted the aid of Nello and Calandrino, then they all got down to work. Now, albeit one of the rooms contained a bed and other pieces of furniture, nobody was living on the premises except for an elderly housekeeper, and accordingly every so often one of Niccolò’s sons, a young bachelor whose name was Filippo, was in the habit of turning up with some young lady or other, who would minister to his pleasures for a day or two and then be sent away. On one of these visits, he arrived at the mansion with a girl, Niccolosa by name, who was kept by a scoundrelly fellow called Mangione at a house in Camaldoli, 3 whence he let her out on hire. This girl had a beautiful figure, dressed well, and, for a woman of her sort, was very polite and well spoken.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  For nearly four decades, until his death in 1536, Erasmus’s output covered a huge field, embracing the Christian life, the theory and practice of education, the state of Church and society, and the meaning of the scriptures, besides including scholarly editions of sacred and patristic texts. Of these by far the most important was his Greek edition of the New Testament, which made the original text (albeit in imperfect form) available to Latin Christians for the first time. Erasmus made himself into a scholar with high academic standards; he was also a popularizer and a journalist who understood the importance of communication. He wanted his books to be small, handy and cheap, and he was the first writer to grasp the full potentialities of printing. He worked at speed, often in the printing shop itself, writing and correcting his proofs on the spot. He was exhilarated by the smell of printer’s ink, the incense of the Reformation. As a result, the diffusion of his works is astounding. His first success, the Adages (1500), was a collection of Latin quotations used to teach the language but also reflecting his philosophy; it was constantly reprinted and gradually expanded into a collection of over 4,000 short essays, which influenced society in the same way as the crude proverbs of his schooling had done. His Enchiridion, or layman’s handbook, first published in 1503, was reprinted in 1509 and 1515, and then every year, and by his death, had been translated into Czech, German, English, French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese. His In Praise of Folly, 1511, went into thirty-nine editions before 1536; some of these were very substantial – thus one Paris printer, hearing that the book might be suppressed, quickly ran off an edition of 24,000 copies. There were some years, it has been calculated, when between one-fifth and one-tenth of all books sold in Oxford, London and Paris were by Erasmus. In the 1530s, 300,000 copies of his Greek New Testament were circulating, and over 750,000 of his other works. He was a new phenomenon, a living world best-seller. He got so much correspondence that, when he was living in Antwerp, then the richest city in Europe, the postman used to stop at his house first, before going on to the City Hall. Erasmus was made a political counsellor by the Emperor Charles V and offered a cardinal’s hat by Pope Paul III. A number of leading European cities gave him their freedom and invited him to live there as an honoured citizen. Yet if Erasmus had sought to propound his views a generation later, he would certainly have been hounded by the Habsburgs and excommunicated by the papacy: indeed, in 1546, only a decade after his death, the Council of Trent declared his version of the New

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Yes,’ replied Maso. ‘There are two kinds of stone that are very magical indeed. First of all we have the sandstones of Settignano and Montici, from which, when they are turned into millstones, we get all our flour; hence the popular saying, in the countries I was telling you about, that blessings come from God and millstones from Montici. But we have such a lot of these sandstones, that we think as little of them as they do of emeralds, of which they have whole mountains, higher than Monte Morello,4 that sparkle and glitter in the middle of the night, believe you me if they don’t! And by the way, did you know that anyone who could master the art of setting millstones in rings, before a hole was bored in them, and who took them to the Sultan, could have anything he chose? Now, the second is a stone that we lapidaries call the heliotrope,5 which has the miraculous power of making people invisible when they are out of sight, provided they are carrying it on their person.’ ‘Amazing!’ said Calandrino. ‘But this second stone, where is it to be found?’ Maso replied that one could usually find decent specimens in the valley of the Mugnone,6 whereupon Calandrino said: ‘How big are these stones? What colour are they?’ ‘The size varies,’ Maso replied. ‘Some of them are bigger and others smaller, but they are all very nearly black in colour.’ Having made a mental note of all that he had heard, Calandrino pretended that he had other things to attend to and took his leave of Maso, determined to go and look for one of these stones; but he decided that before doing so, he would have to inform Bruno and Buffalmacco, who were his bosom friends. He therefore went to look for them, so that they could all set forth at once in search of the stone before anyone else should come to hear about it, and he spent the whole of the rest of the morning trying to trace them. Finally, in mid-afternoon, he suddenly remembered that they were working at the nunnery a little beyond the city gate on the road to Faenza, so he abandoned everything he was doing and proceeded to the nunnery, running nearly all the way in spite of the tremendous heat. And having called them away from their painting, he said to them:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  which case they might follow our example, and come across the stone before we do. We don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Wouldn’t you agree, Buffalmacco, that we ought to do this job in the early morning, so that we can distinguish the black stones from the white ones, and that we should wait until the weekend, when nobody will see us?’ Since Bruno’s advice was supported by Buffalmacco, Calandrino agreed to wait, and it was arranged that on the following Sunday morning they would all go and look for the magic stone. Meanwhile Calandrino pleaded with them not to breathe a word of this to anyone, as it had been revealed to him in strict confidence, and he then went on to tell them what he had heard about the land of Cornucopia, declaring with many an oath that he was speaking the gospel truth. And when he had taken his leave of them, they put their heads together and agreed on their plan of campaign. Calandrino looked forward eagerly to Sunday morning, and when it came, he got up at crack of dawn and went round to call for his friends. Then they all proceeded to the Mugnone by way of the Porta San Gallo and began to work their way downstream, looking for the stone. Being the keenest of the trio, Calandrino went on ahead, darting this way and that, and whenever he caught sight of a black stone he leapt on it, picked it up, and stuffed it down his shirt, while the other two trailed along behind, occasionally picking up an odd stone here and there. Before he had gone very far, Calandrino found that there was no more room in his shirt, so he gathered up the hem of his skirt, which was not cut in the Hainaut style, 7 attached it securely to his waist all round, and turned it into a capacious bag, which took him no long time to fill, after which he made a second bag out of his cloak, which in no time at all he had likewise filled up with stones. Now that Calandrino was fully laden and the hour of breakfast was approaching, Bruno turned to Buffalmacco, as they had prearranged, and said: ‘Where’s Calandrino got to?’ Buffalmacco, who could see him quite plainly, turned to gaze in every direction, and then replied: ‘I’ve no idea. He was here a moment ago, just a little way ahead of us.’ ‘A moment ago, indeed! I’ll bet you he’s at home by now, tucking into his breakfast, after putting this crazy idea into our heads of searching for black stones along the Mugnone.’ ‘Well,’ said Buffalmacco, ‘I can’t say I blame him for leaving us in the lurch like this, seeing that we were stupid enough to believe him in the first place. What a pair of blockheads we are!

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Pay attention to me, my friends, and we can become the richest men in Florence, for I have heard on good authority that along the Mugnone there’s a certain kind of stone, and when you pick it up you become invisible. I reckon we ought to go there right away, before anyone else does. We’ll find it without a doubt, because I know what it looks like; and once we’ve found it, all we have to do is to put it in our purses and go to the money-changers, whose counters, as you know, are always loaded with groats and florins, and help ourselves to as much as we want. No one will see us; and so we’ll be able to get rich quick, without being forced to daub walls all the time like a lot of snails.’ When Bruno and Buffalmacco heard this, they had a good laugh to themselves, stared one another in the face pretending to be greatly astonished, and told Calandrino that they thought it a splendid idea. Then Buffalmacco asked him what the stone was called, but Calandrino, being rather dense, had already forgotten its name, and so he replied: ‘Why should we bother about the name, when we know about its special powers? Let’s not waste any more time, but go and look for it now.’ ‘Very well,’ said Bruno, ‘but what do these stones look like?’ ‘They come in various shapes and sizes,’ said Calandrino, ‘but they’re all the same colour, which is very nearly black. So what we have to do is to collect all the black stones we happen to see, until we come across the right one. Come on, let’s get going.’ ‘Wait a minute,’ said Bruno. And turning to Buffalmacco, he said: ‘Calandrino appears to be talking sense, but there’s no point in going there at this time of day, because the sun is shining straight down on the Mugnone and it will have dried all the stones, so that the ones that seem black in the early morning, before the sun gets at them, will be just as white as the others. Besides, as it’s the middle of the week there’ll be a lot of people along the Mugnone, and if they were to see us they might guess what we were up to, in which case they might follow our example, and come across the stone before we do. We don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Wouldn’t you agree, Buffalmacco, that we ought to do this job in the early morning, so that we can distinguish the black stones from the white ones, and that we should wait until the weekend, when nobody will see us?’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  THIRD STORY Calandrino, Bruno and Bufalmacco set off in search of the heliotrope along the banks of the Mugnone. Thinking he has found it, Calandrino staggers home carrying an enormous load of stones, and his wife gives him a piece of her mind, causing him to lose his temper and beat her up. Then finally, he tells his companions what they have known all along. The ladies laughed so heartily over Panfilo’s tale that they are laughing yet, and when it was over, the queen called upon Elissa to follow him. And so, still laughing, she thus began: Charming ladies, I know not whether, with this little story of mine, which is no less true than entertaining, I shall succeed in making you laugh as much as Panfilo has done with his, but at any rate I shall do my best. Not long ago, there lived in our city, where there has never been any lack of unusual customs and bizarre people, a painter called Calandrino, 1 a simple, unconventional sort of fellow, who was nearly always to be found in the company of two other painters, whose names were Bruno and Buffalmacco. These latter were a very jovial pair, but they were also shrewd and perceptive, and they went about with Calandrino because his simple-mindedness and the quaintness of his ways were an endless source of amusement to them. Also in Florence at that time there was a most agreeable, astute, and successful young man called Maso del Saggio, 2 who, having heard one or two stories about Calandrino’s simplicity, decided to have a little fun at his expense by playing some practical joke upon him, or putting some fantastic notion into his head. So one day, happening to find him in the church of San Giovanni staring intently at the paintings and bas-reliefs of the canopy which had recently been erected above the high altar, he decided that this was the ideal time and place for doing what he had in mind. And having explained his intentions to a companion of his, they walked over to the place where Calandrino was sitting, and pretending not to notice him, they began to discuss the properties of various stones, of which Maso spoke with tremendous authority, as though he were a great and famous lapidary. Hearing them talking together, Calandrino pricked up his ears, and after a while, seeing that their conversation was not intended to be private, he got up and joined them, much to the delight of Maso, who continued to hold forth until finally Calandrino asked him where these magical stones were to be found. Maso replied that they were chiefly to be found in Nomansland, the territory of the Basques, in a region called Cornucopia, where the vines are tied up with sausages, and you could buy a goose for a penny, with a gosling thrown in for good measure.

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

  I was certain of my intentions and, having taken note how fast the European girls moved if they were interested in a man, I said, the words igniting sparklers in my mouth, “Yes, and I’d like you to make love to me after.” Gerardo recoiled for a moment, and instantly I regretted my bravado. But after a beat, he returned to the lyric pace of his practiced seduction. “I have a very special ristorante in mind. It is in the countryside.” After numerous courses and tiramisu, we lingered in the cafe’s courtyard, and I began to think he’d forgotten my request. Finally, Gerardo said, “Would you like to see my friend’s place in the mountains?” The gears of his little Fiat strained as we spiraled up the dark road. Halfway up the mountain that seemed to get higher with every round, I said, “I’m a virgin.” He didn’t say anything, just downshifted the straining gears. I expected after such a long drive we would reach a villa with a romantic view. So when he let us into the modest single apartment, I asked, “Where’s the view?” For the first time he appeared not to understand my English. What I did not understand was how difficult it was for a young man in those years to find a place for a rendezvous. He’d had to persuade the rare friend who didn’t live at home and didn’t have a roommate to vacate his precious apartment for us. It may not have had a view, but the tiny apartment was prepared for romance in every other way: a stereo, soft lighting, and a single bed in an alcove. Later, when Gerardo saw blood on the sheets, he said he hadn’t believed me when I’d claimed to be a virgin. Yet he could not have been more sensitive and gentle if he had. Even as he was kissing, touching, and preparing me, I mentally thanked Anaïs for her advice to choose a European man. Unlike the many women for whom the first time is disappointing, I triumphantly had an orgasm with Gerardo sometime before dawn. “Now I want you to teach me everything,” I told him. We began immediately, and in that glorious month, we made love at the beach with sand scratching our thighs, in his boxy Fiat, in my room in the hostel during siesta, and in courtyard apartments we had to vacate hurriedly at a specified hour.