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.

Page 19 of 182 · 20 per page

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

  The dark and quiet of my apartment envelop me when I leave my bedroom. I am not used to being here without at least one of my kids home and I feel like I’m in a hotel. At the front door, I put my hands on Karl’s shoulders and we kiss goodbye. In my future dating app searches, I will set 5’8” as a minimum for height now that I’ve become aware of two important pieces of information: 1) at least two fudged inches are definitely being added to the profiles of men who are self-conscious of their stature, and 2) height, which I’ve never thought much about before, matters to me. * In the morning, I wake up to a flurry of texts. George is confirming coffee. Jeff is confirming an early afternoon drink. Scott wants to know what time I can make it to Long Island. And Karl, oh poor Karl, has written, “Good morning sunshine and roses! I can’t stop thinking about you and smiling today. Thanks for an incredible night.” It’s only Saturday morning. Maybe I was a tad overzealous in my eagerness once I got started on Tinder? I text Lauren, “Help! I want to go back to sleep and wake up to Georgia in my bed. How do I get out of this?” “You’re asking the wrong person. I can’t wait for details,” she responds. “Well at least what I do about sunshine and roses?” “My God, Laura! What did you do to that man?” she asks. “Nothing! I listened to his litany of historical facts and let him go down on me.” “You don’t owe these men anything. Write him back or don’t, you get to do whatever you want.” “But he’s really nice, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” “OK, so tell him nicely that you can’t be his sunshine and roses. Now up and at ’em. Go put on some of that rose oil I’m obsessed with.” I arrive twenty minutes early to the café where I am due to meet George so I can gulp down coffee before it’s time to make small talk. George is not just a doctor, he’s a surgeon, and my first shot at making my fantasy of sleeping with a doctor a reality. I sip my coffee and recall the time a year earlier when I was having such severe neck pain that I had to get cortisone shots at the base of my skull.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Not long ago there lived in Treviso a German, whose name was Arrigo. He was just a poor fellow who carried people’s heavy goods for hire, yet everyone regarded him as a man of honest and very saintly ways. Whether it is true or not I cannot say, but the Trevisans claim that when he died, all the bells of the cathedral in Treviso began to ring of their own accord. This was taken as a miracle, and everyone said that Arrigo must be a Saint. The whole of the populace therefore converged on the house in which his corpse was lying, and from there they conveyed it to the cathedral, treating it as though it were indeed the body of a Saint. People who were lame or blind or paralysed were taken to the church, along with others suffering from any kind of illness or infirmity, in the belief that they would all be cured by contact with Arrigo’s body. In the middle of all this turmoil, with people rushing hither and thither, three fellow citizens of ours, whose names were Stecchi, Martellino, and Marchese, happened to arrive in Treviso. These three used to do the rounds of the various courts, where they would entertain their audiences by putting on disguises and making all manner of gestures, by means of which they could impersonate anyone they pleased. They had never been to Treviso before, and were surprised to find so much commotion. But when they heard the reason, they immediately wanted to go and see for themselves. After calling at an inn, where they left their belongings, Marchese said: ‘We ought to go and inspect this Saint. But I can’t see how we are to reach him, because from what I have heard, the square is swarming with Germans,2 to say nothing of the armed men stationed there by the ruler to prevent disturbances. And in any case, the church itself is said to be crammed with so many people, that it can hardly take another living soul.’ ‘Don’t be put off by a little thing like that,’ said Martellino, who was eager to see what was going on. ‘I shall certainly find a way of reaching the Saint’s body.’ ‘How?’ said Marchese. ‘Like this,’ Martellino replied. ‘I’ll disguise myself as a paralytic, and pretend I can’t walk. Then with you propping me up on one side and Stecchi on the other, you will both go along giving the impression that you’re taking me to be healed by the Saint. When they see us coming, everyone will step aside and let us through.’

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

  Alan is one of Leslie’s brother’s best friends and I met him when Michael and I bought our first apartment eighteen years earlier when I was pregnant with Daisy. He was the co-op board president and Michael and I had to be interviewed by him to be allowed to buy in the building. We were in our late 20s and had scraped together every dollar we could find to purchase a lofty studio. The building had an elevator and a doorman, and the dishwasher, washer/dryer, and bathroom faucet in which hot and cold water mixed together in one glorious tap so that we would no longer have to choose between icy cold or scalding hot water made me feel that adulthood was finally within our reach. This man was all that was standing between our faking being adults and our actually becoming them. He turned out to be kind and welcoming and we were surprised by how readily he had ushered us into the building and our new state of maturity. Over the ensuing years, we often ran into him and his wife; perhaps because he had unwittingly played such a large role in this milestone moment, I had always felt indebted and even deferential to him. Leslie tells me that he just moved out of his family’s apartment into his own place, and I suggest she drop it into conversation with him that I happen to be single now too. “You sure?” she says. “Seems like he has his hands full right now.” I snort and say, “Oh please, who doesn’t? If I use that as criteria, everyone will be off limits and I’ll definitely be untouchable. Ask your brother to mention it to him, see if it piques his interest.” A few days later, she calls me back, her voice breathless with excitement, to tell me that Alan jumped enthusiastically on the news of my being single and said he will not only call me, he wants to take me out for dinner. “OK, so pass along my number. I mean, he’s cute and nice, right?” “Yes, very cute, fit, nice, and an amazing cook. You can give him any random ingredients and he could make something delicious out of it,” she says. That’s all I need to know: nothing is as tantalizing as the idea of dating a man who cooks for me. He wastes no time, texting me that night so we can set up a time to talk after I get Georgia to sleep.

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

  Now, seven months later, sitting in the Mickey Mouse-themed patient room for Georgia’s annual check-up, she again sends her out of the room to give us a chance to catch up. Georgia reaches for the phone I’m holding outstretched to her and rolls her eyes, asking me not to take too long. As soon as Dr B closes the door behind Georgia, she tells me that she is relieved to see that I look much healthier than the last time she saw me, that my color is back and I don’t look painfully thin anymore. I thank her for her words to me months earlier, telling her they gave me clarity, that Michael and I are going to get divorced and I’m dating again. “Good girl!” she says in her most encouraging pediatrician voice. “You’re a hot catch. I’m sure you’re very popular on the dating scene. Can I please set you up with someone?” “Not yet, but eventually. I just started dating this man I like. I’ll let you know when it runs its course and you can do your matchmaking then,” I say. “No way, it’s too soon for you to be invested in one person. Just have fun for now. Keep dating the guy, but date other people too. Please, I have someone great for you. My best friend’s friend. He’s a lawyer, very successful, recently separated. I’m giving him your number,” she says with the authority I so love in doctors. “Give me a few weeks. I’m not good at juggling men,” I say. “Fine. I’m checking back in with you very soon,” she says, and ushers me out the door. * A couple of weeks later, on a Friday night, I go to a cocktail party at Tina’s apartment. She is a woman who was born to throw a soirée and does so as often as possible, with free-flowing wine and tequila and oysters and her famous clam dip. The kids play downstairs so that we can almost forget that they’re there except when they run up the long elegant staircase of her duplex for snacks. Hudson texts to ask if he can stay over at his friend’s house and I realize that I am down to just Georgia for the night so could sneak a visit over to see #6 if I leave her with Tina. When I ask Tina if that’s OK, I can barely finish my sentence before she says, “Mama, absolutely leave her here with us for the night, go, enjoy.” I call #6 and ask, “Hey, what are you up to?” “Oh you know, it’s Friday night and my harem is here, wearing me out.” “Want an addition to your harem?” I ask. “If it’s you, then yes. How have you come to be free?” he asks. I tell him I am not just free for the evening but have been given a one-night reprieve. “So where will you sleep?” he asks. “What are my options?”

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

  “Chasing the weekend down, I love it. Go, Mama, go!” At home, I jump in the shower and speed through some last-minute grooming. I start to get dressed but realize it’s all about to come off anyway, so instead wrap myself in a short silk bathrobe and a pair of leggings, zip a long puffy parka over it and walk the ten blocks to #6’s apartment. He texts to ask what’s taking me so long. “Sorry, I was saving time on the back end,” I write. “What does that mean?” he asks. “You’ll find out soon enough.” When he opens the door, I unzip my coat, throw it on the floor and then unwrap my robe and let it fall open. “See how much time I saved? I’ve already cleaned myself up and done all the necessary preamble. Now I’m ready for you,” I say. He drops to his knees and pulls down my leggings, pressing his face against my stomach and then working his way down. “I love how efficient you are with your time,” he says laughing, and after a few minutes of his inhaling me in the foyer I confess that I’m freezing and would love to get under the covers with him. I am a little bit drunk and more than a little excited to be kid-free for the whole night, so I do not hold back. I come over and over again and each time accompany the physical release with satisfied cries and then screams of joy. When we quiet down and start to fall asleep, he lies curled on his side of the bed facing away from me. I am unsure what to do. I have always been a solitary sleeper and barely move in my sleep, but this is our first sleepover and I want him to curl around me, not to be able to get enough of me. I settle for placing my hand on his back so that we have a particle of physical connection. I awaken early in the morning when he rises from the bed. I assume he will come right back, but I hear water running in the bathroom and a few minutes later he sits next to me on the side of the bed where I am lying. He is fully dressed. “Hey,” he says softly, and I gaze at him with sleepy morning eyes. “I’m going to the farmers’ market and then to yoga. Stay as long as you want, the door will lock behind you when you leave,” he says. My eyes widen and I grimace. “In other words, don’t let the door hit me on the way out,” I say. ‘”No, not at all. I like to get an early start on Saturdays but that doesn’t mean you have to. We’ll talk later, OK?” he says. “Sure, OK, bye,” I say, closing my eyes. A moment later I hear the front door close behind him.

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

  Eventually he confesses that he’s never actually fought a real fire, that the local fire department doesn’t get a lot of action aside from cats stuck in trees and kids locked in bathrooms, but even that information only mildly reduces his virile masculinity in my eyes. It is challenging for us to find time to see each other as the physical distance and our schedules with our kids get in the way, so we make do with quick weekday visits that thrill with their speed and surprise. He texts that he has an hour free at lunchtime and then rides his bike miles from where he teaches uptown to find me waiting for him in my apartment in varying states of undress, or he texts as he drives into the city to tell me that he doesn’t have to be at work until 10, and I drop Georgia at school and then find him sitting on the steps of the building next to mine waiting for me as I turn the corner back to my building. The sex we have is always hasty, intense, and toe-curling. One muggy day he comes into my apartment dripping with sweat from the bike ride to get downtown. I invite him into the shower, where he lifts me up and holds me as I wrap my legs around his waist; in the glass box of my shower with steam and water pouring down on us he presses me against the marble wall and I think, aha, so this is what it means to get fucked. We are barely dry from the shower when his damp, sweaty clothes go back on and he is pedaling his bike to get uptown to the class he has to teach. I continue to meet men for coffee or cocktails that I connect with on dating apps. I’ve moved on from Tinder, which feels messy and slipshod and seems to display an inordinate number of shirtless, heavily tattooed men lying on their beds, leering at the camera. The quality of men on Hinge seems slightly higher – emphasis on the word ‘slightly’ – and forces users to write enough words that I can at least tell if they’re literate or funny or too intensely looking for a long- term relationship. One evening as I’m frying chicken cutlets for dinner, #5 calls on his way home to say hi and to tell me that he’s no longer comfortable with my going on dates with other men. “Where is this coming from?” I ask. “When we started seeing each other a few weeks ago, I was upfront with you about my need for openness and you laughed it off, like of course that’s how it’ll be.” “I know I said that, but I really like you and we’re seeing each other enough that I don’t see why you need to see other men too.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Neither would I want you to imagine, my dear wiseacre, that we attend these meetings in the clothes you normally see us wearing; even the most beggarly of the people present looks like an emperor, for we are decked out, one and all, in sumptuous robes and other finery. ‘But over and above all these other delights, there are the beautiful women who are brought to us there, the moment we ask for them, from every corner of the earth. Not only would you see the Begum of Barbanicky, the Queen of the Basques, and the Sultana of Egypt, but also the Empress of Uzbek, the Chitchatess of Norwake, the Semolina of Nomansland, and the Scalpedra of Narsia. But why bother to enumerate them all? You would see every queen in the world there, not even excluding the Skinkymurra of Prester John, 7 who has horns sticking out of his anus: now there’s a pretty sight! And when they have wined and dined, these ladies trip the light fantastic for a little while, after which each of them retires to a bedroom with the man who asked for her to be brought. ‘Now these rooms, mark you, are so glorious to behold that you’d swear you were in Paradise itself. Moreover they’re as fragrant as the spice-jars in your dispensary when you’re pounding the cumin, 8 and the beds on which we lie are every bit as splendid as the Doge’s bed in Venice. I leave you to imagine how busily these ladies work the treadle, and how nimbly they pull the shuttle through, to weave a fine close fabric. But the people who have the best time of all, in my opinion, are Buffalmacco and myself, because Buffalmacco invariably sends for the Queen of France, and I send for the Queen of England, who when all’s said and done are two of the handsomest women on God’s earth. So you can work it out for yourself whether we have good reason to be happier than other men, considering that we enjoy the love of two such queens as these, not to mention the fact that when we have need of a

• From The Decameron (1353)

  When the wedding-day arrived, it was marked by magnificent pomp and splendour, and the house of the two brothers was filled throughout with sounds of revelry and rejoicing. Lysimachus, having completed all his preparations, handed out weapons to Cimon and his companions, as well as to his own friends, and these they concealed beneath their robes. He then delivered a lengthy harangue to fire them with enthusiasm for his plan, and when he judged the time to be ripe, he divided them into three separate groups, one of which he prudently dispatched to the harbour so that no one could prevent them from embarking when the time came for them to leave. Having led the other two parties to the house of Pasimondas, he posted one of them at the main entrance to frustrate any attempt to lock them inside or bar their retreat, whilst with the other, including Cimon, he charged up the stairs. On reaching the hall, where the two brides were already seated and about to dine along with numerous other ladies, they marched boldly forward and hurled the tables to the floor. Then each of the two men seized his lady and handed her over to his companions, instructing them to carry them off at once to the waiting ship. The brides began to cry and scream, the other ladies and the servants followed suit, and the whole place was filled in an instant with uproar and wailing. But Cimon and Lysimachus and their companions, having drawn their swords, made their way unopposed to the head of the staircase, everyone standing aside to let them pass. As they were descending the stairs, they were met by Pasimondas, who had been attracted by all the noise and came up wielding a heavy stick; but he was struck such a fierce blow over the head by Cimon that a good half of it was severed from his body, and he dropped dead at the feet of his assailant. In rushing to his brother’s assistance, the hapless Ormisdas was likewise slain by one of Cimon’s lusty blows, whilst a handful of others who ventured to approach were set upon and beaten back by the rest of the invaders. Leaving the house full of blood, tumult, tears, and sadness, they made their way unimpeded to the ship, keeping close together and carrying their spoils before them. Having handed the ladies aboard, Cimon and Lysimachus followed with their comrades just as the shore began to fill with armed men who were coming to the rescue of the two ladies. But they plied their oars with a will, and made good their escape. On arriving in Crete they were given a joyous welcome by a large number of their friends and relatives, and after they had married their ladies and held a great wedding-feast, they gaily enjoyed the spoils of their endeavours.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  diligent and frugal; we must exhort all Christians to gain all they can, and save all they can: that is, in effect, to grow rich.’ In 1773, he noted in his Journal : ‘I went to Macclesfield, and found a people still alive to God, in spite of swiftly increasing riches. If they continue so, it will be the first instance I have known in above half a century.’ As the eighteenth century progressed, Methodism accordingly identified itself with the established order of society, and after its break with the Anglican Church it became an institution on its own. Like the primitive Church itself, it became immersed in the problems and responsibilities of finance, it built expensive churches, and virtually abandoned itinerant preaching – it underwent the subtle transformation from awakening and enthusing to teaching and ruling. As Methodism changed itself from a revival to an established sect, the more militant sections of the movement hived off. In 1807, when the Methodist Conference voted against camp-meetings, a group broke away to form the Primitive Methodist Connection in which revivalism was institutionalized. Among the poorer elements of the working class, it provided religious fireworks as a substitute for political activism. At Redruth in Cornwall, in 1814, a revival went on for nine successive days and nights: ‘Hundreds were crying for mercy at once. Some remained in great distress of soul for one hour, some for two, some six, some nine, 12 and 15 hours before the Lord spoke peace in their souls – then they would rise, extend their arms and proclaim the wonderful works of God with such energy that bystanders would be struck in a moment and fall to the ground and roar for the disquieture of their souls.’ This wild revivalism, known in Britain as ‘Ranterism’, was an international phenomenon during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic period, and was particularly common in Germany. In the Middle Ages and the sixteenth century, revivalism was always liable to transform itself into political violence. Now, in Britain, the two forms of activism became alternatives. It is true that the sons of strict Methodists sometimes became political revolutionaries: six out of seventeen Luddites hanged at York in January 1813, for instance, came from Methodist families. But Methodist radicals were more likely to be political reformers – the beginning of a tradition which made Methodism and other nonconformist sects the allies first of the Liberals, then of the Labour Party. And the Methodist organization itself almost invariably sided with law, order and property during difficult times. In 1812, the rich

• 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)

  ‘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)

  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 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)

  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?’