Jealousy

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 Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 5: Further, according to the Philosopher (De Gener. Animal. i, 20), in the begetting of offspring the male is to the female as agent to patient, and as the craftsman is to his material. But it is not against the order of nature for one agent to act on several patients, or for one craftsman to work in several materials. Therefore neither is it contrary to the law of nature for one husband to have many wives. Objection 6: On the contrary, That which was instilled into man at the formation of human nature would seem especially to belong to the natural law. Now it was instilled into him at the very formation of human nature that one man should have one wife, according to Gn. 2:24, “They shall be two in one flesh.” Therefore it is of natural law. Objection 7: Further, it is contrary to the law of nature that man should bind himself to the impossible, and that what is given to one should be given to another. Now when a man contracts with a wife, he gives her the power of his body, so that he is bound to pay her the debt when she asks. Therefore it is against the law of nature that he should afterwards give the power of his body to another, because it would be impossible for him to pay both were both to ask at the same time. Objection 8: Further, “Do not to another what thou wouldst not were done to thyself” [*Cf. Tob. 4:16] is a precept of the natural law. But a husband would by no means be willing for his wife to have another husband. Therefore he would be acting against the law of nature, were he to have another wife in addition. Objection 9: Further, whatever is against the natural desire is contrary to the natural law. Now a husband’s jealousy of his wife and the wife’s jealousy of her husband are natural, for they are found in all. Therefore, since jealousy is “love impatient of sharing the beloved,” it would seem to be contrary to the natural law that several wives should share one husband.

• From Story of O (1954)

  To make sure that Sir Stephen could see Jacqueline in detail—and O thought to herself that if she were Jacqueline she would have guessed, or noticed, his invisible presence—O took pains to pull back her legs and keep them spread in the light of the bedside lamp which she had turned on. The shutters were closed, the room almost dark, despite the thin rays of light that spilled in where the wood was not snug. For more than an hour Jacqueline moaned to O’s caresses, and finally, her breasts aroused, her arms thrown back behind her head while her hands circled the wooden bars of the headboard of O’s Italian-style bed, she began to cry out when O, parting the lobes hemmed with pale hair, slowly began to bite the crest of flesh at the point between her thighs where the dainty, supple lips joined. O felt her rigid and burning beneath her tongue, and wrested cry after cry from her lips, with no respite, until she suddenly relaxed, the springs broken, and she lay there moist with pleasure. Then O sent her back to her room, where she fell asleep. Jacqueline was awake and ready, though, when René came for her at five o’clock to go sailing, with Natalie, in a small sailboat, as they had grown accustomed to doing. A slight wind usually came up at the end of the afternoon. “Where’s Natalie?” René said. Natalie was not in her room, nor was she anywhere in the house. They went out to the garden and called her. René went as far as the thicket of scrub oak at the end of the garden; no one answered. “Maybe she’s already down at the inlet,” René said, “or in the boat.” They left without calling her any more. It was at that point that O, who was lying on the Oriental pillows on her terrace, glanced through the tile banisters and saw Natalie running toward the house. She got up, put on her dressing gown—it was still so warm, even this late in the afternoon, that she was naked—and was tying her belt when Natalie erupted into the room like one of the Furies and threw herself at O. “She’s gone,” she shouted, “she’s finally gone. I heard her, O, I heard you both, I was listening behind the door. You kiss her, you caress her. Why don’t you caress me, why don’t you kiss me? Is it because I’m dark, because I’m not pretty? She doesn’t love you, O, but I do, I love you!” And she broke down and began to sob. “All right, fine,” O said to herself. She eased the child into an armchair, took a large handkerchief from her bureau (it was one of Sir Stephen’s), and when Natalie’s sobs had subsided a little, wiped her tears away. Natalie begged her forgiveness, kissing O’s hands.

• From Story of O (1954)

  In the evening, Anne-Marie would designate one of them to sleep with her, sometimes the same one several nights in succession. She caressed her chosen partner and was by her caressed, generally toward dawn, and then she would immediately fall asleep, after having sent her partner back to her own room. The purple drapes, only half closed, tinted the dawning day mauve, and Yvonne used to say that Anne-Marie was as beautiful and haughty in receiving pleasure as she was unstinting in her demands. None of them had ever seen her naked. She would pull up or open slightly her white nylon nightgown, but would not take it off. Neither the pleasure she may have tasted the night before nor her choice of partner the previous evening had the least influence on her decision the following afternoon, which was always determined by a drawing. At three in the afternoon, beneath the copper beech where the garden chairs were grouped about a round, white-marble table, Anne-Marie would bring out the token box. Each girl would take a token. Whoever drew the lowest number was then taken to the music room and arranged on the dais as O had been that first day. She then had to point to (save for O, who was exempted until her departure) Anne-Marie’s right or left hand, in each of which she was holding a white or black ball. If she chose black, she was flogged; white, she was not. Anne-Marie never resorted to chicanery, even if chance condemned or spared the same girl several days in a row. Thus the torture of little Yvonne, who sobbed and cried out for her lover, was repeated four days running. Her thighs, like her breasts crisscrossed with a green network of veins, spread to reveal a pink flesh which was pierced by the thick iron ring, which had finally been inserted, and the spectacle was all the more striking because Yvonne was completely shaved. “But why?” O wanted to know, “and why the ring if you are already wearing a disk on your collar?” “He says I’m more naked when I’m shaved. The ring, I think the ring is to fasten me with.” Yvonne’s green eyes and her tiny triangular face reminded O of Jacqueline every time she looked at her. What if Jacqueline were to go to Roissy? Sooner or later, Jacqueline would end up here, would be here strapped on her back on this platform. “I won’t,” O would say, “I don’t want to and I won’t lift a finger to get her there. As it is, I’ve already said too much. Jacqueline’s not the sort to be flogged and marked.”

• From Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence (2006)

  She misses him on the weekends; she’s jealous about his other life. And while her possessiveness drains him, and is sometimes annoying, it also confirms exactly how important he is. When Doug comes to see me, he can barely manage the contradictions in his life. His marriage, which is supposed to be monoga mous, is not. His affair, which is de facto nonmonogamous, has just ended because he couldn’t meet Naomi’s demand for fidelity. “The whole thing is insane,” he tells me. “Naomi wanted me to stop having sex with Zoë, which I told her I couldn’t do. So she started seeing someone else, and now they’re talking about marriage. She’s refusing to have sex with me, and she’s completely secretive about her relationship with Evan. I’m so jealous I’m obsessed. The thought of her in the arms of another guy makes me nuts.” “I hope the irony isn’t lost on you,” I tell him. “You demand fidelity in the very place that’s defined by infidelity.” “Yeah, but that’s her infidelity, not mine,” he answers. “Oh, yes, I forgot there’s a double standard. She and Zoë are both expected to remain faithful to you while you remain faithful to neither?” “Something like that, yeah. Not a very fair arrangement, I know. Believe me, I’m not proud.” “So why didn’t you leave Zoë?” I ask. “If you had all this with Naomi, why didn’t you follow the burning bush, the fire that never consumes?” “I love Zoë,” Doug says, shocked at the implications of what I’ve just said. “I’ve never really wanted to leave my marriage. I have a good thing with Zoë, and I don’t want to live away from my kids. Anyway, Naomi and I married? That would be a disaster.” “So this wasn’t an exit affair. Maybe more like a stabilizer, where the third person helps keep the other two in place?” “I don’t know. Maybe. The point is that I didn’t think. I just did it. I followed my gut, and now I feel like shit.” Unpacking the Affair On some level, I think Doug would like me to confirm that indeed he has done something terribly wrong. He has betrayed his vows, a moral offense in black and white. But wholesale condemnation too easily distracts us from the real issues behind his behavior. I prefer a morally neutral stance that leaves us free to explore the meaning of the affair rather than the ethics of it. Once Doug understands the motives that drove him into Naomi’s arms, he’ll be able to draw his own conclusions, both about what he did and about what he wants to do henceforth. People stray for many reasons—tainted love, revenge, unfulfilled longings, plain old lust. At times an affair is a quest for intensity, or a rebellion against the confines of matrimony.

• From Story of O (1954)

  One afternoon she and Jacqueline had gone to Cannes together to the hairdresser, alone, then to the Reserve Café for an ice cream on the terrace. Jacqueline was superb in her tight-fitting black slacks and sheer black sweater, eclipsing even the brilliance of the children around her she was so bronzed and sleek, so hard and bright in the burning sun, so insolent and inaccessible. She told O she had made an appointment there with the director whose picture she had been playing in in Paris, to arrange for taking some exteriors, probably in the mountains above Saint-Paul-de-Vence. And there he was, forthright and determined. He didn’t need to open his mouth, it was obvious he was in love with Jacqueline. All one had to do was see the way he looked at her. What was so surprising about that? Nothing; but what was surprising was Jacqueline. Half reclining in one of those adjustable beach chairs, Jacqueline listened to him as he talked of dates to be set, appointments to be made, of the problems of raising enough money to finish the half-completed picture. He used the tu form in addressing Jacqueline, who replied with a mere nod or shake of her head, keeping her eyes half-closed. O was seated across from Jacqueline, with him between them. It took no great act of perception to notice that Jacqueline, whose eyes were still lowered, was watching, from beneath the protection of those motionless eyelids, the young man’s desire, the way she always did when she thought no one was looking. But strangest of all was how upset she seemed, her hands quiet at her side, her face serious and expressionless, without the trace of a smile, something she had never displayed in René’s presence. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smile on her lips as O leaned forward to set her glass of ice water on the table and their eyes met, was all O needed to realize that Jacqueline was aware that O knew the game was up. It didn’t bother her, though; it was rather O who blushed. “Are you too warm?” Jacqueline said. “We’ll be leaving in five minutes. Red is becoming to you, by the way.” Then she smiled again, turning her gaze to her interlocutor, a smile so utterly tender that it seemed impossible he would not hasten to embrace her. But he did not. He was too young to know that motionlessness and silence can be the lair of immodesty. He allowed Jacqueline to get up, shook hands with her, and said good-by. She would phone him. He also said good-by to the shadow that O represented for him, and stood on the sidewalk watching the black Buick disappear down the avenue between the sun-drenched houses and the dark, almost purple sea. The palm trees looked as though they had been cut out of metal, the strollers like poorly fashioned wax models, animated by some absurd mechanism.

• From Story of O (1954)

  Natalie was granted permission to remain with O, and extracted the promise that she would be taken to Roissy. But Sir Stephen forbade O to teach her the least caress, not even a kiss on the lips, and also gave strict instructions that O was not to allow Natalie to kiss her. He had every intention of having her reach Roissy completely untouched by hands or lips. By way of compensation, what he did demand, since Natalie was loath to leave O, was that she not leave her for a single moment, that she witness O caressing both Jacqueline and himself, that she be present when O yielded to him and when he whipped her, or when she was flogged by old Norah. The kisses with which O smothered her sister, O’s mouth glued to hers, made Natalie quiver with jealousy and hate. But, cowering on the carpet in the alcove, at the foot of O’s bed, like little Dinarzade at the foot of Scheherazade’s bed, she watched each time that O, tied to the wooden balustrade, writhed and squirmed beneath the riding crop, saw O on her knees humbly receiving Sir Stephen’s massive, upright sex in her mouth, saw her, prostrate, spread her own buttocks with both hands to offer him the after passage—she witnessed all these things with no other feelings but those of admiration, envy, and impatience.

• From Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence (2006)

  At the boundary of every couple lives the third. He’s the high school sweetheart whose hands you still remember, the pretty cashier, the handsome fourth-grade teacher you flirt with when you pick your son up at school. The smiling stranger on the subway is the third. So, too, are the stripper, the porn star, and the sex worker, whether touched or untouched. He is the one a woman fantasizes about when she makes love to her husband. Increasingly, she can be found on the Internet. Real or imagined, embodied or not, the third is the fulcrum on which a couple balances. The third is the manifestation of our desire for what lies outside the fence. It is the forbidden. The affair is the third, but so, too, is the wife at home. Naomi is the hidden shadow in Doug’s marriage, but Zoë lives at the center of the affair. The lovers’ jealousy depends on the presence of the spouse. Without the betrothed, all the possessiveness, passion, and insanity of fevered lovers will simply go limp. Perhaps this is why so few affairs last after the marriage that inspired them dissolves. The true test of love in an affair begins only when the obstacle is removed. All relationships live in the shadow of the third, for it is the other that solders our dyad. In his book Monogamy, Adam Phillips writes, “The couple is a resistance to the intrusion of the third, but in order for it to last it is indispensable to have enemies. That is why the monogamous can’t live without them. When we are two, we are together. In order to form a couple, we need to be three.” What then is a couple to do? Many of the patients I meet simply refuse to acknowledge the third. They’re drawn by the lure of oneness, which insists that there is no need for others. Perfect love is sufficient unto itself. So fragile is this fusion that the presence of another, even in fantasy, is powerful enough to shatter it.

• From The Pillar of Salt (1953)

  To my taste, they all spoke far too much about my potential partner in all this glory. I was jealous of this possible brother who prevented me from being the uncontested hero of a ceremony that would occur only once in my lifetime. I realized that even the date of my bar mitzvah had been left undecided, to be determined according to the date of his birth. And so I waited for him. My parents had repeated to me often enough, in spite of all, that I was their first great joy, the only boy and the future head of the family. Now, I learned that I had only just escaped not being what I was. Before me, my parents had had another boy, born with all his fingers joined together, webbed like a duck’s foot: “That was a bad omen, but I looked after him well in spite of it all,” my mother used to say, “though I knew all the time that something would happen to him.” And it did happen, for he died in infancy. On the eve of his death, one of the women next door had heard an owl hoot quite close to our house. As Monsieur Touitou, our teacher, had told us that this superstition was meaningless, I explained firmly to my mother that owls do not kill infants but that the latter die for lack of proper care. The harbinger of death kills nobody; on the contrary, it’s a useful bird. That was exactly what Monsieur Touitou had explained to us. My mother was furious and answered me that I was a fool, a very small rat who thought he had a very long tail; and if school taught me only to make fun of my parents, she would prevent my going there. I thus learned to distinguish more clearly what was right and proper at school from what was right and proper at home, though much to the advantage of school; and I acquired the habit of speaking as little as possible to my parents about what I did at school.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  A young man, perhaps more confident because he was better looking than the older, slack-bellied submissives, accosted a dark-haired, dignified mistress and asked if he might give her a foot massage. She acquiesced, and they adjourned to the carpeted stairs, where he sat on the floor, lovingly removed one of her high heels, and kissed it. He cradled her stockinged foot in his lap and polished the sole with his thumbs. The leather dykes had made room for them, and one leaned over to offer the dominatrix a joint. She shook her head, but held it down for the submissive man to take a toke. He smiled and said, “Thank you, Mistress,” and wondered why the act he was performing gave him so much pleasure. Would she, he wondered, let him remove her stockings and actually kiss her feet, lick them? She took the joint away from him and passed it up the stairs, then rested the foot that was still shod upon his crotch. “Do you like my shoes?” she asked. He nearly fainted as the spike pressed between his balls, and the sole threatened to flatten the shaft of his hardening penis. This was a very lucky night. Back at the bar, someone noticed this spontaneous interaction and felt jealousy gnaw at his heart. He was one of a gaggle of submissives dancing attendance upon a very lovely, very young professional who styled herself The Goddess Domina. For a moment, he stopped competing for her attention and watched the mistress seated on the stairs grind her heel into the boy’s crotch while he leaned back, yielding to her, suffering written all over his face. She was older and plainer than Domina, but she was calm and self-assured, handling her young man with such understanding, easily claiming him for her service. Domina, on the other hand, was already drunk, a criminal waste of the small fortune in cocaine she had snorted before coming to Purgatory. Her jealous submissive knew exactly how much coke there had been because that was the price of being brought to this club with her. Why did he always have to pay? He told himself that Domina was the best-looking woman in the club. The other submissives must surely be jealous of him because he belonged to such a gorgeous bitch-goddess. Why, then, did he want to keep watching the foot-slave and his newly found mistress instead of keeping track of Domina’s tiresome antics and pretending it was a privilege to light her cigarettes?

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 9: The natural inclination in the appetitive power follows the natural concept in the cognitive power. And since it is not so much opposed to the natural concept for a man to have several wives as for a wife to have several husbands, it follows that a wife’s love is not so averse to another sharing the same husband with her, as a husband’s love is to another sharing the same wife with him. Consequently both in man and in other animals the male is more jealous of the female than “vice versa.” Whether it was ever lawful to have several wives?Objection 1: It would seem that it can never have been lawful to have several wives. For, according to the Philosopher (Ethic. v, 7), “The natural law has the same power at all times and places.” Now plurality of wives is forbidden by the natural law, as stated above [5012](A[1]). Therefore as it is unlawful now, it was unlawful at all times. Objection 2: Further, if it was ever lawful, this could only be because it was lawful either in itself, or by dispensation. If the former, it would also be lawful now; if the latter, this is impossible, for according to Augustine (Contra Faust. xxvi, 3), “as God is the founder of nature, He does nothing contrary to the principles which He has planted in nature.” Since then God has planted in our nature the principle that one man should be united to one wife, it would seem that He has never dispensed man from this. Objection 3: Further, if a thing be lawful by dispensation, it is only lawful for those who receive the dispensation. Now we do not read in the Law of a general dispensation having been granted to all. Since then in the Old Testament all who wished to do so, without any distinction, took to themselves several wives, nor were reproached on that account, either by the law or by the prophets, it would seem that it was not made lawful by dispensation. Objection 4: Further, where there is the same reason for dispensation, the same dispensation should be given. Now we cannot assign any other reason for dispensation than the multiplying of the offspring for the worship of God, and this is necessary also now. Therefore this dispensation would be still in force, especially as we read nowhere of its having been recalled. Objection 5: Further, in granting a dispensation the greater good should not be overlooked for the sake of a lesser good. Now fidelity and the sacrament, which it would seem impossible to safeguard in a marriage where one man is joined to several wives, are greater goods than the multiplication of the offspring. Therefore this dispensation ought not to have been granted with a view to this multiplication.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  21:23–2723. And when he was come into the temple, the Chief Priests and the elders of the people came unto him as he was teaching, and said, By what authority doest thou these things? and who gave thee this authority? 24. And Jesus answered and said unto them, I also will ask you one thing, which if ye tell me, I in like wise will tell you by what authority I do these things. 25. The baptism of John, whence was it? from heaven, or of men? And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say unto us, Why did ye not then believe him? 26. But if we shall say, Of men; we fear the people; for all hold John as a prophet. 27. And they answered Jesus, and said, We cannot tell. And he said unto them, Neither tell I you by what authority I do these things. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. The Priests were tormented with jealousy, because they had seen Christ entering the Temple in great glory. And not being able to master the fire of jealousy which burnt in their breasts, they break forth in speech. CHRYSOSTOM. Forasmuch as they could not detract from His miracles, they bring matter of blame from His forbidding to sell in the Temple. As though they had said, Hast Thou assumed the seat of authority? Hast Thou been anointed Priest, that Thou exertest this power? PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. By that they add, Or who gave thee this authority? they shew that there be many persons who give power to men, whether corporal or spiritual! as though they had said, Thou art not come of a priestly family; the Senate has not conferred on Thee this power, neither has Cæsar granted it. But had they believed that all power is from God, they would never have asked, Who gave thee this authority? For every man judges of others by himself. The fornicator thinks that none are chaste; the chaste does not readily suspect any of fornication; he who is not a Priest of God, thinks no man’s Priesthood to be of God. JEROME. Or in these words they urge the same cavil as above, when they said, He casteth out demons through Beelzebub the Prince of the demons. (Mat. 12:24.) For when they say, By what authority doest thou these things? they doubt concerning the power of God, and would have it understood that the things He does are of the Devil. But when they add, Who gave thee this authority? they most clearly deny the Son of God, whom they suppose to work miracles, not by His own, but by others’ strength. The Lord could have confuted the calumny of His tempters by a simple answer, but He put a question to them of such skilful contrivance, that they must be condemned either by their silence or their knowledge; Jesus answered and said unto them, I also will ask you one question.

• From Momma and the Meaning of Life (1999)

  I was surprised at how pleased Paula seemed by my invitation, but as soon as we met—this time at the Stanford Faculty Club, which serves no Hula sandwiches—her agenda became clear. She could talk of nothing but Dr. Kingsley. According to Paula, Dr. Kingsley’s cotherapist had invited her to address their group, but as soon as she had begun speaking, Dr. Kingsley had accused her of taking too much time. “You’ve got to reprimand her,” Paula said urgently. “You know teachers can and should be held responsible for the unprofessional behavior of their students.” But Dr. Kingsley was my colleague, not my student, and I had known her for years. Not only was her husband a close friend but she and I had led many groups together: knowing her to be a superb therapist, I was certain that Paula’s account of her behavior was greatly distorted. Slowly, far too slowly, it dawned on me that Paula was jealous: jealous of the attention and affection I bestowed on Dr. Kingsley; jealous of my alliance with her and with all the members of the research staff. Naturally Paula had resisted the consultation workshop; naturally she had discouraged any collaboration with other researchers. She would resist any change. All she wanted was to revert to the time when she and I had been alone with our little flock. What could I do? Her insistence that I choose between her and Dr. Kingsley placed me in an impossible dilemma. “I care for both you and Dr. Kingsley, Paula. How can I maintain my own integrity and my collegiality and friendship with Dr. Kingsley without your feeling, once again, abandoned by me?” Though I reached out to her in every way possible, the distance between us grew greater. I could find no proper words; there seemed to be no safe topics. I no longer had the right to ask her personal questions, nor did she evince any interest in my life. All through lunch she told me stories about terrible mistreatment by her doctors: “They ignore my questions; their medications do more harm than good.” She also warned me about a psychologist who was talking to some of the cancer patients who had been in our group: “He’s stealing our findings to use in his own book. You’d better protect yourself, Irv.” Paula was obviously deeply troubled, and I was alarmed and saddened by her paranoia. I think my distress must have showed because as I moved to leave, she asked me to stay a few minutes more. “I have a story for you, Irv. Sit back and let me tell you about the coyote and the locust.” She knew I loved stories. Especially her stories. I listened expectantly.

• From The First Paul: Reclaiming the Radical Visionary Behind the Church's Conservative Icon (2009)

  Paul’s eschatological vision of God’s great cleanup of the world was for Jews and Gentiles to combine into one ultimate community in the sequence “the Jew first and also the Greek” (1:16; 2:9–10). But God, says Paul, has reversed that process. Now it is first the Gentiles and only then the Jews who receive the message: “So I ask, have they stumbled so as to fall? By no means! But through their stumbling salvation has come to the Gentiles, so as to make Israel jealous” (11:11). In other words, “a hardening has come upon part of Israel, until the full number of the Gentiles has come in” (11:25). What is most striking in this whole section is the solemn warning to “you Gentiles” with which Paul concludes his entire exposition (11:13–36). He warns them sternly and lengthily, for example, against boasting and self-confidence with a striking image of Israel as an ancient and domesticated olive tree into which they are but wild and newly grafted branches (11:17–24). He emphasizes that all of this is a divine “mystery” (11:25), but today, after two thousand years, we can and must speak even more fully than Paul ever could. He said to the Gentiles, “As regards the gospel they [non-Christian Jews] are enemies of God for your sake; but as regards election they are beloved, for the sake of their ancestors; for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (11:28–29). We now say what Paul never imagined. There are two covenants, one Jewish and one Christian, both free gifts of divine grace, both accepted initially and lived fully by faith. That is the only way, today, to reread what Paul called God’s “mystery” in the face of continuing history. Human problem. Paul’s emphasis on the (non)unity of Jews and Christians as a divine mystery in 9:1–29 and 11:1–36 deliberately frames his discussion of it as a human problem in 9:30–10:21. We are back once again with that problem of faith (with works) versus works (without faith). Is Paul accusing all non-Christian Jews of externalism, of expecting righteousness and justification to derive simply from fulfilling legal requirements? If he were, it would be simply crude polemics; any opposing theologian would have told him, as seen already, that righteousness and justification come from the grace of an internal covenantal relationship and the law is its necessary external manifestation. So should the section in 9:30–10:21 be dismissed as simple polemics? No, because it is time to recall—and probably reread—the sections on those gentile “God-worshipers” from Chapter 3.

• From The Pillar of Salt (1953)

  When I got back to our Passage, the celebrations had already begun. I was disappointed, though my pockets were stuffed with money. Our apartment, emptied of its furniture, was full of guests who were calling on my mother before going on to the party on the terrace. Whatever compliments were made had to be very carefully worded, and many guests said outright that the twins were a pain in the eye. But they winked toward my mother while making such statements for they were merely a trick to fool the Evil Eye. To have two children at one and the same time might easily arouse murderous envies and the ill will of the demons who had thereby been defied. The women spat on the floor, assured everyone loudly that nobody on earth would want to have such little runts; after which they laughed silently among themselves, the only human witnesses. As for me, I felt that the babies really didn’t deserve so much attention. They were still as ugly, red, and round as blood sausages, with mouths that took up all their gnomelike faces. My mother, unable to control her expressions, didn’t seem happy. My father had refused to ask Uncle Aroun to be the godfather. Uncle Aroun had already enjoyed the honor of being my own godfather, but he had failed after that to show any generosity. What is the use of such a godfather? Offended and especially disappointed at having failed to obtain a blessing that always brings children to the one who accepts it, my uncle had then decided not to attend the ceremony. He had gone away, his head thrust forward, far ahead of him like that of a hasty giraffe. My mother wept bitter tears as a result of this, and my father lost his temper once more over his wife’s partiality for her own family. I could feel jealousy tearing at my heart as I sat and waited for my share of the congratulations, my hair glued flat with brilliantine, swarthy and thin and goatlike in my dark suit. But most of our guests seemed to forget that our party was in my honor too. Twins are indeed an unusual event. I made fun of their absurd play in front of the babies as they tried to make them laugh, rolling their eyes like clowns and grunting. A few guests remembered me too and uttered some kind remarks, but I felt, quite unjustly, that they were being hypocritical or condescending.

• From The Pillar of Salt (1953)

  I tried desperately to speak this language which wasn’t mine, which perhaps will never be entirely mine, but without which I would never be able to achieve self-realization. Our local dialect was only just able to satisfy the daily needs of eating and drinking. Could I tell my schoolmates that my mother not only spoke no European language at all, but barely managed to carry on in her own dialect? I never told them, or anyone, anything; I hated them, pretended to despise them, made a show of all my own failings, and rolled my r’s even louder than before. All the same, I envied them. I’m not trying to give a flattering picture of myself, nor to justify my behavior; I’m trying here to get rid of what’s on my stomach and to vomit what I cannot digest and forget. I was jealous, envious, even spiteful, and soon unbearable to all those who were ready to like me. I had every fault that’s generally condemned. But could I have been otherwise? Each morning, my classmates smiled, were confident, smelled of eau de Cologne and of good toilet soaps. I supposed, not without astonishment, that they washed from top to toe every morning. It was only much later that I understood why some people have an unpleasant odor and others no odor at all. Most frustrating of all, I was completely excluded from their community. Both inside and outside the school, they continued to live as a group, sitting near one another in class, telling stories I couldn’t really follow; their tongues glided too rapidly over their words and I often failed to understand them at all. They all belonged to one and the same civilization which remained merely theoretical in my eyes as long as I myself had no share in it. At the school gates, they shook hands cordially and politely, and then began to exchange news about an unknown planet: “Did you hear Duke Ellington on Monte Carlo at eight-thirty?” I guessed that this had something to do with the radio, but I would have allowed myself to be killed rather than ask a question. Who was Duke Ellington? “Did you see the forty-cent Washington? Terrific!” This had some connection with postage stamps. “I’m backing Bagheera on Sunday.” Bagheera: yes, race-track talk. Generally, however, their chatter escaped me completely. Social distinctions are as profound as religious differences, and I was not a member of their class. They enjoyed means and luxuries that were far beyond me and of which I had not even heard. “I’ll phone you at four and you can tell me if our homework is tough.”

• From The Pillar of Salt (1953)

  I hastened to open the tin that was rattling with the only sound of my single coin and handed him the two-penny piece that was intended for my sandwich. Saul was thus able to complete the required sum, bought the last Nestlé bar, tore the wrapping, and exclaimed to me, in disgust: “What? Another fish? Well, I have no luck today.” It seemed to me that nobody had any luck at all that day. The street was deserted and Graziani was shaking his head with a sad expression, acting as if he were about to close the gate. We rushed in through the opening that was scarcely wide enough to allow a cat to pass. “Ragazzi! Ragazzi!” the old Italian grumbled affectionately. The massive door shut loudly behind us. We went to our seats in the first-year class and sat still. The crowd was now transmuted into an organized little society that respected order, and silence followed the earlier clamor. It was then that my stomach chose to rumble loud and long as I realized that I would get no breakfast. I felt that I had been imposed upon. Up till then, I had never experienced the revelation of jealousy and envy. I had envied Saul his fine clothes and his pocket money, but it had been without any true bitterness or animosity. Later, I began to hate the Sauls of life, but the power of the rich, at that time, still inspired in me some respect, as if I were witnessing a constant and almost magical run of luck. I still saw no relationship between their riches and my own poverty, but Saul’s self-centered lack of any awareness established the first link between the two. He could take away from me the two pennies for my breakfast in order to purchase himself an unnecessary Nestlé bar, and then was able to throw away the chocolate that I could not afford. Saul never remembered to repay me my two pennies, which was quite natural, for it was such a small sum... ~ 5. THE SUMMER CAMP ~ I felt for my father a kind of admiration that included respect and some fear. His big and heavy hands were, in my eyes, the symbol of strength and skill. On one of our wonderful Saturdays I was running along beside him, with my tiny fist deep in his big hand where I could feel the horny skin and the scars. I wanted to dispose of some last doubt in my mind and asked: “Who is the more powerful, the saddler or the policeman?”

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Jacques, being then returned to Paris, thought of nothing but how to renew his intimacy with the mercer, in order to traffic in the choicest of his wares under pretext of pure friendship. As Frangoise had beauty and sprightliness, and had long been marriageable, she had several suitors during the absence of Jacques ; but whether it was that her father was stingy, or that, hav- ing but that one child, he wished to establish her well, he had not made much account of any of these suitors. As people do not wait nowadays before talking scan- dal until they have just grounds for it, especially where the honour of our sex is concerned, this set people talk- ing ill of Frangoise. Her father, not choosing to do like many others, who, instead of reproving tl\e faults of their wives and children, seem, on the contrary, to in- cite them thereto, did not shut his ears or his eyes to the popular opinion, but watched his daughter so closely that even those who sought her with no other intention than marriage saw her but rarely, and then only in her mother's presence. It need not be asked whether or not such vigilance was irksome to Jacques, who could not conceive that they should treat her so rigorously without some important reason to him unknown. This Fifth day\ QUEEN OF NA VARRE. 383 conjecture distressed him, and distracted his feelings be tween love and jealousy. Resolved at all cost to know what might be this mysterious reason, he proposed to ascertain in the first place if she still retained the same tender sentiments towards him ; and he went about so assiduously that at last he found means one morning at mass to place him- self near her, when he perceived from her manner that she was as glad to see him as he her. As he knew that the mother was not so strict as the father, he sometimes took the liberty, when he met them on their way to church, to accost them familiarly and with ordinary politeness ; and this as if he had met them by mere chance, the whole being with a view to prepare matters for the design he meditated.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  They continued then to live together on the santfe terms as before, until, after some time, the husband's jealous fit came upon him more strongly than ever, and he ordered his wife no longer to show his friend the same fair countenance. She immediately informed the friend of this, and begged him not to speak to her, as she was forbidden to speak to him. The friend, seeing from this and from certain grimaces of his comrade that he had not kept his word, said to him in great indigna- tion, " If you are jealous, my friend, that is a natural thing ; but after the oaths you have sworn to me, I cannot help telling you that I am aggrieved by your having concealed it so long. I had always believed that between your heart and mine there was no medium or obstacle ; but I see with regret, and without any fault of mine, that I have not succeeded so well as I had hoped, since not only are you jealous of your wife and me, but you furthermore want to make a mystery of it, in order that your malady may endure so long that it may turn into hatred, and the closest friendship which has been seen in our day be succeeded by the most mortal enmity. I have done what I could to prevent this mischief, but since you believe me to be so wicked, 4o8 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Navel 47. and the reverse of all I have ever been, I solemnly vow to you that I will be such as you take me to be, and that I will never rest until I have had from your wife what you imagine I am striving for : and I warn you henceforth to be on your guard against me. Since suspicion has made you renounce my friendship, resent- ment makes me renounce yours." The husband tried to make him believe that it was all a mistake, but the other would not listen to him. The furniture and property they had in common were divided, and this division was accompanied by that of their hearts, which had always been so united. The unmarried gentleman kept his word, and never rested until he made his friend a cuckold. So be it, ladies, to all those who distrust their wives without cause. A woman of honour sooner suffers her- self to be overcome by despair than by all the pleasures in the world, and many husbands who are unjustly jealous behave so that at last they have just cause for jealousy, and make their wives do what they suspect them of. Some say that jealousy is love : I deny it ; for though it issues from love as ashes from fire, just so it kills it, just as ashes smother the flame.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  " But was it not a monstrous inconsistency in this brother," said Longarine, " to have persisted so long in praising this young gentleman to his sister .'' It seems to me that it would be a great folly, not to say cruelty, in a man who had charge of a fountain to praise its water to one who gazed on it, parched with thirst, and then to kill him for offering to drink of it." " The fire of his encomiums on the young man," said Parlamente, " unquestionably kindled the fire of love in the lady's heart, and he was wrong to put out with his sword a fire he himself had lighted by his sweet words." " I am surprised," said Saffredent, " that it should be taken amiss that a simple gentleman, by dint of court- ship alone, and not through any false pretences, should come to marry a lady of so illustrious a house, since the philosophers maintain that the least of men is vvorthiei than the greatest and most virtuous of women." " The reason is," said Dagoucin, " that in order to preserve the public tranquillity, regard is only had to the 350 THE HEPTAMEROX OF THE S^Novel i,o. degree of the families, the age of the persons, and the laws, men's love and virtue being counted as nothing, in order not to confound the monarchy. Thence it comes that in the marriages which take place between equals, and in accordance with the judgment of men and of the relations, the persons are often so different in heart, temperament, and disposition, that instead of entering into an engagement which leads to salvation, they throw themselves into the confines of hell." " Instances have also been seen," said Geburon, " of persons who have married for love, with hearts, disposi- tions and temperaments mutually conformable, without concerning themselves about difference of birth, and who have, nevertheless, repented of what they have done. In fact, a great but indiscreet love often changes into jeal- ousy and fury." " To me it seems," said Parlamente, " that neither the one course nor the other is commendable, and that those persons who submit to the will of God regard neither glory, nor avarice, nor voluptuousness. They alone are to be commended, who, actuated by virtuous love, sanctioned by the consent of their relations, desire to live in the married state as God and nature ordain. Though there is no condition without its troubles, I have yet seen these latter run their course without repenting that they had entered upon it. The present company is not so unhapjDy as not to number in it married persons of this class."

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  home. But Salomé did not stay long: she accepted an invitation of Nietz-herself And in this she succeeded with little effort, sche's to visit him, unchaperoned, in Tautenburg. In her absence Rée was for indeed she was a consumed with doubts and anger. He wanted her more than ever, and was woman more to be wooed prepared to redouble his efforts. When she finally came back, Rée vented than to do the wooing. his bitterness, railing against Nietzsche, criticizing his philosophy, and ques-And now listen to the splendid sequel: not long tioning his motives toward the girl. But Salomé took Nietzsche's side. Rée afterward it happened that was in despair; he felt he had lost her for good. Yet a few days later she sura letter which she had prised him again: she had decided she wanted to live with him, and with written to her lover fell into the hands of another him alone. woman of comparable At last Rée had what he had wanted, or so he thought. The couple set-rank, charm, and beauty; tled in Berlin, where they rented an apartment together. But now, to Rée's and since she, like most women, was curious and dismay, the old pattern repeated. They lived together but Salomé was eager to learn secrets, she courted on all sides by young men. The darling of Berlin's intellectuals, opened the letter and read who admired her independent spirit, her refusal to compromise, she was it. Realizing that it was written from the depths of constantly surrounded by a harem of men, who referred to her as "Her Ex-passion, in the most loving cellency." Once again Rée found himself competing for her attention. and ardent terms, she was Driven to despair, he left her a few years later, and eventually committed at first moved with suicide. compassion, for she knew very well from whom the In 1911, Sigmund Freud met Salomé (now known as Lou Andreas-letter came and to whom it Salomé) at a conference in Germany. She wanted to devote herself to the was addressed; then, psychoanalytical movement, she said, and Freud found her enchanting, al-however, such was the power of the words she though, like everyone else, he knew the story of her infamous affair with read, turning them over in Nietzsche (see page 46, "The Dandy"). Salomé had no background in psy-her mind and considering choanalysis or in therapy of any kind, but Freud admitted her into the in-what kind of man it must be who had been able to ner circle of followers who attended his private lectures. Soon after she arouse such great love, she joined the circle, one of Freud's most promising and brilliant students, Dr. at once began to fall in love Victor Tausk, sixteen years younger than Salomé, fell in love with her. Sa-with him herself; and the lomé's relationship with Freud had been platonic, but he had grown ex-letter was without doubt far more effective than if the