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 Henry and June (1986)

  All evening his eyes, his mouth, and the ruggedness of his beard stay with me. I torment Eduardo and arouse his jealousy by awakening the admiration of a young Cuban doctor, whose eyes linger on the lines of my body. We have gone dancing, Hugo, Eduardo, and I. Eduardo wants to draw me back to him, to destroy my exuberance. He is cold, withdrawn, malevolent. He fights against the sinuosity of my body during our dance, the brushing of my cheek, the purring voice in his ears. He kills my joy with his green-eyed fury, and when he has killed it he is unhappy. I see the veins swelling on his temples. He ends the evening with: “What you did to me a few months ago!” Allendy points out that I abandon myself to the consuming cruelty of life with Henry. Pain has become the ultimate joy. For every cry of joy in Henry’s arms, there is a lash of expiation: June and Hugo, Hugo and June. How fervently Allendy now talks against Henry, but I know he is not only discoursing on my plan for self-destruction but that he is moved by his own jealousy. At the end of the analysis I see that he is profoundly disturbed. I have been exaggerating purposely. Henry is the softest, kindest man alive, softer even than I am, though in appearance we are both terrorizers and amoralists. But I enjoy Allendy’s concern for me. The power he has nurtured in me is dangerous, more dangerous than my former timidity. He must protect me now by the deftness of his analysis and the strength of his arms and his mouth. I do not believe men ever had, in one woman, such a potential enemy and such an actual friend. I am full of inexhaustible love for Hugo, Eduardo, Henry, and Allendy. Eduardo’s jealousy last night was also my jealousy, my pain. I accompanied him the short distance he wanted to walk, to clear his head, he said. My eyes were blank, my hands cold. I have such a knowledge of pain that I cannot inflict it. Later, at home, Hugo almost threw himself on me, and I opened my legs passively, like a prostitute, empty of feeling. Yet I know that he alone loves generously and selflessly. Yesterday I told Allendy that I would love to have a dangerous life with Henry and to enter a more difficult, more precarious world; to be heroic and make enormous sacrifices like June, knowing full well that, with my fragility, I would end up in a sanatorium. Allendy said, “You love Henry out of excessive gratitude, because he has made you woman. You are too grateful for the love given you. It is your due.”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “She wanted to see the University”, I said, “and I could not well refuse her.” “Oh, pay her” she cried, “but don’t walk with her. She’s a common thing, fancy her mentioning money to you, my dear!” That same evening I got a note from Lorna, saying her husband wanted to see me. I met the little man in the sitting-room and he proposed that I should come to his rooms every evening after supper and sit in a chair near the door reading; but with a Colt’s revolver handy so that no one could rob him and get away with the plunder. “I’d feel safer”, he ended up, “and my wife tells me you’re a sure shot and used to a wild life: what do you say? I’d give you sixty dollars a month and more than half the time you’d be free before midnight.” “It’s very kind of you”, I exclaimed with hot cheeks, “and very kind of Mrs. Mayhew too: I’ll do it and I beg you to believe that no one will bother you and get away with a whole skin”, and so it was settled. Aren’t women wonderful! In half a day she had solved my difficulty and I found the hours spent in Mayhew’s gambling rooms were more valuable than I had dreamed. The average man reveals himself in gaming more than in love or drink and I was astonished to discover that many of the so-called best citizens had a flutter with Mayhew from time to time. I don’t believe they had a fair deal, he won too constantly for that; but it was none of my business so long as the clients accepted the results: and he often showed kindness by giving back a few dollars after he had skinned a man of all he possessed. Naturally the fact that I was working with her husband threw me more into Mrs. Mayhew’s society: twice or so a week I had to spend the afternoon with her, and the constraint irked me. Kate, too, objected to my visits: she had too much pride to speak openly but one day she had seen me go in to Mrs. Mayhew’s and I think divined the rest; for at first she was cold to me and drew away even from my kisses: “you’ve chilled me”, she cried, “I don’t think I shall ever love you again entirely.” But when I got into her and really excited her, she suddenly kissed me fervently and her glorious eyes had heavy tears in them. “Why do you cry, dear?” I asked. “Because I cannot make you mine as I am all yours!” she cried. “Oh!” she went on, clutching me to her, “I think the pleasure is increased by the dreadful fear—and the hate—oh, love me and me only, love mine!” Of course, I promised fidelity; but I was surprised to feel that my desire for Kate, too, was beginning to cool.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “I’ll try never to suspect anything or be jealous again,” she went on, “it’s a hateful feeling, isn’t it? But I want to see your class-room: would you take me up once to the University?” “Why, of course”, I cried, “I should be only too glad; I’ll take you tomorrow afternoon, or better still”, I added, “come up the hill at four o’clock and I’ll meet you at the entrance.” And so it was settled and Kate went back to her room as noiselessly as she had come. The next afternoon I found her waiting in the University Hall ten minutes before the hour; for our lectures beginning at the hour always stopped after forty-five minutes to give us time to be punctual at any other class-room. After showing her everything of interest, we walked home together laughing and talking, when, a hundred yards from Mrs. Mayhew’s, we met that lady, face to face. I don’t know how I looked, for being a little shortsighted I hadn’t recognized her till she was within ten yards of me; but her glance pierced me. She bowed with a look that took us both in, I lifted my hat and we passed on. “Who’s that?” exclaimed Kate, “what a strange look she gave us!” “She’s the wife of a gambler,” I replied as indifferently as I could, “he gives me work now and then” I went on, strangely forecasting the future. Kate looked at me probing, then: “I don’t mind; but I’m glad she’s quite old!” “As old as both of us put together!” I added traitorously, and we went on. These love-passages with Mrs. Mayhew and Kate, plus my lessons and my talks with Smith, fairly represent my life’s happenings for this whole year from seventeen to eighteen, with this solitary qualification that my afternoons with Lorna became less and less agreeable to me. But now I must relate happenings that again affected my life. I hadn’t been four months with the Gregorys when Kate told me that my brother Willie had ceased to pay my board for more than a fortnight; she added sweetly: “It doesn’t matter, dear, but I thought you ought to know and I’d hate any one to hurt you, so I took it on myself to tell you.” I kissed her, said it was sweet of her, and went to find Willie; he made excuses voluble but not convincing and ended up by giving me a cheque while begging me to tell Mrs. Gregory that he, too, would come and board with her.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  In the lifetime of the last Duke Charles there was at Alengon a proctor named St. Aignan, who had married a gentlewoman of that country more handsome than vir- tuous, who, for her beauty and her levity, was much courted by the Bishop of Sees. In order to accomplish his ends, this prelate took care to amuse the husband so well, that not only he took no notice of the doings of either of the pair, but even forgot the attachment he had always felt towards his masters. He passed from fidelity to perfidy, and finally went the length of practising sorceries to cause the death of the duchess. The prel- ate maintained a long correspondence with this unlucky woman, who intrigued with him rather from motives of interest than of love ; whereto she was also solicited by her husband. But she entertained such a passion for 14 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE [Nm>el 1 the son of the Lieutenant-General of Alengon, named Du Mesnil, that it half crazed her ; and she often made the prelate give her husband some commission or an- other, that she might see the lieutenant-general's son at her ease. This affair lasted a long while, the prelate being entertained for her purse, and the other for her pleasure. She vowed to Du Mesnil that, if she received the bishop well, it was only that she might be the more free to continue her caresses to himself ; and that, what- ever she did, the bishop got nothing but words, and he might be assured nobody but himself should ever have anything else of her. One day, when her husband had to wait upon the bishop, she asked leave of him to go to the country, alleging that the air of the city did not agree with her. No sooner had she arrived at his farm than she wrote to the lieutenant's son, bidding him not fail to visit her about ten o'clock at night. The poor young man did so; but on his arrival the servant woman who usually let him in, met him and said, " Go elsewhere, my friend, for your place is filled." Du Mesnil, thinking that the husband had returned, asked the servant how all was going on. Seeing before her a handsome, well-bred young man, the girl could not help pitying him to think how much he loved, and how little he was loved in re- turn. With this feeling, she resolved to acquaint him with her mistress's behaviour, believing that it would cure him of loving her so much. She told him that the Bishop of S6es had but just entered the house, and was in bed with her mistress, who had not expected him till the following day ; but having detained the husband at his own residence, he had stolen away by night to visit her. The lieutenant's son was thunderstruck at this disclosure, and could hardly bring himself to believe it.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  I give these two days to the memory of our hours. Be a fatalist, yes, as I am today but have no mean or bitter thoughts such as the idea that I played with you for my vanity’s sake. Oh, Eduardo, querido , I accept pain which comes not from such motives but from real sources—real pain, at the treachery of life, which hurts us both in different ways. Do not seek the because —in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.” I came home and threw myself on the couch; I found it hard to breathe. In answer to Eduardo’s plea I met him early this morning. He had spent two days feeling jealous of Henry, realizing that he, the narcissist, was at last possessed by another. “How good it is to come out of one’s self! I have thought of you continuously for two days, have slept badly, have dreamed that I struck you hard, oh, so hard and that your head fell off and I carried it about in my arms. Anaïs, I am going to have you all day. You promised me. All day.” All I want is to dart out of the café. I tell him so. His pleadings, softness, intensity vaguely stir my old love and my pity, the Richmond Hill love, with its vague expectancies, the old habit of thinking: of course I want Eduardo. I fear he might shut himself up again in narcissism because he cannot bear pain. “To think I have come to worship your very bones, Anaïs!” I am faintly, faintly stirred, yet I want most of all to run away from him. I don’t know why, I obey him, follow him. I feel hurt while reading Albertine disparue , because it is marked by Henry, and Albertine is June. I can follow each amplification of his jealousies, his doubts, his tenderness, his regrets, his horror, his passion, and I am invaded by a burning jealousy of June. For the moment this love, which had been so balanced between Henry and June that I could not feel any jealousy, this love is stronger for Henry, and I feel tortured and afraid. Yet I dreamed of June last night. June had suddenly returned. We shut ourselves up in a room. Hugo, Henry, and other people were waiting for us to dress and have dinner together. I wanted June. I begged her to undress. Piece by piece I discovered her body, with cries of admiration, but in the nightmare I saw the defects of it, strange deformations. Still, she seemed altogether desirable.

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

  19. And Jesus said unto them, Can the children of the bridechamber fast, while the bridegroom is with them? as long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. 20. But the days will come, when the bridegroom shall be taken away from them, and then shall they fast in those days. 21. No man also seweth a piece of new cloth on an old garment: else the new piece that filled it up taketh away from the old, and the rent is made worse. 22. And no man putteth new wine into old bottles: else the new wine doth burst the bottles, and the wine is spilled, and the bottles will be marred: but new wine must be put into new bottles. GLOSS. (non occ.) As above, the Master was accused to the disciples for keeping company with sinners in their feasts, so now, on the other hand, the disciples are complained of to the Master for their omission of fasts, that so matter for dissension might arise amongst them. Wherefore it is said, And the disciples of John and the Pharisees used to fast. THEOPHYLACT. For the disciples of John being in an imperfect state, continued in Jewish customs. AUGUSTINE. (de Con. Evan. ii. 27) But it may be thought that He added Pharisees, because they joined with the disciples of John in saying this to the Lord, whilst Matthew relates that the disciples of John alone said it: but the words which follow rather shew that those who said it spoke not of themselves, but of others. For it goes on, And they come and say unto him, Why do the disciples, &c. For these words shew, that the guests who were there came to Jesus, and had said this same thing to the disciples, so that in the words which he uses, they came, he speaks not of those same persons, of whom he had said, And the disciples of John and the Pharisees were fasting. But as they were fasting, those persons who remembered it, come to him. Matthew then says this, And there came to him the disciples of John, saying, because the Apostles also were there, and all eagerly, as each could, objected these things. CHRYSOSTOM. (non occ.) The disciples of John, therefore, and of the Pharisees, being jealous of Christ, ask Him, whether He alone of all men with His disciples could, without abstinence and toil, conquer in the fight of the passions. BEDE. But John did not drink wine and strong drink, because he who has no power by nature, obtains more merit by abstinence. But why should the Lord, to whom it naturally belonged to forgive sins, shun those whom he could make more pure, than those who fast? But Christ also fasted, lest He should break the precept, He ate with sinners, that thou mightest see His grace, and acknowledge His power. It goes on; And Jesus said unto them, Can the children, &c.

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

  Whether the damned see the glory of the blessed?Objection 1: It would seem that the damned do not see the glory of the blessed. For they are more distant from the glory of the blessed than from the happenings of this world. But they do not see what happens in regard to us: hence Gregory commenting on Job 14:21, “Whether his children come to honor,” etc. says (Moral. xii): “Even as those who still live know not in what place are the souls of the dead; so the dead who have lived in the body know not the things which regard the life of those who are in the flesh.” Much less, therefore, can they see the glory of the blessed. Objection 2: Further, that which is granted as a great favor to the saints in this life is never granted to the damned. Now it was granted as a great favor to Paul to see the life in which the saints live for ever with God (2 Cor. 12). Therefore the damned will not see the glory of the saints. On the contrary, It is stated (Lk. 16:23) that the rich man in the midst of his torments “saw Abraham . . . and Lazarus in his bosom.” I answer that, The damned, before the judgment day, will see the blessed in glory, in such a way as to know, not what that glory is like, but only that they are in a state of glory that surpasses all thought. This will trouble them, both because they will, through envy, grieve for their happiness, and because they have forfeited that glory. Hence it is written (Wis. 5:2) concerning the wicked: “Seeing it” they “shall be troubled with terrible fear.” After the judgment day, however, they will be altogether deprived of seeing the blessed: nor will this lessen their punishment, but will increase it; because they will bear in remembrance the glory of the blessed which they saw at or before the judgment: and this will torment them. Moreover they will be tormented by finding themselves deemed unworthy even to see the glory which the saints merit to have. Reply to Objection 1: The happenings of this life would not, if seen, torment the damned in hell as the sight of the glory of the saints; wherefore the things which happen here are not shown to the damned in the same way as the saints’ glory; although also of the things that happen here those are shown to them which are capable of causing them sorrow. Reply to Objection 2: Paul looked upon that life wherein the saints live with God [*Cf. [5172]SS, Q[185], A[3], ad 2], by actual experience thereof and by hoping to have it more perfectly in the life to come. Not so the damned; wherefore the comparison fails.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  " Rather," replied Simontault, " because the jealousy of women and the violence of their passion make them give up the ghost without knowing why, whilst men, with more prudence, desire to be informed of the truth.- Once they have ascertained it, their good sense makes them show the greatness of their spirit. Thus it was with the gentleman, who, as soon as he knew that he was the cause of his mistress's death, manifested the great- ness of his love for her at the cost of his life." " Nevertheless," said Ennasuite, " the fidelity of her love was the cause of her death ; for her heart was so constant and so true, that she could not bear to be so villanously deceived." " Her jealousy hindered her reason from acting," re-, Seventh <fay.] QUEEN OF NA VARRE. 545 turned Simontault ; " and as she believed the evil of which her lover was not guilty, her death was not volun- tary, for she could not help dying ; but her lover owned he had done wrong, and died voluntarily." " Be it as you please," said Nomerfide ; " but at all events the love must be great that causes such mortal sorrow." " Don't be afraid," said Hircan ; " you will not die of such a fever." " No more than you will kill yourself on being con- scious of having done wrong," she retorted. Parlamente, who did not know but that the dispute was at her expense, said, laughing, " It is enough that two died for love, without two others fighting for the same cause. There is the last vesper-bell to separate you, whether you like or not." At these words the company rose to hear vespers. They did not forget in their prayers the souls of the true lovers, for whom the monks willingly said a De Profiindis. During supper nothing was talked of but Madame du Verger. After amusing themselves a little together they retired to their respective chambers, and so ended the seventh day. 35 546 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE EIGHTH DAY.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Much was the debate between the ladies and the young men; but ultimately they all took the king's counsel for useful and seemly and determined to do as he proposed; whereupon, calling the seneschal, he bespoke him of the manner which he should hold on the ensuing morning and after, having dismissed the company until supper-time, he rose to his feet. The ladies and the young men, following his example, gave themselves, this to one kind of diversion and that to another, no otherwise than of their wont; and supper-time come, they betook themselves to table with the utmost pleasure and after fell to singing and carolling and making music. Presently, Lauretta leading up a dance, the king bade Fiammetta sing a song, whereupon she very blithely proceeded to sing thus: If love came but withouten jealousy, I know no lady born So blithe as I were, whosoe'er she be. If gladsome youthfulness In a fair lover might content a maid, Virtue and worth discreet, Valiance or gentilesse, Wit and sweet speech and fashions all arrayed In pleasantness complete, Certes, I'm she for whose behoof these meet In one; for, love-o'erborne, All these in him who is my hope I see. But for that I perceive That other women are as wise as I, I tremble for affright And tending to believe The worst, in others the desire espy Of him who steals my spright; Thus this that is my good and chief delight Enforceth me, forlorn, Sigh sore and live in dole and misery. If I knew fealty such In him my lord as I know merit there, I were not jealous, I; But here is seen so much Lovers to tempt, how true they be soe'er, I hold all false; whereby I'm all disconsolate and fain would die, Of each with doubting torn Who eyes him, lest she bear him off from me. Be, then, each lady prayed By God that she in this be not intent 'Gainst me to do amiss; For, sure, if any maid Should or with words or becks or blandishment My detriment in this Seek or procure and if I know't, ywis, Be all my charms forsworn But I will make her rue it bitterly.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  She shook her head: “My fears are prophetic”, she sighed, “I’m willing to believe it hasn’t happened yet though—Ah God, the torturing thought! the mere dread of your going with another drives me crazy; I could kill her, the bitch: why doesn’t she get a man of her own? How dare she even look at you?” and she clasped me tightly to her. Nothing loath, I pushed my sex into her again and began the slow movement that excited her so quickly and me so gradually for even while using all my skill to give her the utmost pleasure, I could not help comparing and I realised surely enough that Kate’s pussy was smaller and firmer and gave me infinitely more pleasure; still I kept on for her delight. And now again she began to pant and choke and as I continued ploughing her body and touching her womb with every slow thrust she began to cry inarticulately with little short cries growing higher in intensity till suddenly she squealed like a shot rabbit and then shrieked with laughter, breaking down in a storm of sighs and sobs and floods of tears. As usual, her intensity chilled me a little; for her paroxysm aroused no corresponding heat in me, tending even to check my pleasure by the funny, irregular movements she made! Suddenly I heard steps going away from the door, light stealing steps: who could it be! The servant? or—? Lorna had heard them too, and though still panting and swallowing convulsively, she listened intently while her great eyes wandered in thought. I knew I could leave the riddle to her: it was my task to reassure and caress her. I got up and went over to the open window for a breath of air and suddenly I saw Lily run quickly across the grass and disappear in the next house: so she was the listener! When I recalled Lorna’s gasping cries, I smiled to myself. If Lily tried to explain them to herself, she would have an uneasy hour, I guessed. When Lorna had dressed, and she dressed quickly, and went downstairs hastily to convince herself, I think, that her darky had not spied on her, I waited in the sitting-room: I must warn Lorna that my “studies” would only allow me to give one day a week to our pleasures. “Oh!” she cried, turning pale as I explained, “didn’t I know it!” “But Lorna,” I pleaded, “didn’t you say you could do without me altogether if ’twas for my good!” “No, no, no! a thousand times no!” she cried, “I said if you were with me always, I could do without passion; but this starvation fare once a week! Go, go!” she cried, “or I’ll say something I’ll regret. Go!” and she pushed me out of the door and thinking it better in view of the future, I went.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Near the Pays du Perche there were two gentlemen, who from their childhood had been such perfectly good friends that they had but one heart, one house, one bed, one table, and one purse. Their perfect friendship lasted a long while without there having ever been the least dispute, or even a word that savoured of it ; for they lived, not merely like two brothers, but like one man. One of the two married, but this did not diminish his affection for the other, or prevent his continuing to live with him as happily as before. When they hap- pened to be in any place where beds were scarce, he made him sleep with his wife and him. It is true that he himself lay in the middle. All their goods were in common, so that the marriage, whatever might happen, never altered this perfect friendship. But as there is nothing solid and permanent in this world, time brought about a change in the felicity of a too happy household. The husband, forgetting the con- fidence he had in his friend, became jealous without cause of him and his wife, to whom he could not refrain from 4o6 THE HEPT A ME ROM OF THE [JVtr^e/ 47. saying some harsh things, whereat she was the more surprised, as he had ordered her to treat his friend in all respects, save one, exactly like himself. All this, how- ever, did not hinder him from forbidding her to speak to him, unless it was in full company. She made known this prohibition to her husband's friend, who could not believe it, well knowing that he had not done or thought anything with which his friend could be displeased. As he was accustomed to conceal nothing from him, he told him what he had heard, begging him to disguise nothing, for it was his earnest desire not to give him, either in that or in any other matter, the least cause to break a friendship of such long duration.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  One evening, after reading longer than usual, the lady looked along her husband's bed, and saw only the back of the servant who was holding the candle to him ; whilst of her husband she saw nothing but his shadow, projecting on the white wall forming the side of the chimney which jutted into the room. She perfectly dis- tinguished the faces of both, and saw by their shadows, as clearly as she could have seen by the substance of each, if they were apart, or met, or laughed. The gen- tleman, who was not aware of this, and never supposed that his wife could see him, kissed his servant. For that time the wife said not a word ; but seeing that the shadows often repeated the same movement, she was afraid there was reality beneath it, and she burst into such a loud laugh that the shadows separated in alarm. The gentleman asked her why she laughed so heartily, and begged she would let him have part in her merri- ment. " I am such a simpleton, my dear," she replied, " that I laugh at my shadow." Question her as he would, there was no getting any other answer from her. There was an end, however, to that shadowy dalliance. I have been reminded of this incident by what you said of the lady who loved her husband's mistress. "In faith," said Ennasuite, "if my servant had served me so, I would have got up and smashed the candle on her nose." 446 THE HEPTAMERON OF TI/E \Nmel 54. '• You are very terrible," said Hircan ; " but it would have been a bad business for you if your husband and the servant had turned round upon you and beaten you soundly. What need to make such a pother about a kiss ? The wife would have done still better not to say a word, but leave her husband to divert himself. That would, perhaps, have cured him," •' Perhaps, on the contrary, she feared that the end of the diversion would make him worse," said Parla- mente. "She was not one of those of whom om Lord speaks,'' said Oisille, " when he says, ' We have mourned and you have not wept, we have sung and you have not danced,' for when her husband was ill she wept, and when he was merry she laughed. All good women ought thus to share with their husbands good and evil, joy and sorrow, and should love, serve, and obey them as the Church does Jesus Christ." " Our husbands, madam," said Parlamente, " ought likewise to behave to us as Jesus Christ does to the Church." " And so we do," said Saffredent, " and we would do something more if it were possible ; for Jesus Christ died only once for his Church, and we die daily for our wives."

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Hearing such home truths as these delivered by the lips of a beautiful woman, with such grace and assur- ance that it was easy to see she did not think herself deserving of any punishment, the husband was so con- founded that he knew not what to reply, except that a man's honour and a woman's were different things. Nevertheless, as she swore that nothing criminal had taken place between her and her lover, it was not his intention to love her less ; but he begged that she would offend no more, and that they should both forgive and forget the past. She gave a promise to that effect, and, the reconciliation being effected, they went to bed together. Next morning an old demoiselle, who was greatly alarmed for her mistress's life, came to her bedside and said, " Well, madam, how do you find yourself .' "' " There is not a better husband in the world than mine," she re- plied, laughing, "for he believed me on my oath." In this way five or six days passed in apparent harmony between the married pair ; meanwhile, however, the husband, whose jealousy was not at all allayed had, his wife narrowly watched night and day ; but in spite of all this vigilance his spies could not hinder the lady from again entertaining her lover in a dark and very suspi- cious place. Nevertheless, she managed the matter so secretly, that no one could ever know the truth for cer- tain ; only some valet set a story afloat that he had found a gentleman and a lady in a stable which was Second day\ QUEEN OF NA VARRE. 1 53 under the chamber occupied by the mistress of the lady in question. Upon this doubtful evidence the husband's jealousy became so increased that he resolved to have the gallant assassinated ; and he assembled for that pur- pose a great number of relations and friends, who were to despatch him in case they met him. But it happened that one of the principal persons among the confeder- ates was an intimate friend of the man whose death they plotted ; and instead of surprising him, he put him fully on his guard ; and the gentleman was such a general favourite, and always had such a good escort of friends, that he did not fear his enemy ; nor was he ever as- sailed.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The same lady, whose husband was jealous of her without just cause, contriv'es to detect him in such a position with one of her women that he is obliged to humble himself, and allow his wife to live as she pleases. The lady of whom you told the tale was married to a man of good and ancient family, whose fortune was not inferior to his birth. Their marriage was solely the Sixth day:\ QUEEN OF NA VARRE. 467 result of their mutual love. The wife, who was of all women in the world the most ingenuous, made no secret of it to her husband that she had lovers, whom she made game of, and only used for her pastime. Her husband had his share in this pleasure ; but in the long run he grew dissatisfied with this manner of proceeding. On the one haixl, he took it amiss that she had long visits from persons he regarded neither as relations nor as friends, and on the other he was not pleased with the expenditure he was compelled to make in attending the court. For this reason he retired to his own house as often as he could ; but he received so many visits there that his expenses were hardly diminished. Wherever he was his wife always found means to divert herself, whether with play, or dancing, or other amusements, to which young ladies may decorously addict themselves. When her husband sometimes told her that they spent too much, she would reply that he might be assured she would never make him a cuckold, but only a rogue. In fact, she was so fond of magnificence in attire, that she insisted on having dresses as rich and fine as any seen at the court, to which her husband took her as seldom as possible, notwithstanding her eager desire to be always there. For this reason she made herself so com- plaisant to her husband that it was with difficulty he re- fused her most extravagant requests. One day when she had failed in all her devices to induce him to take her to court, she perceived that he looked very wistfully at a chambermaid of hers, and thought she might turn this circumstance in some way to her own advantage. She questioned the girl in pri- vate, and managed so cleverly, by dint of promises and threats, that she made her confess that since she had been in her service not a day had passed in which her 468 THE HEPTAMEROM OF THE \N<n>el 59. master had not made love^ to her ; but that she would rather die than do anything contrary to Gocl and her honour, the more so as the lady had done her the honour to receive her into her service, which would make the crime double.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  corted him not so far as she wished, for he made her go back for fear she should meet the duke, with whom he mounted again and returned to the chateau of Argilly. On the way, the duke never ceased protesting to the gentleman that he would rather die than ever divulge his secret ; and his confidence in him was so confirmed that no one at court stood higher in favour. The duch- ess was enraged at this. The duke forbade her ever to mention the subject any more to him, saying that he knew the truth, and was satisfied, for the lady whom the gentleman loved was handsomer than herself. These words so stung the heart of the duchess that they threw her into an illness worse than fever. The duke tried to console her, but nothing would do unless he would tell her who was that fair lady who was so devotedly loved. So much did she importune him, that at last he quitted the chamber, saying to her, " If you speak to me any more of these thmgs, we will part." This made her still more ill, and she pretended to feel her infant move ; whereat the duke was so rejoiced that he went to bed to her ; but when she saw that his passion for her was at the height, she turned from him, saying, "Since you love neither wife nor child, monsieur, I entreat you let both die." These words she accompanied with so many tears and cries, that the duke was greatly afraid she would miscarry; wherefore, taking her in his arms, he entreated her to tell him what she wanted, protesting he had noth- ing that was not at her command. "Ah[ monsieur," she replied, sobbing and crying, "what hope can I have that you would do a difificult thing for me, since you will not do the easiest and most reasonable thing in the world, which is to tell me the name of the mistress of the worst servant you ever had .? I thought that you and I had but one heart, one soul, and one flesh, but I 234 ^^^^ HEPTAMEKOX OF THE INm'd 70.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Near the Pays du Perche there were two gentlemen, who from their childhood had been such perfectly good friends that they had but one heart, one house, one bed, one table, and one purse. Their perfect friendship lasted a long while without there having ever been the least dispute, or even a word that savoured of it ; for they lived, not merely like two brothers, but like one man. One of the two married, but this did not diminish his affection for the other, or prevent his continuing to live with him as happily as before. When they hap- pened to be in any place where beds were scarce, he made him sleep with his wife and him. It is true that he himself lay in the middle. All their goods were in common, so that the marriage, whatever might happen, never altered this perfect friendship. But as there is nothing solid and permanent in this world, time brought about a change in the felicity of a too happy household. The husband, forgetting the con- fidence he had in his friend, became jealous without cause of him and his wife, to whom he could not refrain from 4o6 THE HEPT A ME ROM OF THE [JVtr^e/ 47. saying some harsh things, whereat she was the more surprised, as he had ordered her to treat his friend in all respects, save one, exactly like himself. All this, how- ever, did not hinder him from forbidding her to speak to him, unless it was in full company. She made known this prohibition to her husband's friend, who could not believe it, well knowing that he had not done or thought anything with which his friend could be displeased. As he was accustomed to conceal nothing from him, he told him what he had heard, begging him to disguise nothing, for it was his earnest desire not to give him, either in that or in any other matter, the least cause to break a friendship of such long duration.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  The same is true of Schopenhauer, in whom the mythology reaches its climax. The visual perception, for example, of an object in space results, according to him, from the intellect performing the following operations, all unconscious. First, it apprehends the inverted retinal image and turns it right side up, constructing flat space as a preliminary operation; then it computes from the angle of convergence of the eyeballs that the two retinal images must be the projection of but a single object; thirdly, it constructs the third dimension and sees this object solid; fourthly, it assigns its distance; and fifthly, in each and all of these operations it gets the objective character of what it 'constructs' by unconsciously inferring it as the only possible cause of some sensation which it unconsciously feels. [183] Comment on this seems hardly called for. It is, as I said, pure mythology. None of these facts, then, appealed to so confidently in proof of the existence of ideas in an unconscious state, prove anything of the sort. They prove either that conscious ideas were present which the next instant were forgotten; or they prove that certain results, similar to results of reasoning, may be wrought out by rapid brain-processes to which no ideation seems attached. But there is one more argument to be alleged, less obviously insufficient than those which we have reviewed, and demanding a new sort of reply. Tenth Proof. There is a great class of experiences in our mental life which may be described as discoveries that a subjective condition which we have been having is really something different from what we had supposed. We suddenly find ourselves bored by a thing which we thought we were enjoying well enough; or in love with a person whom we imagined we only liked. Or else we deliberately analyze our motives, and find that at bottom they contain jealousies and cupidities which we little suspected to be there. Our feelings towards people are perfect wells of motivation, unconscious of itself, which introspection brings to light. And our sensations likewise: we constantly discover new elements in sensations which we have been in the habit of receiving all our days, elements, too, which have been there from the first, since otherwise we should have been unable to distinguish the sensations containing them from others nearly allied. The elements must exist, for we use them to discriminate by; but they must exist in an unconscious state, since we so completely fail to single them out. [184] The books of the analytic school of psychology abound in examples of the kind. Who knows the countless associations that mingle with his each and every thought? Who can pick apart all the nameless feelings that stream in at every moment from his various internal organs, muscles, heart, glands, lungs, etc., and compose in their totality his sense of bodily life?

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Louise of Savoy was deeply implicated in a still fouler transaction, which was attended with the most terrible con- sequences. This was the iniquitous lawsuit brought against the Constable of Bourbon, which was followed by his desertion and treason. According to all historians, the insensate love of the Duchess of Angouleme, then aged forty-four, for the constable, who was but thirty-two, was the sole cause of this suit ; but her cupidity, and the secret jealousy with which Francis I. regarded one of the handsomest, wealthiest, and bravest men in his kingdom, also contributed to that result. The object of the suit was to wrest from the constable the lordships bequeathed to him by Suzanne be Beaujeu, one of the richest heiresses in Europe, and to which Louise of Savoy laid claim as next of kin to the deceased. She did so at the instigation of the Chancellor Duprat, whose reasonings on this subject we are enabled to give in his own words, as follows : — " The marriage of M. Charles de Bourbon with Madame Suzanne was nothing else than a mere shift to stop the action at law which the said lord was ready to move against Madame de Bourbon and her daughter, on account of the estates of appanage and others entailed on the marriage of Jean de Bourbon and Maria of Berr}'. The mere apprehension of this contest made the said Madame de Bourbon condescend there- to, and to that end she dissolved the contract passed between M. d'Alen^on and Madame Suzanne. Hence there is a likeli- hood that a similar apprehension of a suit to be promoted for the whole inheritance of the house by two stronger parties than was then the said Lord of Bourbon, who was neither old enough nor strong enough to prosecute it, as the king and his mother will be, may cause some overtures to be made on the one side or the other to compromise and allay this difference. " M. de Bourbon is now but thirty-two, and Madame, the king's mother, cannot be more than forty at most, which is not too disproportioned an age for so great a lady, handsome, X X MEMOIR OF MA RGARE7\

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

  BEDE. (ubi sup.) Wherefore it is evident from the Apostles themselves, that it is an ancient custom of the holy Church that persons possessed or afflicted with any disease whatever, should be anointed with oil consecrated by priestly blessing. 6:14–1614. And king Herod heard of him; (for his name was spread abroad:) and he said, That John the Baptist was risen from the dead, and therefore mighty works do shew forth themselves in him. 15. Others said, That it is Elias. And others said, That it is a prophet, or as one of the prophets. 16. But when Herod heard thereof, he said, It is John, whom I beheaded: he is risen from the dead. GLOSS. (non occ.) After the preaching of the disciples of Christ, and the working of miracles, the Evangelist fitly subjoins an account of the report, which arose amongst the people; wherefore he says, And king Herod heard of him. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. (Vict. Ant. e Cat. in Marc.) This Herod is the son of the first Herod, under whom Joseph had led Jesus into Egypt, But Matthew calls him Tetrarch, and Luke mentions him as ruling over one fourth of his father’s kingdom; for the Romans after the death of his father divided his kingdom into four parts. But Mark calls him a king, either after the title of his father, or because it was consonant to his own wish. PSEUDO-JEROME. It goes on, For his name was spread abroad. For it is not right that a candle should be placed under a bushel. And they said, that is, some of the multitude, that John the Baptist was risen from the dead, and therefore mighty works do shew themselves forth in him. BEDE. (in Marc. 2, 25) Here we are taught how great was the envy of the Jews. For, lo, they believe that John, of whom it was said that he did no miracle, could rise from the dead, and that, without the witness of any one. But Jesus, approved of God by miracles and signs, whose resurrection, Angels and Apostles, men and women, preached, they chose to believe was carried away by stealth, rather than suppose that He had risen again. And these men, in saying that John was risen from the dead, and that therefore mighty works were wrought in him, had just thoughts of the power of the resurrection, for men, when they shall have risen from the dead, shall have much greater power, than they possessed, when still weighed down by the weakness of the flesh. There follows, But others said, that it is Elias. THEOPHYLACT. For John confuted many men, when he said, Ye generation of vipers. It goes on, But others said, that it is a prophet, or as one of the prophets.

• 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