Pride

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  The tale of Filippo Balducci, sometimes referred to as the 101st story of the Decameron , is often thought of as unfinished, perhaps because Boccaccio himself tells us so: But before replying to any of my critics, I should like to strengthen my case by recounting, not a complete story (…), but a part of one, so that its very incompleteness will set it apart from the others. 17 Although it may lack intentional finality, in which respect it differs not at all from several of the other tales, the story of Balducci is in fact complete, and has served its purpose, if indeed it was designed to demonstrate, as the author claims, that there is nothing remotely unnatural in taking a lively interest in the opposite sex. But is that the real purpose of the story, for which incidentally there are scores of antecedents in oriental and western literature, though none so finely wrought as this? Is it not more likely that it is pressed into service at this juncture to sustain the initial fiction that the Decameron was written as consolatory material for ladies in the throes of love? In contrast to the mood of most of the stories to which it acts as preamble, the overall tone of this opening sequence to the Fourth Day is extremely light-hearted, interspersed as it is with puns, double meanings and lively banter. Yet beneath the outwardly nonchalant air one detects a deep inner seriousness, which is nowhere more apparent than in the author’s rebuttal of the charge that he has abandoned the Muses. The passage not only offers a good example of the ambivalent tone of the whole, it also confirms the desire to place this genre of writing fairly and squarely within the realm of poetry: That I should stay with the Muses in Parnassus, I declare to be good advice, but all the same we can no more abide with the Muses than they can abide with us. If, on leaving them behind, a man delights in seeing what resembles them, that is not something worthy of blame: the Muses are ladies, and albeit the ladies are not worth as much as the Muses, yet at first sight they resemble them, so that, even if they pleased me for no other reason, they should please me for this; besides, ladies caused me to compose a thousand lines of verse, whereas Muses never caused me to write any. They helped me, certainly, and showed me how to write those thousand lines; and perhaps in writing these things, no matter how humble they are, they have come to stay with me more than once, perhaps to serve and to honour the resemblance the ladies bear to themselves: wherefore, in weaving these tales, I am straying less distant from Mount Parnassus and from the Muses than many may venture to think.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Dantesque associations of the sub-title should not be overlooked, for it will be remembered that Dante’s allusion to Galeotto occurs in that episode of the Commedia, illustrating the sin of lust, where Francesca da Rimini claims that the mainspring of her adulterous liaison with Paolo Malatesta was their reading together of an Arthurian romance with that very title: ‘The book was Galahalt, and he the one who wrote it.’ 52 By deliberately choosing this name as the alternative title of his own collection of tales, the author is rejecting Dante’s implicit condemnation of the literature of profane love, the genre of which Boccaccio had made himself a leading exponent long before he addressed himself to the writing of his master work. Whereas Dante had suggested that literature concerned with profane love was inherently harmful, Boccaccio polemically stresses its didactic value, at the same time pointing out that for those people blessed with intelligence or good fortune its usefulness is strictly limited. They, presumably, will read it, if they read it at all, for the pleasure they derive from whatever aesthetic values it may possess. 53 That Boccaccio is adopting a polemical stance in relation to the literature of profane love – a position, moreover, that is diametrically opposed to that of Dante, whose poetry he greatly admired – cannot seriously be doubted. His passionate, eloquent, and occasionally mischievous defence of the Decameron in the Introduction to the Fourth Day, as well as the remarks he appends in the work’s concluding pages, are indicative of the need he experienced to defend the genre within which he was working. And it is characteristic of Boccaccio’s realistic view of the human condition that he should have seized upon the possibilities afforded by the great natural calamity of the Black Death to furnish his stories (many of which were doubtless already written before 1348) with a plausible raison d’être. The framework of the Decameron, and the circumstances in which the hundred tales are alleged to have been told, have already been discussed in some detail. What needs to be emphasized at this juncture is that the description of the plague, and of the moral and social upheaval to which it gave rise, is first and foremost a powerful instrument for ensuring that a hitherto neglected or despised literary genre will attract due recognition. Boccaccio’s defensive posture is at once apparent in the opening paragraph of the Introduction to the First Day, where, referring to his description of the plague, he apologizes to his readers in advance for the work’s irksome and ponderous opening (grave e noioso principio), and assures them that they will be affected no differently by this grim beginning than hikers confronted by a steep and rugged hill beyond which there lies a fair and delectable plain.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Guiscardo I took not at hazard, as many women do; nay, of deliberate counsel I chose him before every other and with advisement prepense drew him to me[220] and by dint of perseverance and discretion on my part and on his, I have long had enjoyment of my desire. Whereof it seemeth that thou, ensuing rather vulgar prejudice than truth, reproachest me with more bitterness than of having sinned by way of love, saying (as if thou shouldst not have been chagrined, had I chosen therefor a man of gentle birth,) that I have committed myself with a man of mean condition. Wherein thou seest not that thou blamest not my default, but that of fortune, which too often advanceth the unworthy to high estate, leaving the worthiest alow. [Footnote 220: Lit. introduced him to me (_a me lo 'ntrodussi_); but Boccaccio here uses the word _introdurre_ in its rarer literal sense to lead, to draw, to bring in.]

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

  I wished I could stay and become a part of their group but reluctantly I let Renate guide me back to Harry. Before we reached him, I whispered, “Anaïs asked me to keep her secret, but I’m not sure what it is.” Renate hissed back, “She thinks you know.” “I guess she got a divorce, but why—” “Don’t speculate. Call me here tomorrow,” she whispered, before pulling out my chair opposite Harry. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Later that night, Harry Browne discovered simultaneous orgasm. Although it disproved his Libertarian theory of sex for his next book, it made him obsessed with me. He just couldn’t believe that I wanted him to leave after it, but I had to get up to study for my test. He started phoning me the next morning, wanting to see me that evening, and when I said no, he wanted to take me to the Hotel del Coronado the following weekend. I had no interest in ever seeing him again. I felt victorious for having disproved his Libertarian theory of sex but also chilled at how impersonal the experience had been for me. It bothered me that I’d wielded my acquired ease with seduction as a weapon, leaving him wounded and me indifferent. Anaïs was the only person I knew who would understand the cold satisfaction I’d felt, for it was what she had described in her character of Sabina. I needed to talk with Anaïs again, but first I’d have to get past Renate, her gatekeeper. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Right after my essay test, I phoned Renate and arranged to meet her at Holiday House the following afternoon. When I arrived, she offered me a drink, compliments of the house. I asked for plain tonic water. Renate took a seat and sipped the iced tea she had brought for herself. “Keeping secrets is something one gets used to, working here.” She blinked her impossibly long lashes. “Movie stars have their rendezvous in the motel rooms below the restaurant, so if you see any celebrities you must keep it mum. We offer them discretion.” I nodded, hoping I might see Robert Mitchum or Natalie Wood. “Actually, that would be a good test,” Renate added, “to see if you can be trusted.” “You mean with Anaïs’s secret?” I said. “Do you know what it is?” Renate asked, and I shook my head. I noticed she didn’t answer my question. She just wanted answers to her own. “Did you ever run into a student named Peter Loomer at UCLA?” “I don’t go to UCLA,” I reminded her. “I might go there for grad school.” “Please accept my apology for forgetting. And pardon me for asking, why you would want to go to UCLA for grad school?” She frowned. “They didn’t know what to do with Peter in that big, impersonal place.” “Who is Peter?

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

  Finally, I thought of what to say. “My relationship with you is different. I took an oath with you. We’re now like blood sisters who tell each other everything, and it’s sacred between us.” She still did not look entirely convinced, so I tried again. “I only told you my father’s secret because you asked for an example, and that was the only one I could tell. All the other secrets people have told me will go with me to my grave.” Her face relaxed. “You really are a little soldier, aren’t you?” “If you mean I can be trusted, yes.” I was proud that she’d entrusted me with a confidence so radical and dangerous. “So you will help me save my marriage with Rupert as well as with Hugo? You did so well with Hugo.” She looked happy for the first time that day. Unwilling to disappoint her when it was apparent her happiness now depended on me, I said yes. I had been willing to help her save her marriage with Hugo, and so far I had succeeded. Now she was asking me to help her save both her marriages, to keep her suspended on her trapeze, to partake in her daring feat. I would be the person on the ground, holding her safety line, ever vigilant to keep her from falling. I would have the close-up view of her trapeze, how she worked the pulleys and leapt from husband to husband, both of them reaching for her as she spun in glorious, airborne freedom. There wasn’t anything as amazing—not on Peyton Place, or The Addams Family, or Bewitched. Her life had elements of all those TV shows, and it was dangerous and thrilling, but it was real. And I’d been cast in an essential role. “Before Rupert gets home from teaching,” she charged on, “we should talk about how you might keep an eye on him while I’m gone.” “Keep an eye on Rupert? What would that entail?” “For instance, if Rupert gets suspicious about me in New York, you should phone me, and, well …” Her hands waved and seemed to reach for something that wasn’t there. She averted her eyes when she said, “I wish I didn’t have to mention this. It’s so unfair. Ever since I fell in love with Rupert I have been absolutely faithful to him.” “Except for Hugo.” “Well, yes, but I was already married to Hugo. That’s different. I’ve been completely faithful to both of them, but I can’t trust either of them when I’m out of town.” I might have pointed out a fault in her reasoning, but as I understood our relationship, she was the mentor and I the apprentice, so it wasn’t my place. Instead I said, “What am I supposed to do, track Rupert like a detective?” A mischievous smile brightened her face. “Not a detective, a spy. A Spy in the House of Love.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  As for his lectures at the Studium, they aroused much adverse comment, not only because of the man’s extraordinary boorishness, but because the instruction he provided was not sufficiently practical for those young Florentines preparing for a mercantile or diplomatic career in the eastern Mediterranean. All the same, Boccaccio prided himself with good reason on the role he had played in ensuring that the study of ancient Greek literature should take its place alongside the almost exclusively Latin-based researches of the fourteenth-century Italian humanists. Shortly after his conversations with Petrarch in Padua in 1351, Boccaccio had begun to compile a notebook in which he copied out various texts to form a kind of anthology. This work, known nowadays as the Zibaldone Magliabechiano, belongs, probably, to the period 1351–6, and it in turn gave rise to two Latin works which were widely disseminated and translated in Europe during the succeeding two centuries: De casibus virorum illustrium, begun by Boccaccio around 1355, and De mulieribus claris, probably begun in the summer of 1361. The first draft of De casibus was completed around 1360, but the definitive enlarged version belongs to 1373–4, and is dedicated to Mainardo de’ Cavalcanti, chancellor of the Duchy of Amalfi, who, during Boccaccio’s Neapolitan journey of 1362–3, had entertained and lodged the author in a fashion more appropriate to a man of his standing than the miserly manner in which he had been received by Acciaiuoli. De casibus consists of a series of cautionary biographies, distributed over nine books, of famous men selected from biblical, Roman and contemporary history, from Adam to the tyrannical ruler of mid-fourteenth-century Florence, the Duke of Athens. With few exceptions, what the subjects of these biographical tales have in common is that they all rose to a position of eminence from which they were toppled by divine Providence through an excess of pride or folly, or a combination of both. The didacticism of the work is what chiefly distinguishes these tales, based upon biblical or historical figures, from several such tales in the pages of the Decameron, especially the stories of the Second Day, which are for the most part based on fictional figures. The theme of Fortune was one to which Boccaccio, like many other writers before and since, was strongly attracted. But whereas in the Decameron Fortune is seen on the whole as a benevolent force, in De casibus she is perceived from a moralistic viewpoint as a chastiser of men for their iniquities. De casibus thus reflects the new moral perspective that assumes increasing importance in the author’s later, humanistic writings. Much the same could be said of De mulieribus claris, probably begun in the summer of 1361 and revised no fewer than nine times, the last revision belonging to 1375. De mulieribus is dedicated to Andrea Acciaiuoli, sister of the Grand Seneschal and later to become the wife of Mainardo de’ Cavalcanti, and it contains 104 biographies of famous women, from Eve to Queen Joanna of Naples.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  His Roman heart being wedded to the guile of an Athenian, he skilfully persuaded the kinsfolk of Gisippus and Sophronia to forgather in a temple, to which he came, accompanied only by Gisippus. And he addressed the people waiting there as follows: ‘In the opinion of many philosophers, all human actions conform to the will and decree of the immortal gods, and hence there are those who maintain that whatever we mortals do here on earth, either now or in the future, is inevitable and preordained; whereas certain others apply this principle of necessity only to what is already past and done with. Now, if we examine these opinions with a modicum of care, we shall clearly perceive that the person who criticizes that which cannot be changed is behaving exactly as though he wishes to prove himself wiser than the gods, who, to the best of our knowledge and belief, control and govern us, and all things pertaining to us, by a process of eternal and infallible logic. Thus you may very readily perceive the senseless and bestial arrogance of those who criticize their inscrutable ways, just as you will appreciate with what strong and substantial chains those people deserve to be bound, who permit themselves to be carried away by such excess of daring. Among these latter, you yourselves are all, in my opinion, to be numbered, unless I have been misinformed as to what you have been saying, and are still saying, about Sophronia’s having become my wife after you had given her to Gisippus; for you overlook the fact that she was destined, ab aeterno so to speak, not for Gisippus but for me, as we now know from the sequel. Since however it appears that the secret insight and inscrutable purpose of the gods are a subject too abstruse and difficult for many people to follow, I shall assume that the gods play no part whatever in our affairs, and confine myself to the logic of mortals, in appealing to which I shall be obliged to do two things that are wholly at odds with my nature: for in the first place I must praise myself a little, and in the second I must disparage or humiliate another. But since I have no intention of departing from the truth in either case, and since this is what the present occasion demands, I shall none the less proceed. ‘Prompted more by anger than by reason, you complain about Gisippus, whom you abuse, attack and condemn with these perpetual murmurs or rather outcries of yours, simply because he arranged to give to me the wife whom you had arranged to give to him. But in my opinion he deserves the highest praise, for two reasons: first, because he acted in the manner of a true friend, and secondly because his wisdom in so doing was superior to your own.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Nor has my family fallen into decay on account of its antiquity, for on the contrary the glory of our name shines more resplendently now than at any time in the past. ‘Concerning my wealth, modesty forbids that I should speak, bearing in mind that poverty with honour has long been regarded by the noble citizens of Rome as a priceless legacy. But if, after the opinion of the common herd, poverty is to be condemned and riches commended, of these I have abundant store, not out of avarice but out of the kindness of Fortune. And whilst I am fully aware of the value which, quite rightly, you placed upon having Gisippus as your kinsman here in Athens, there is no reason why I should be less of an asset to you in Rome, seeing that you will discover me to be an excellent host to you there, as well as a valuable, solicitous and powerful patron, who will be only too ready to assist you, whether in your public or your personal concerns. ‘Who, therefore, having set all prejudice aside and examined the matter dispassionately, would rate your counsels higher than those of my friend Gisippus? No one, to be sure. Thus Sophronia is rightly wedded to Titus Quintus Fulvius, and if anyone deplores or bemoans the fact, he is both misguided and misinformed. Possibly there are those who will say that Sophronia is complaining, not of being wedded to Titus, but of the manner in which she became his wife, secretly, by stealth, and without the knowledge of a single friend or relative. But there is nothing miraculous about this, nor is it the first time that such a thing has happened. ‘I gladly leave aside those who have married against the wishes of their fathers; and those who have eloped with their lovers, becoming their mistresses rather than their wives; and those who have divulged their wedded state, not in so many words, but through pregnancy and childbirth, thus leaving their fathers with no alternative but to consent. This was not the case with Sophronia, who on the contrary was bestowed upon Titus by Gisippus in an orderly, discreet, and honourable manner. There are those who will say that Gisippus had no right to bestow her in marriage, but these are merely foolish and womanly scruples, the product of shallow reasoning. This is by no means the first occasion on which Fortune has used strange and wonderful ways to achieve her established aims. What do I care if a cobbler, not to mention a philosopher, manages some affair of mine in his own way, whether openly or furtively, so long as the end result is a good one? If the cobbler has been indiscreet, then admittedly I must take good care not to let him meddle again in my affairs, but at the same time I must thank him for the services he has rendered.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Moreover, though you may look upon me here as a very humble scholar, I was not born of the dregs of the Roman populace. My private house in Rome, and the places of public resort, are filled with ancient statues of my ancestors, and you will find that the annals of the city abound with descriptions of the many triumphs celebrated on the Capitol by the Quintii. Nor has my family fallen into decay on account of its antiquity, for on the contrary the glory of our name shines more resplendently now than at any time in the past. ‘Concerning my wealth, modesty forbids that I should speak, bearing in mind that poverty with honour has long been regarded by the noble citizens of Rome as a priceless legacy. But if, after the opinion of the common herd, poverty is to be condemned and riches commended, of these I have abundant store, not out of avarice but out of the kindness of Fortune. And whilst I am fully aware of the value which, quite rightly, you placed upon having Gisippus as your kinsman here in Athens, there is no reason why I should be less of an asset to you in Rome, seeing that you will discover me to be an excellent host to you there, as well as a valuable, solicitous and powerful patron, who will be only too ready to assist you, whether in your public or your personal concerns. ‘Who, therefore, having set all prejudice aside and examined the matter dispassionately, would rate your counsels higher than those of my friend Gisippus? No one, to be sure. Thus Sophronia is rightly wedded to Titus Quintus Fulvius, and if anyone deplores or bemoans the fact, he is both misguided and misinformed. Possibly there are those who will say that Sophronia is complaining, not of being wedded to Titus, but of the manner in which she became his wife, secretly, by stealth, and without the knowledge of a single friend or relative. But there is nothing miraculous about this, nor is it the first time that such a thing has happened.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Trauma is so arresting that traumatized people will focus on it compulsively. Unfortunately, the situation that defeated them once will defeat them again and again. Body sensations can serve as a guide to reflect where we are experiencing trauma, and to lead us to our instinctual resources. These resources give us the power to protect ourselves from predators and other hostile forces. Each of us possesses these instinctual resources. Once we learn how to access them we can create our own shields to reflect and heal our traumas. In dreams, mythical stories, and lore, one universal symbol for the human body and its instinctual nature is the horse. Interestingly enough, when Medusa was slain, two things emerged from her body: Pegasus, the winged horse, and Chrysaor, a warrior with a golden sword. We couldn’t find a more appropriate metaphor. The sword symbolizes absolute truth, the mythic hero's ultimate weapon of defense. It conveys a sense of clarity and triumph, of rising to meet extraordinary challenges, and of ultimate resourcefulness. The horse symbolizes instinctual grounding, while wings create an image of movement, soaring, and rising above an earth-bound existence. Since the horse represents instinct and body, the winged horse speaks of transformation through embodiment. Together the winged horse and the golden sword are auspicious symbols for the resources traumatized people discover in the process of vanquishing their own Medusas. As we begin the healing process we use what is known as the “felt sense,” or internal body sensations. These sensations serve as a portal through which we find the symptoms, or reflections of trauma. In directing our attention to these internal body sensations, rather than attacking the trauma head-on, we can unbind and free the energies that have been held in check. The Felt Sense Our feelings and our bodies are like water flowing into water. We learn to swim within the energies of the (body) senses. Tarthang Tulku Just as Perseus used his shield to confront Medusa, so may traumatized people use their shield-equivalent of sensation, or the “felt sense,” to master trauma. The felt sense encompasses the clarity, instinctual power, and fluidity necessary to transform trauma. According to Eugene Gendlin, who coined the term “felt sense” in his book Focusing [7] : A felt sense is not a mental experience but a physical one. Physical. A bodily awareness of a situation or person or event. An internal aura that encompasses everything you feel and know about the given subject at a given tim e— encompasses it and communicates it to you all at once rather than detail by detail. The felt sense is a difficult concept to define with words, as language is a linear process and the felt sense is a non-linear experience. Consequently, dimensions of meaning are lost in the attempt to articulate this experience.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  by Giorgio Padoan. 9 The fact that already, in the pages of the Comedía delle ninfe fiorentine, he had employed in rudimentary outline just such a structural scheme, and that the seven young nymphs of the earlier work were explicitly presented as embodying the seven virtues, seems significant in this connection, implying as it does that he had similar allegorical intentions in planning the structure of his major work. The Prologue is the first of three passages in the Decameron in which the author explicitly addresses his readers concerning his aims and intentions, the others being the Introduction to the Fourth Day and the author’s concluding remarks (Conclusione dell’autore). All three of these passages are characterized by an ambivalent, tongue-in-cheek intonation, and it would be unwise to interpret them too literally, but the theories they embody concerning the function of literature provide some sort of insight into Boccaccio’s view of art and society. In all three passages, the impression is studiously fostered that the Decameron is written exclusively for ladies suffering from the pangs of unrequited love, and the author claims to be offering them his comfort and advice. But if one probes below the surface of this outward declaration of his intentions, it is very soon apparent that he is addressing himself to a much wider readership, and that the three passages in question, especially the second and third, have a very different object. Their purpose, in fact, is to establish the aesthetic validity of the literary genre, narrative prose fiction, to which the Decameron belongs. Before Boccaccio, no one in western Europe had ever considered prose fiction to be worthy of serious study, and for more than a century after his death it continued to be regarded as a frivolous literary pursuit. One of his most distinguished successors in this branch of literature, Franco Sacchetti (1335–1400), author of the collection of stories known as the Trecentonovelle, describes himself as a ‘uomo discolo e grosso’ (‘a crude, unlearned man’), though in fact he was nothing of the sort. The note of self-deprecation is found in the Prologue to his collection, where a handsome tribute to Boccaccio is qualified by a phrase suggesting that, in some respects, his predecessor’s outstanding genius had been misapplied. No such doubts can ever have assailed Boccaccio, who seems intent, in the three passages he addresses to the reader, on proving the worthiness of the task to which he has committed himself. The Prologue, with its fictive explanation of the origins and the objectives of the Decameron, is marked by a tone of extreme self-assurance and, from a technical viewpoint, by a virtuoso display of several of the most admired procedures of medieval rhetoric, the so- called ars dictandi. The opening words conform to the widely accepted practice of beginning with a proverb, in this case that it is human to take pity on people in distress (umana cosa è aver compassione degli afflitti).

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

  The Toleration of 1689 was an accommodation to a limited number of Dissenters—Presbyterians, Independents, Baptists and Quakers, who were allowed liberty of separate organization and public worship on condition of subscribing thirty-six out of the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England. Roman Catholics and Unitarians were excluded, and did not acquire toleration in England till the nineteenth century, the former by the Act of Emancipation passed April 13, 1829. Even now the Dissenters in England labor under minor disabilities and social disadvantages, which will continue as long as the government patronizes an established church. They have to support the establishment, in addition to their own denomination. Practically, however, there is more religious liberty in England than anywhere on the Continent, and as much as in the United States. 9. The last and most important step in the progress of religious liberty was taken by the United States of America in the provision of the Federal Constitution of 1787, which excludes all religious tests from the qualifications to any office or public trust. The first amendment to the Constitution (1789) enacts that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof."102 Thus the United States government is by its own free act prevented from ever establishing a state-church, and on the other hand it is bound to protect freedom of religion, not only as a matter of opinion, but also in its public exercise, as one of the inalienable rights of an American citizen, like the freedom of speech and of the press. History had taught the framers of the Constitution that persecution is useless as well as hateful, and that it has its root in the unholy alliance of religion with politics. Providence had made America a hospitable home for all fugitives from persecution,—Puritans, Presbyterians, Huguenots, Baptists, Quakers, Reformed, Lutherans, Roman Catholics, etc.—and foreordained it for the largest development of civil and religious freedom consistent with order and the well-being of society. When the colonies, after a successful struggle for independence, coalesced into one nation they could not grant liberty to one church or sect without granting it to all. They were thus naturally driven to this result. It was the inevitable destiny of America. And it involved no injustice or injury to any church or sect. The modern German empire forms in some measure a parallel. When it was formed in 1870 by the free action of the twenty or more German sovereignties, it had to take them in with their religion, and abstain from all religious and ecclesiastical legislation which might interfere with the religion of any separate state.

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

  Most of his works, according to internal evidence, fill in the first quarter of the third century, in the Montanistic period of his life, and among these many of his ablest writings against the heretics; while, on the other hand, the gloomy moral austerity, which predisposed him to Montanism, comes out quite strongly even in his earliest productions.1528 His works may be grouped in three classes: apologetic; polemic or anti-heretical; and ethic or practical; to which may be added as a fourth class the expressly Montanistic tracts against the Catholics. We can here only mention the most important: 1. In the Apologetic works against heathens and Jews, he pleads the cause of all Christendom, and deserves the thanks of all Christendom. Preëminent among them is the Apologeticus (or Apologeticum).1529 It was composed in the reign of Septimius Severus, between 197 and 200. It is unquestionably one of the most beautiful monuments of the heroic age of the church. In this work, Tertullian enthusiastically and triumphantly repels the attacks of the heathens upon the new religion, and demands for it legal toleration and equal rights with the other sects of the Roman empire. It is the first plea for religious liberty, as an inalienable right which God has given to every man, and which the civil government in its own interest should not only tolerate but respect and protect. He claims no support, no favor, but simply justice. The church was in the first three centuries a self-supporting and self-governing society (as it ought always to be), and no burden, but a blessing to the state, and furnished to it the most peaceful and useful citizens. The cause of truth and justice never found a more eloquent and fearless defender in the very face of despotic power, and the blazing fires of persecution, than the author of this book. It breathes from first to last the assurance of victory in apparent defeat. "We conquer," are his concluding words to the prefects and judges of the Roman empire, "We conquer in dying; we go forth victorious at the very time we are subdued .... Many of your writers exhort to the courageous bearing of pain and death, as Cicero in the Tusculans, as Seneca in his Chances, as Diogenes, Pyrrhus, Callinicus. And yet their words do not find so many disciples as Christians do, teachers not by words, but by their deeds. That very obstinacy you rail against is the preceptress. For who that contemplates it is not excited to inquire what is at the bottom of it? Who, after inquiry, does not embrace our doctrines? And, when he has embraced them, desires not to suffer that he may become partaker of the fulness of God’s grace, that he may obtain from God complete forgiveness, by giving in exchange his blood? For that secures the remission of all offences. On this account it is that we return thanks on the very spot for your sentences.

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

  When, after a life of almost uninterrupted health, he felt the approach of death, he was received into the number of catechumens by laying on of hands, and then formally admitted by baptism into the full communion of the church in the year 337, the sixty-fifth year of his age, by the Arian (or properly Semi- Arian) bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, whom he had shortly before recalled from exile together with Arius.52 His dying testimony then was, as to form, in favor of heretical rather than orthodox Christianity, but merely from accident, not from intention. He meant the Christian as against the heathen religion, and whatever of Arianism may have polluted his baptism, was for the Greek church fully wiped out by the orthodox canonization. After the solemn ceremony he promised to live thenceforth worthily of a disciple of Jesus; refused to wear again the imperial mantle of cunningly woven silk richly ornamented with gold; retained the white baptismal robe; and died a few days after, on Pentecost, May 22, 337, trusting in the mercy of God, and leaving a long, a fortunate, and a brilliant reign, such as none but Augustus, of all his predecessors, had enjoyed. "So passed away the first Christian Emperor, the first Defender of the Faith, the first Imperial patron of the Papal see, and of the whole Eastern Church, the first founder of the Holy Places, Pagan and Christian, orthodox and heretical, liberal and fanatical, not to be imitated or admired, but much to be remembered, and deeply to be studied."53 His remains were removed in a golden coffin by a procession of distinguished civilians and the whole army, from Nicomedia to Constantinople, and deposited, with the highest Christian honors, in the church of the Apostles,54 while the Roman senate, after its ancient custom, proudly ignoring the great religious revolution of the age, enrolled him among the gods of the heathen Olympus. Soon after his death, Eusebius set him above the greatest princes of all times; from the fifth century he began to be recognized in the East as a saint; and the Greek and Russian church to this day celebrates his memory under the extravagant title of "Isapostolos," the "Equal of the apostles."55 The Latin church, on the contrary, with truer tact, has never placed him among the saints, but has been content with naming him "the Great," in just and grateful remembrance of his services to the cause of Christianity and civilization. § 3. The Sons of Constantine. A.D. 337–361. For the literature see § 2 and § 4. With the death of Constantine the monarchy also came, for the present, to an end. The empire was divided among his three sons, Constantine II., Constans, and Constantius.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Anna wrote from Morton. She wrote to Puddle, but now Stephen took those letters and read them. The agent had enlisted and so had the bailiff. Old Mr. Percival, agent in Sir Philip’s lifetime, had come back to help with Morton. Jim the groom, who had stayed on under the coachman after Raftery’s death, was now talking of going; he wanted to get into the cavalry, of course, and Anna was using her influence for him. Six of the gardeners had joined up already, but Hopkins was past the prescribed age limit; he must do his small bit by looking after his grape vines—the grapes would be sent to the wounded in London. There were now no men-servants left in the house, and the home farm was short of a couple of hands. Anna wrote that she was proud of her people, and intended to pay those who had enlisted half wages. They would fight for England, but she could not help feeling that in a way they would be fighting for Morton. She had offered Morton to the Red Cross at once, and they had promised to send her convalescent cases. It was rather isolated for a hospital, it seemed, but would be just the place for convalescents. The Vicar was going as an army chaplain; Violet’s husband, Alec, had joined the Flying Corps; Roger Antrim was somewhere in France already; Colonel Antrim had a job at the barracks in Worcester. Came an angry scrawl from Jonathan Brockett, who had rushed back to England post-haste from the States: ‘Did you ever know anything quite so stupid as this war? It’s upset my apple-cart completely—can’t write jingo plays about St. George and the dragon, and I’m sick to death of “Business as usual!” Ain’t going to be no business, my dear, except killing, and blood always makes me feel faint.’ Then the postscript: ‘I’ve just been and gone and done it! Please send me tuck-boxes when I’m sitting in a trench; I like caramel creams and of course mixed biscuits.’ Yes, even Jonathan Brockett would go—it was fine in a way that he should have enlisted. Morton was pouring out its young men, who in their turn might pour out their life-blood for Morton. The agent, the bailiff, in training already. Jim the groom, inarticulate, rather stupid, but wanting to join the cavalry—Jim who had been at Morton since boyhood. The gardeners, kindly men smelling of soil, men of peace with a peaceful occupation; six of these gardeners had gone already, together with a couple of lads from the home farm. There were no men servants left in the house. It seemed that the old traditions still held, the traditions of England, the traditions of Morton.

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

  On Oct. 11, he received the letter of safe-conduct; and on the next day he appeared before the papal legate, Cardinal Cajetan (Thomas de Vio of Gaëta), who represented the Pope at the German Diet, and was to obtain its consent to the imposition of a heavy tax for the war against the Turks. Cajetan was, like Prierias, a Dominican and zealous Thomist, a man of great learning and moral integrity, but fond of pomp and ostentation. He wrote a standard commentary on the Summa of Thomas Aquinas (which is frequently appended to the Summa); but in his later years, till his death (1534),—perhaps in consequence of his interview with Luther,—he devoted himself chiefly to the study of the Scriptures, and urged it upon his friends. He labored with the aid of Hebrew and Greek scholars to correct the Vulgate by a more faithful version, and advocated Jerome’s liberal views on questions of criticism and the Canon, and a sober grammatical exegesis against allegorical fancies, without, however, surrendering the Catholic principle of tradition. There was a great contrast between the Italian cardinal and the German monk, the shrewd diplomat and the frank scholar; the expounder and defender of mediaeval scholasticism, and the champion of modern biblical theology; the man of church authority, and the advocate of personal freedom. They had three interviews (Oct. 12, 13, 14). Cajetan treated Luther with condescending courtesy, and assured him of his friendship.201 But he demanded retraction of his errors, and absolute submission to the Pope. Luther resolutely refused, and declared that he could do nothing against his conscience ; that one must obey God rather than man ; that he had the Scripture on his side; that even Peter was once reproved by Paul for misconduct (Gal. 2:11), and that surely his successor was not infallible. Still be asked the cardinal to intercede with Leo X., that he might not harshly condemn him. Cajetan threatened him with excommunication, having already the papal mandate in his hand, and dismissed him with the words: "Revoke, or do not come again into my presence." He urged Staupitz to do his best to convert Luther, and said he was unwilling to dispute any further with that deep-eyed German beast filled with strange speculations."202 Under these circumstances, Luther, with the aid of friends who provided him with an escort, made his escape from Augsburg, through a small gate in the city-Wall, in the night of the 20th of October, on a hard-trotting hack, without pantaloons, boots, or spurs. He rode on the first day as far as the town of Monheim203 without stopping, and fell utterly exhausted upon the straw in a stable.204

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Never was rider more proud or more happy than Stephen, when first she and Raftery went a-hunting; and never was youngster more wise or courageous than Raftery proved himself at his fences; and never can Bellerophon have thrilled to more daring than did Stephen, astride of Raftery that day, with the wind in her face and a fire in her heart that made life a thing of glory. At the very beginning of the run the fox turned in the direction of Morton, actually crossing the big north paddock before turning once more and making for Upton. In the paddock was a mighty, upstanding hedge, a formidable place concealing timber, and what must they do, these two young creatures, but go straight at it and get safely over—those who saw Raftery fly that hedge could never afterwards doubt his valour. And when they got home there was Anna waiting to pat Raftery, because she could not resist him. Because, being Irish, her hands loved the feel of fine horseflesh under their delicate fingers—and because she did very much want to be tender to Stephen, and understanding. But as Stephen dismounted, bespattered and dishevelled, and yet with that perversive look of her father, the words that Anna had been planning to speak died away before they could get themselves spoken—she shrank back from the child; but the child was too overjoyed at that moment to perceive it. 4Happy days, splendid days of childish achievements; but they passed all too soon, giving place to the seasons, and there came the winter when Stephen was fourteen. On a January afternoon of bright sunshine, Mademoiselle Duphot sat dabbing her eyes; for Mademoiselle Duphot must leave her loved Stévenne, must give place to a rival who could teach Greek and Latin—she would go back to Paris, the poor Mademoiselle Duphot, and take care of her ageing Maman. Meanwhile, Stephen, very angular and lanky at fourteen, was standing before her father in his study. She stood still, but her glance kept straying to the window, to the sunshine that seemed to be beckoning through the window. She was dressed for riding in breeches and gaiters, and her thoughts were with Raftery. ‘Sit down,’ said Sir Philip, and his voice was so grave that her thoughts came back with a leap and a bound; ‘you and I have got to talk this thing out, Stephen.’ ‘What thing, Father?’ she faltered, sitting down abruptly. ‘Your idleness, my child. The time has now come when all play and no work will make a dull Stephen, unless we pull ourselves together.’ She rested her large, shapely hands on her knees and bent forward, searching his face intently. What she saw there was a quiet determination that spread from his lips to his eyes. She grew suddenly uneasy, like a youngster who objects to the rather unpleasant process of mouthing.

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

  He preserved his king from disgrace, and secured his independence, but he was unable to secure for himself the papal sanction at all times, and the much coveted honor of the primacy of France which John VIII., in 876, gave to Ansegis, archbishop of Sens. One of the most important facts about these Hincmarian controversies is that in them for the first time the famous pseudo-Isidorian decretals1389 are quoted; and that by all parties. Whether Hincmar knew of their fraudulent character may well be questioned, for that he had little if any critical ability is proved by his belief in two literary forgeries, an apocryphal tale of the birth of the Virgin, and a homily upon her assumption,1390 attributed to Jerome. The fraud was exposed by Ratramnus. His use of the decretals was arbitrary. He quoted them when they would help him, as against the pope in contending for the liberty of the Frankish Church. He ignored them when they opposed his ideas, as in his struggle with his nephew, because in their original design they asserted the independence of bishops from their metropolitans. Hincmar was not only a valiant fighter, but also a faithful shepherd. He performed with efficiency all the usual duties of a bishop, such as holding councils, hearing complaints, settling difficulties, laying plans and carrying out improvements. He paid particular attention to education and the promotion of learning generally. He was himself a scholar and urged his clergy to do all in their power to build up the schools. He also gave many books to the libraries of the cathedral at Rheims and the monastery of St. Remi, and had many copied especially for them. His own writings enriched these collections. His attention to architecture was manifested in the stately cathedral of Rheims, begun by Ebo, but which he completed, and in the enlargement of the monastery of St. Remi. The career of this extraordinary man was troubled to its very end. In 881 he came in conflict with Louis the Third by absolutely refusing to consecrate one of the king’s favorites, Odoacer, bishop of Beauvais. Hincmar maintained that he was entirely unfit for the office, and as the Pope agreed with him Odoacer was excommunicated. In the early part of the following year the dreaded Normans made their appearance in the neighborhood of Rheims. Hincmar bethought himself of the precious relics of St. Remi and removed them for safety’s sake to Epernay when he himself fled thither. There he died, Dec. 21, 882. He was buried two days after at Rheims. Looking back upon Hincmar through the vista of ten centuries, he stands forth as the determined, irrepressible, tireless opponent of both royal and papal tyranny over the Church.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘My friends, since you still persist in wanting me to take a wife, I am prepared to do it, not because I have any desire to marry, but rather in order to gratify your wishes. You will recall the promise you gave me, that no matter whom I should choose, you would rest content and honour her as your lady. The time has now come when I want you to keep that promise, and for me to honour the promise I gave to you. I have found a girl after my own heart, in this very district, and a few days hence I intend to marry her and convey her to my house. See to it, therefore, that the wedding-feast lacks nothing in splendour, and consider how you may honourably receive her, so that all of us may call ourselves contented – I with you for keeping your promise, and you with me for keeping mine.’ As of one voice, the good folk joyously gave him their blessing, and said that whoever she happened to be, they would accept her as their lady and honour her as such in all respects. Then they all prepared to celebrate the wedding in a suitably grand and sumptuous manner, and Gualtieri did the same. A rich and splendid nuptial feast was arranged, to which he invited many of his friends, his kinsfolk, great nobles and other people of the locality; moreover he caused a quantity of fine, rich robes to be tailored to fit a girl whose figure appeared to match that of the young woman he intended to marry; and lastly he laid in a number of rings and ornamental belts, along with a precious and beautiful crown, and everything else that a bride could possibly need. Early on the morning of the day he had fixed for the nuptials, Gualtieri, his preparations now complete, mounted his horse together with all the people who had come to do him honour, and said: ‘Gentlemen, it is time for us to go and fetch the bride.’ He then set forth with the whole of the company in train, and eventually they came to the village and made their way to the house of the girl’s father, where they met her as she was returning with water from the fountain, making great haste so that she could go with other women to see Gualtieri’s bride arriving. As soon as Gualtieri caught sight of her, he called to her by her name, which was Griselda,3 and asked her where her father was, to which she blushingly replied: ‘My lord, he is at home.’ So Gualtieri dismounted, and having ordered everyone to wait for him outside, he went alone into the humble dwelling, where he found the girl’s father, whose name was Giannùcole, and said to him:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Only one of them, a Genoese called Bernabò Lomellin, took a different line, maintaining that he, on the contrary, was blessed with a wife who was possibly without equal in the whole of Italy, for not only was she endowed with all the qualities of the ideal woman, but she also possessed many of the accomplishments to be found in a knight or esquire. She was extremely good looking and still very young, she was lithe and lissom, and there was no womanly pursuit, such as silk embroidery and the like, in which she did not outshine all other members of her sex. Furthermore, he claimed it was impossible to find a page or servant who waited better or more efficiently at a gentleman’s table, for she was a paragon of intelligence and good manners, and the very soul of discretion. He then turned to her other accomplishments, praising her skill at horse-riding, falconry, reading, writing and book-keeping, at all of which she was superior to the average merchant. And finally, after a series of further eulogies, he came round to the subject they were discussing, stoutly maintaining that she was the most chaste and honest woman to be found anywhere on earth. Consequently, even if he stayed away for ten years or the rest of his life, he felt quite certain that she would never play fast and loose in another man’s company. Among the people present at this discussion, there was a young merchant from Piaccnza called Ambrogiuolo, who, on hearing the last of Bernabò’s laudatory assertions about his lady, began roaring with laughter and jokingly asked him whether it was the Emperor himself who had granted him this unique privilege. Faintly annoyed, Bernabò replied that this favour had been conceded to him, not by the Emperor, but by God, who was a little more powerful than the Emperor. Then Ambrogiuolo said: ‘Bernabò, I do not doubt for a moment that you believe what you say to be true. But as far as I can judge, you have not devoted much attention to the study of human nature. For if you had, you surely possess enough intelligence to have discovered certain things that would cause you to think twice before making such confident assertions. When the rest of us spoke so freely about our womenfolk, we were merely facing facts, and so as not to let you run away with the idea that we suppose our wives to be any different from yours, I would like to pursue this subject a little further with you.