Shame

Passages

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

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• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  Ambrose took an old-fashioned line on this, acting as a bridge between the pagan vestal and the early medieval closed convent. Virgins should not even go to church often: churches were dangerous places, because frequented. ‘Even to speak what is good is generally a fault in a virgin.’ The true virgin should remain perpetually silent. Ambrose was strict rather than severe. A virgin suspected of sexual intercourse, he ruled, should not be medically examined by force, except in certain special cases, and then only on the authority and under the supervision of a bishop. If found guilty, she should not be executed (Ambrose did not believe in capital punishment but in redemptive justice), and certainly not tortured to death. Head-shaving and penance for life would suffice. A virgin threatened with rape or imprisonment in a brothel would be justified in committing suicide. Ambrose connected in his mind the spiritual and sexual purity of the virgin with cleanliness. His virgins were spotless: his Virgin Mary, who to some extent became the medieval stereotype, wore white, silver and pale blue, the ‘cleanest’ of colours. It was quite a different matter with Jerome, his younger contemporary. He was not, like Ambrose, well adjusted to life. As secretary to Bishop Damasus, he seems at one time to have considered himself as a possible successor. But he had the temperament of the scholar, not the administrator. He was a wild man of God, not an urbane prelate. Jerome found sex an enormous difficulty. He was quite convinced it was evil: ‘Marriage is only one degree less sinful than fornication’. He found women attractive, and especially virtuous women. This was why he left fashionable Church life in Rome, writing, on board the ship which was to carry him to Palestine: ‘The only woman who took my fancy was one whom I had not seen at table. But when I began to revere, respect and venerate her, as her conspicuous chastity deserved, all my former virtues deserted me on the spot.’ By this he appears to mean that his behaviour aroused hostile and malicious comment. In Jerusalem he founded and entered a monastery from which, for the rest of his life, he conducted a vast correspondence with scholars and saintly ladies all over the empire. One of his letters (to Augustine) took nine years to arrive; most have disappeared forever. Enough survive to reveal him as a wonderfully vivid and outspoken controversialist. His image made him the favourite of all the saints among Christian painters: Jerome and his lion (a sixth-century addition) were painted more often than any other figure outside the Holy Family.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  which was continued at intervals until Constantine switched to the second sixty years later. State hostility was exercised universally, persistently, and in due legal manner. There was no longer mass-hysteria, simply relentless bureaucracy. Everyone had to obtain certificates proving he had made sacrifice to the official gods. Some of these have been recovered from sites in Egypt. Thus: ‘To the commission appointed to supervise sacrifices at the village of Alexander’s Isle. From Aurelius Diogenes, son of Satabus, of the village of Alexander’s Isle, aged 72 years, with a scar on the right eyebrow. I have always sacrificed to the gods and now in your presence in accordance with the edict I have made sacrifice and poured a libation, and partaken of the sacred victuals. I request you to certify this below. Farewell: I, Aurelius Diogenes, have presented this petition.’ There is no doubt that this and later persecutions were extremely effective. The blood of the martyrs, as Tertullian had claimed, might be the seed of the faith; but the property of the Church was a temptation to compromise. By 250, for instance, the Church in Rome was rich enough to support a bishop, forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, seven sub-deacons, forty-two acolytes and fifty-two exorcists, readers and doorkeepers; it had a charity list of over 1,500. State inventories show that vast quantities of goods were seized, gold and silver plate, precious ornaments and vestments, supplies of food and clothing, books and cash. Christian clergy might be more willing to surrender their lives than the Church’s valuables. Cyprian, writing from Africa, said there was mass apostasy, led by bishops; multitudes flocked to the magistrates to make their retractions, ‘spontanously submitting to the commissions in charge of that dreadful deed’. There was a general collapse of morale: ‘Many bishops, who ought to have been an encouragement and example to others, gave up their sacred ministry, deserted their people, left the district, tried to make money, took possession of estates by fraudulent means, and engaged in usury.’ Some of the faithful made state sacrifices but also continued as Christians; in Spain, for instance, we hear of Christians acting as civic priests. The Church was never able to adopt a uniform policy towards persecution. Thus there were acute divisions about the degree of compromise to adopt, not only between regions, but within them. Old schisms between ‘revivalist’ and ‘official’ Christians instantly reappeared and became inextricably mingled with doctrinal questions. Spasmodic persecution of Christian ‘extremists’ tended to strengthen orthodoxy in the Church, as we have noted, but

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

  If I’m lucky enough to have sex with another man, I can probably stop worrying about this part of my anatomy. I don’t want to rely on male approval, and frown when I think of my distinctly non-feminist dependence on it, but I have lost faith in the power and beauty of my body that I took for granted the last time I was single. I’m realistic about the inevitable changes that result from childbirth and age. Even though I’m grateful to have had a chance to experience both, and believe on a fundamental level that they only add to a woman’s power and beauty, I worry that for me they don’t sweeten the pot but mark me instead as if I am decaying. Over the years, I’ve worked to maintain my physique, but I did so to stay attractive and appealing to Michael, not for myself. Now I see that I need to do a search-and-rescue mission for the confidence I once had in my physical prowess, that I need to embrace the imperfections I see as battle scars and not apologize for them. Johnny is suddenly inside of me and thrusting, fast and hard. Within a couple of minutes, I worry that he is disconcertingly breathless – not lustful panting, but more the way I sound like I’m wheezing after an intense workout. “Are you OK, Johnny?’” “Yes, sorry, I’m fine.” But he does not sound fine to me; unbidden, my caretaking instincts kick in. “I think we should stop. Just lie with me while you catch your breath.” He lies next to me and I put my hand on his chest over his heart. “I’m so embarrassed,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m still recovering. I can’t do all the things I did before. It’s frustrating but also just so embarrassing.” “Shhhh,” I say, like I’m soothing a child. “It’s OK. Recovery is a process. Don’t feel bad if this is too much for you.” “I cannot believe I have a sexy woman lying naked in my bed and I can’t keep up.” “Please, don’t apologize or feel bad. You’ll get back to yourself eventually. I’m sure most men would fare much worse after having half a lung removed!” We lie quietly for a few minutes, my hand remaining firmly over his heart as it slows to its normal rhythm, and it occurs to me that just being here, being held by a man, may be enough for now. “I don’t know how you like your coffee in the morning,” he says, breaking the silence. I hesitate. I’m enjoying being held but I was not planning to spend the night and his assumption that I will makes me panic. My mind starts racing – what if I’m thinking this is a fun one-night stand but to him it’s the start of something? What if he thinks we’re embarking on a relationship of some sort?

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

  Having intercourse with Kevin reminded me that sex can be a double-edged sword and that I need to be more careful and discerning going forward. I can have sex with whomever I want whenever I want, but it needs to be because it makes me feel good and sexy and powerful, not because it meets someone else’s needs. Like most lessons, this one was painful to learn. CHAPTER 21 Another White Girl with Curly Hair I stash away my experience with #4.5 and it becomes a shameful secret I carry, starting from the moment I entered a strange man’s apartment – not just a man who was a stranger to me, but a man who even from our first phone call gave off a vibe I didn’t wholly trust. It’s not exactly like I had known #1–4 terribly well, but I did spend a few hours with each before going home with them and they had been kind, straightforward and respectful. Frankly, in each case, if anyone had been the aggressor, it was me. But I’ve got four dates lined up for my upcoming weekend, so I put #4.5 in a little box in my brain, use it as a wake-up call to be more prudent going forward, and forge ahead. First up, Friday morning, I head uptown to meet Scott for coffee. He owns a swim instruction school and will meet me during a break between lessons. He warns me he will be coming from the pool and casually dressed, so I put on a pair of cut-off jean shorts and flip-flops. I spot him in the coffee bar as I enter and he looks a lot like his pictures – tall, graying but still-thick hair, a prominent nose that looks slightly askew, like it’s been broken once or twice. We have only communicated by text, so his robust Long Island accent startles me. We take a seat at the counter and the banter between us comes easily. He is an engaged listener and lobs questions at me, which I appreciate as I always ask a lot of questions and it’s a nice break for me not to have to carry the conversation. It turns out his swim school is just a side hustle, that his main job is as a physical education teacher to kids with special needs. It also turns out that he does not live uptown as he told me via text, but a half-hour drive away (if there’s no traffic, which there always is) in Long Island.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SIXTH STORY Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino. Pretending to help him find it again, they persuade him to submit to a test using ginger sweets and Vernaccia wine. They give him two sweets, one after the other, consisting of dog ginger seasoned with aloes, so that it appears that he has stolen the pig himself. And finally they extract money from him, by threatening to tell his wife about it. Filostrato had no sooner completed his story, which aroused a great deal of laughter, than the queen called on Filomena to follow, whereupon she began, saying: Gracious ladies, just as Filostrato was prompted to tell you the previous tale by hearing the name of Maso, in precisely the same way I too have been prompted by hearing the names of Calandrino and his companions to tell you another, which I believe you will find to your liking. It is unnecessary for me to explain to you who Calandrino, Bruno and Buffalmacco were, for you have heard enough on that score in the earlier tale. So I shall omit the preliminaries, and tell you that Calandrino had a little farm not far from Florence, which he had received from his wife by way of a dowry. Among the other things he acquired from this farm, every year he used to obtain a pig there, and it was his regular custom to go to the country in December with his wife, slaughter the pig, and have it salted. Now, it so happened that one year, when Calandrino’s wife was not feeling very well, he went to the farm by himself to slaughter the pig. And when Bruno and Buffalmacco heard about this, knowing that his wife was remaining behind, they went to stay for a few days with a priest, who was a very great friend of theirs and lived near Calandrino’s farm. Calandrino had slaughtered the pig on the morning of the very day they arrived, and on seeing them with the priest, he called out to them, saying: ‘I bid you a hearty welcome, my friends. Come along inside, and I’ll show you what an excellent farmer I am.’ And having taken them into the farmhouse, he showed them the pig. It was a very fine pig, as they could see for themselves, and when they learnt from Calandrino that he intended to salt it and take it back to his family, Bruno said: ‘You must be out of your mind! Why not sell it, so that we can all have a good time on the proceeds? You can always tell your wife it’s been stolen.’ ‘Not a chance,’ said Calandrino. ‘She wouldn’t believe me, and she’d kick me out of the house. Now, stop pestering me, because I shall never do anything of the sort.’ They argued with him at great length, but it was no use.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  No sooner had the Sultan agreed to Sicurano’s request than Sicurano burst into tears and threw himself on his knees at the Sultan’s feet, at the same time losing his manly voice and the desire to persist in his masculine role. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I myself am the poor unfortunate Zinevra, who for six long years has toiled her way through the world disguised as a man, a victim of the false and wicked calumnies of this traitor Ambrogiuolo and of the iniquitous cruelty of this man who handed her over to be killed by one of his servants and eaten by wolves.’ Tearing open the front of her dress and displaying her bosom, she made it clear to the Sultan and to everyone else that she was indeed a woman. Then she rounded on Ambrogiuolo, haughtily demanding to know when he had ever slept with her, as he had claimed. But Ambrogiuolo, seeing who it was, simply stood there and said nothing, as though he were too ashamed to open his mouth. The Sultan, who had always believed her to be a man, was so astonished on seeing and hearing all this, that he kept thinking that he must be dreaming and that his eyes and ears were deceiving him. But once he had recovered from his astonishment and realized that it was true, he lauded Zinevra to the skies for her virtuous way of life, her constancy, and her strength of character. And having ordered women’s clothes of the finest quality to be brought, and provided her with a retinue of ladies, he complied with her earlier request and spared Bernabò from the death he assuredly deserved. On recognizing his wife, Bernabò threw himself in tears at her feet asking her forgiveness, and although he merited no such favour, she graciously conceded it and helped him up again, clasping him in a fond and wifely embrace. The Sultan next commanded that Ambrogiuolo should instantly be taken to some upper part of the city, tied to a pole in the sun, smeared with honey, and left there until he fell of his own accord; and this was done. He then decreed that all of Ambrogiuolo’s possessions, which amounted in value to more than ten thousand doubloons, should be handed over to the lady. And for his own part, he put on a splendid feast, at which Bernabò, being Lady Zinevra’s husband, and the most excellent Lady Zinevra herself were the guests of honour. And in addition he presented her with jewels, gold and silver plate, and money, all of which came to a further ten thousand doubloons in value.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Finally, since the Abbot showed no sign of coming, Primas, having finished the second loaf, started to eat the third. This too was reported to the Abbot, who began to ponder the matter and say to himself: “Now what on earth has got into me today? Why have I suddenly become such a miser? Why should I feel so much contempt for this unknown visitor? For years I have provided food for any man who cared to eat it, without inquiring whether he was a peasant or a gentleman, poor or rich, merchant or swindler. With my own eyes, I have seen any number of rogues devouring my food, and I have never felt as I do today about this fellow. No ordinary man can have caused me to be afflicted with such meanness. This fellow I regard as a knave must be someone important, for me to have set my heart so firmly against offering him my hospitality.” ‘Having said this to himself, he was anxious to know who the man might be. And when he discovered it was Primas, who had come there to see if the tales of his generosity were true, the Abbot felt thoroughly ashamed, for he had long been aware of the reputation Primas enjoyed as a man of excellent worth. Being desirous of making amends, he went out of his way to do him honour. After having fed him in a manner appropriate to his renown, he saw that he was richly clothed, provided him with money and a saddle-horse, and offered him the freedom of his household. Well satisfied, Primas thanked the Abbot as heartily as he could, before returning on horseback to Paris, whence he had set out on foot.’ Can Grande, being a man of some intelligence, had no need to hear any more in order to see exactly what Bergamino was driving at. And with a broad smile, he said to him: ‘Bergamino, you have given an apt demonstration of the wrongs you have suffered. You have shown us your worth, my meanness, and what it is that you want from me. To tell you the truth, I was never seized before with the meanness I have lately felt on your account. But I shall drive it away with the stock that you yourself have furnished.’ Can Grande saw that the innkeeper’s account was settled, then dressed Bergamino most sumptuously in one of his own robes, provided him with money and a saddle-horse, and offered him the freedom of his household for the rest of his stay. EIGHTH STORYWith a few prettily spoken words, Guiglielmo Borsiere punctures the avarice of Ermino de’ Grimaldi. Next to Filostrato was sitting Lauretta, who, knowing that she was expected to speak, without waiting to be bidden allowed the applause for Bergamino’s cleverness to subside, then gracefully began as follows:

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  redemptive justice), and certainly not tortured to death. Head-shaving and penance for life would suffice. A virgin threatened with rape or imprisonment in a brothel would be justified in committing suicide. Ambrose connected in his mind the spiritual and sexual purity of the virgin with cleanliness. His virgins were spotless: his Virgin Mary, who to some extent became the medieval stereotype, wore white, silver and pale blue, the ‘cleanest’ of colours. It was quite a different matter with Jerome, his younger contemporary. He was not, like Ambrose, well adjusted to life. As secretary to Bishop Damasus, he seems at one time to have considered himself as a possible successor. But he had the temperament of the scholar, not the administrator. He was a wild man of God, not an urbane prelate. Jerome found sex an enormous difficulty. He was quite convinced it was evil: ‘Marriage is only one degree less sinful than fornication’. He found women attractive, and especially virtuous women. This was why he left fashionable Church life in Rome, writing, on board the ship which was to carry him to Palestine: ‘The only woman who took my fancy was one whom I had not seen at table. But when I began to revere, respect and venerate her, as her conspicuous chastity deserved, all my former virtues deserted me on the spot.’ By this he appears to mean that his behaviour aroused hostile and malicious comment. In Jerusalem he founded and entered a monastery from which, for the rest of his life, he conducted a vast correspondence with scholars and saintly ladies all over the empire. One of his letters (to Augustine) took nine years to arrive; most have disappeared forever. Enough survive to reveal him as a wonderfully vivid and outspoken controversialist. His image made him the favourite of all the saints among Christian painters: Jerome and his lion (a sixth- century addition) were painted more often than any other figure outside the Holy Family. Indeed, his description, in a letter to a society virgin, of his struggles to avoid temptation in his monastery (‘I often imagined myself among bevies of girls: my face was pale with hunger, my lips chilled, but my mind burned with desire, the fires of lust leapt up before me though my flesh was almost dead’) one of the most frequently quoted of all patristic passages, enabled medieval artists devoutly to introduce the naked form into their paintings. Paradoxically, though, no passage did more to bring home to Christians the corruption and wickedness of sexual desire. To Jerome, sex was dirty in a literal or concrete sense; he writes often of his favourite virgins that they were ‘squalid with dirt’. Dirt, to him, both epitomized the sexual act and the therapeutic process by which the virgin concealed her charms. The virgin he most

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Never, sir, except on one occasion,’ replied Ser Ciappelletto, ‘when I spoke ill of someone. For I once had a neighbour who, without the slightest cause, was forever beating his wife, so that on this one occasion I spoke ill of him to his wife’s kinsfolk, for I felt extremely sorry for that unfortunate woman. Whenever the fellow had had too much to drink, God alone could tell you how he battered her.’ Then the friar said: ‘Let me see now, you tell me you were a merchant. Did you ever deceive anyone, as merchants do?’ ‘Faith, sir, I did,’ said Ser Ciappelletto. ‘But all I know about him is that he was a man who brought me some money that he owed me for a length of cloth I had sold him. I put the money away in a box without counting it, and a whole month passed before I discovered there were four pennies more than there should have been. I kept them for a year with the intention of giving them back, but I never saw him again, so I gave them away to a beggar.’ ‘That was a trivial matter,’ said the friar, ‘and you did well to dispose of the money as you did.’ The holy friar questioned him on many other matters, but always he answered in similar vein, and hence the friar was ready to proceed without further ado to give him absolution. But Ser Ciappelletto said: ‘Sir, I still have one or two sins I have not yet told you about.’ The friar asked him what they were, and he said: ‘I recall that I once failed to show a proper respect for the Holy Sabbath, by making one of my servants sweep the house after nones on a Saturday.’ ‘Oh!’ said the friar. ‘This, my son, is a trifling matter.’ ‘No, father,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘you must not call it trifling, for the Sabbath has to be greatly honoured, seeing that this was the day on which our Lord rose from the dead.’ Then the friar said: ‘Have you done anything else?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Ser Ciappelletto, ‘for I once, without thinking what I was doing, spat in the house of God.’ The friar began to smile, and said: ‘My son, this is not a thing to worry about. We members of religious orders spit there continually.’ ‘That is very wicked of you,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘for nothing should be kept more clean than the holy temple in which sacrifice is offered up to God.’ In brief, he told the friar many things of this sort, and finally he began to sigh, and then to wail loudly, as he was well able to do whenever he pleased. ‘My son,’ said the holy friar. ‘What is the matter?’

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  cheering and making way for us as though we were wild beasts. I am sorry for these deprivations. At least they are over. Forgive me for doing wrong. Elect another who will please the majority.’ John Chrysostom was thrown out of the city for taking the same line. He banned episcopal entertainments altogether, eating alone, and sparingly. He would not put up visiting bishops, especially since he thought they ought to be in their own dioceses, instead of collecting large fees for preaching in the metropolis. His own sermons were frantically outspoken, especially when he became excited, flaying the court, the rich, and especially wealthy widows (some of whom supported him). This category of womankind seems to have been a peculiar object of criticism among austere clergy. Jerome, John’s contemporary, writes angrily of: ‘their huge litters, with red cloaks and fat bodies, a file of eunuchs walking in front; they have not so much lost husbands as seek them. They fill their houses with guests and flatterers. The clergy, who ought to inspire awe with their teaching and authority, kiss these ladies on the forehead and, putting forth their hands as though to bless, take money for their visits . . . after a vast supper, these ladies dream of the Apostles.’ Jerome wrote of priests ‘who gain admission to aristocratic houses and deceive silly women . . . who seek ordination simply to see women more freely. They think of nothing but their clothes, use scent, and smooth out the creases in their boots. They curl their hair with tongs, their fingers glitter with rings . . . bridegrooms rather than clergy.’ Jerome had seen all this: he had been Damasus’s secretary and therefore he knew there was another side to the coin. If Christianity was to become the universalist faith as its founder had plainly intended, must it not identify itself, to some extent, with the world? And was it not right to do this worthily and elegantly? This was the Damasus line of reasoning. Hence he spent a great deal of effort and money integrating Christianity with imperial culture. Since the time of Constantine, Christian basilicas, which had originally been private houses, had been built on an enlarged scale. Damasus developed the classic late-Roman type, capable of holding thousands, and covered within with gold and coloured mosaic. He employed leading architects and sculptors, beginning a tradition of papal patronage which was to last

• From The Decameron (1353)

  To which, heaving a sigh, Ser Ciappelletto replied: ‘Father, I am loath to tell you the truth on this matter, in case I should sin by way of vainglory.’ To which the holy friar replied: ‘Speak out freely, for no man ever sinned by telling the truth, either in confession or otherwise.’ ‘Since you assure me that this is so,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘I will tell you. I am a virgin as pure as on the day I came forth from my mother’s womb.’ ‘Oh, may God give you His blessing!’ said the friar. ‘How nobly you have lived! And your restraint is all the more deserving of praise in that, had you wished, you would have had greater liberty to do the opposite than those who, like ourselves, are expressly forbidden by rule.’ Next he asked him whether he had displeased God by committing the sin of gluttony; to which, fetching a deep sigh, Ser Ciappelletto replied that he had, and on many occasions. For although, apart from the periods of fasting normally observed in the course of the year by the devout, he was accustomed to fasting on bread and water for at least three days every week, he had drunk the water as pleasurably and avidly (especially when he had been fatigued from praying or going on a pilgrimage) as any great bibber of wine; he had often experienced a craving for those dainty little wild herb salads that women eat when they go away to the country; and sometimes the thought of food had been more attractive to him than he considered proper in one who, like himself, was fasting out of piety. Whereupon the friar said: ‘My son, these sins are natural and they are very trivial, and therefore I would not have you burden your conscience with them more than necessary. No matter how holy a man may be, he will be attracted by the thought of food after a long spell of fasting, and by the thought of drink when he is fatigued.’ ‘Oh!’ said Ser Ciappelletto. ‘Do not tell me this to console me, father. As you are aware, I know that things done in the service of God must all be done honestly and without any grudge; and if anyone should do otherwise, he is committing a sin.’ The friar, delighted, said to him: ‘I am contented to see you taking such a view, and it pleases me greatly that you should have such a good and pure conscience in this matter. But tell me, have you ever been guilty of avarice, by desiring to have more than was proper, or keeping what you should not have kept?’ To which Ser Ciappelletto replied: ‘Father, I would not wish you to judge me ill because I am in the house of these money-lenders.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  All the men and women of Palermo immediately hurried to the square in order to see the two lovers: and whilst the men stood and gazed at the girl, unanimously praising her shapeliness and beauty, so the women were all clustering round the youth, expressing their warm approval of his fine figure and handsome features. But the pair of hapless lovers hung their heads in shame and bewailed their misfortune, expecting at any moment to be cruelly consumed by the fire. Whilst they were thus being held until the hour fixed for their execution, news of their offence was bruited abroad and reached the ears of Ruggieri de Loria, a man of inestimable worth, who at that time was the Admiral of the Royal Fleet. Curious to see who they were, he made his way towards the place where they stood bound to the stake, and, on reaching the spot, he looked at the girl and found her exceedingly beautiful. He then directed his gaze at the youth, whom he recognized without too much trouble, and moving a little nearer he asked him whether he was Gianni of Procida. Gianni raised his eyes, and, recognizing the Admiral, he replied: ‘My lord, I was indeed the man of whom you speak, but I am about to be that person no longer.’ Whereupon the Admiral asked what had brought him to such a pass, and Gianni replied: ‘Love, and the wrath of the King.’ The Admiral persuaded him to elaborate, and having heard the whole story from Gianni’s own lips, he turned to go. But Gianni called him back, and said: ‘Alas, my lord, procure me a favour, if this be possible, from the person who set me here.’ Ruggieri asked what favour he had in mind, and Gianni said: ‘I see that I must die, and very soon. Wherefore, seeing that I have been set here back to back with this young woman, whom I loved more dearly than life itself, being loved no less deeply in return, I should like us to be turned face to face, so that I may have the consolation of gazing into her eyes as I depart.’ ‘With pleasure!’ exclaimed Ruggieri, with a laugh. ‘And if I have my way, you shall see so much of her that before you die you’ll be sorry you ever asked such a favour.’ Leaving Gianni, he spoke to the men charged with carrying out the sentence, and ordered them not to proceed any further with-out new instructions from the King, to whom he forthwith made his way. And although he could see that the King was extremely distraught, he was not to be deterred from speaking his mind. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘what injury have you suffered from the two young people you have sentenced to be burnt down there in the square?’ The King told him, and Ruggieri continued:

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And so Jamie who dared not go home to Beedles for fear of shaming the woman she loved, Jamie who dared not openly mourn lest Barbara’s name be defiled through her mourning, Jamie had dared to go home to God—to trust herself to His more perfect mercy, even as Barbara had gone home before her. CHAPTER 52 1 O ne morning a very young cherry-tree that Mary herself had planted in the garden was doing the most delightful things—it was pushing out leaves and tight pink buds along the whole length of its childish branches. Stephen made a note of it in her diary: ‘Today Mary’s cherry-tree started to blossom.’ This is why she never forgot the date on which she received Martin Hallam’s letter. The letter had been redirected from Morton; she recognized Puddle’s scholastic handwriting. And the other writing—large, rather untidy, but with strong black down-strokes and firmly crossed T’s—she stared at it thoughtfully, puckering her brows. Surely that writing, too, was familiar? Then she noticed a Paris postmark in the corner—that was strange. She tore open the envelope. Martin wrote very simply: ‘Stephen, my dear. After all these years I am sending you a letter, just in case you have not completely forgotten the existence of a man called Martin Hallam. ‘I’ve been in Paris for the past two months. I had to come across to have my eye seen to; I stopped a bullet with my head here in France—it affected the optic nerve rather badly. But the point is: if I fly over to England as I’m thinking of doing, may I come and see you? I’m a very poor hand at expressing myself—can’t do it at all when I put pen to paper—in addition to which I’m feeling nervous because you’ve become such a wonderful writer. But I do want to try and make you understand how desperately I’ve regretted our friendship—that perfect early friendship of ours seems to me now a thing well worth regretting. Believe me or not, I’ve thought of it for years; and the fault was all mine for not understanding. I was just an ignorant cub in those days. Well, anyhow, please will you see me, Stephen? I’m a lonely sort of fellow, so if you’re kind-hearted you’ll invite me to motor down to Morton, supposing you’re there; and then if you like me, we’ll take up our friendship just where it left off. We’ll pretend that we’re very young again, walking over the hills and jawing about life.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bertrand knew the girl, and had thought her very beautiful on seeing her again. But knowing that her lineage was in no way suited to his own noble ancestry, he was highly indignant, and said: ‘But surely, sire, you would not want to marry me to a she-doctor. Heaven forbid that I should ever accept a woman of that sort for a wife.’ ‘The young lady has demanded your hand in marriage as her reward for restoring our health,’ said the King. ‘Surely you would not want us to break the promise we have given her.’ ‘Sire,’ said Bertrand, ‘you have the power to take away everything I possess, and hand me over to anyone you may choose, for I am merely your humble vassal. But I can assure you that I shall never rest content with such a match.’ ‘Of course you will,’ said the King, ‘for she is beautiful, intelligent, and deeply in love with you. Hence we are confident that you will be much happier with her than you would ever have been with a lady of loftier birth.’ Bertrand said no more, and the King gave orders for a splendid wedding feast to be arranged. And so, much against his will, on the appointed day and in the presence of the King, Bertrand married the girl who loved him more dearly than her very life. Having already made up his mind what he should do, as soon as the wedding was over he sought the King’s permission to depart, saying that he wished to return to his own estates and consummate his marriage there. So he duly set out on horseback, but instead of going to his estates he came to Tuscany, where he learned that the Florentines were waging war against the Sienese,3 and resolved to offer them his assistance. The Florentines welcomed him with open arms and placed him in command of a sizeable body of men, paying him a good stipend, and for a long time thereafter he remained in their service. His bride was far from happy with the turn events had taken, and in the hope of persuading him to return to his estates by her wise administration, she went to Roussillon, where all the people received her as their rightful mistress. Since there had been no Count to govern the territory for some little time, she was faced on her arrival with nothing but confusion and chaos. But being a capable woman, she applied herself with great diligence to the task in hand, and soon had everything restored to order, thus winning the profound respect and devotion of her subjects, who were enormously pleased by her endeavours and strongly critical of the Count because of his indifference towards her.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Whilst deriving little comfort from all this, the two brothers nevertheless went off to a friary and asked for a wise and holy man to come and hear the confession of a Lombard who was lying ill in their house. They were given an ancient friar of good and holy ways who was an expert in the Scriptures and a most venerable man, towards whom all the townspeople were greatly and specially devoted, and they conducted him to their house. On reaching the room where Ser Ciappelletto was lying, he sat down at his bedside, and first he began to comfort him with kindly words, then he asked him how long it was since he had last been to confession. Whereupon Ser Ciappelletto, who had never been to confession in his life, replied: ‘Father, it has always been my custom to go to confession at least once every week, except that there are many weeks in which I go more often. But to tell the truth, since I fell ill, nearly a week ago, my illness has caused me so much discomfort that I haven’t been to confession at all.’ ‘My son,’ said the friar, ‘you have done well, and you should persevere in this habit of yours. Since you go so often to confession, I can see that there will be little for me to hear or to ask.’ ‘Master friar,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘do not speak thus, for however frequently or regularly I confess, it is always my wish that I should make a general confession of all the sins I can remember committing from the day I was born till the day of my confession. I therefore beg you, good father, to question me about everything, just as closely as if I had never been confessed. Do not spare me because I happen to be ill, for I would much rather mortify this flesh of mine than that, by treating it with lenience, I should do anything that could lead to the perdition of my soul, which my Saviour redeemed with His precious blood.’ These words were greatly pleasing to the holy friar, and seemed to him proof of a well-disposed mind. Having warmly commended Ser Ciappelletto for this practice of his, he began by asking him whether he had ever committed the sin of lust with any woman. To which, heaving a sigh, Ser Ciappelletto replied: ‘Father, I am loath to tell you the truth on this matter, in case I should sin by way of vainglory.’ To which the holy friar replied: ‘Speak out freely, for no man ever sinned by telling the truth, either in confession or otherwise.’ ‘Since you assure me that this is so,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘I will tell you. I am a virgin as pure as on the day I came forth from my mother’s womb.’

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

  Rightly does Matthew Paris call this the "detestable and lamentable charter."209 But although national abasement could scarcely further go, it is probable that the sense of shame with which after generations have regarded John’s act was only imperfectly felt by that generation of Englishmen.210 As a political

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Having learnt that the lady’s husband, though he came of a good family, was very greedy and corrupt, he came to an arrangement with him whereby he would give him five hundred gold florins for allowing him to sleep for one night with his wife. But what he actually did was to gild five hundred coins of silver, called popolini, which were in everyday use at that period, and, having slept with the man’s wife against her will, he handed these over to the husband. Subsequently the story became common knowledge, so that the scoundrelly husband was not only cheated but held up to ridicule. And the Bishop, being a wise man, feigned complete ignorance of the whole affair. The Bishop and the Marshal were frequently to be seen in one another’s company, and one day, it being the feast of St John,3 they happened to be riding side by side down the street along which the palio4 is run, casting an eye over the ladies, when the Bishop spotted a young woman (now, alas, no longer with us, having died in middle age during this present epidemic), whose name was Monna Nonna de’ Pulci. You all know the person I mean – she was the cousin of Messer Alesso Rinucci, and at the time of which I am speaking she was a fine-looking girl in the flower of youth, well spoken and full of spirit, who had recently been married and set up house in the Porta San Piero quarter. The Bishop pointed her out to the Marshal, then he rode up beside her, clapped his hand on the Marshal’s shoulder, and said: ‘How do you like this fellow, Nonna? Do you think you could make a conquest of him?’ It seemed to Monna Nonna that the Bishop’s words made her out to be less than virtuous, or that they were bound to damage her reputation in the eyes of those people, by no means few in number, in whose hearing they were spoken. So that, less intent upon vindicating her honour than upon returning blow for blow, she swiftly retorted: ‘In the unlikely event, my lord, of his making a conquest of me, I should want to be paid in good coin.’ These words stung both the Marshal and the Bishop to the quick, the former as the author of the dishonest deed involving the niece of the Bishop’s brother, and the latter as its victim, inasmuch as she was one of his own relatives. And without so much as looking at one another, they rode away silent and shamefaced, and said no more to Monna Nonna on that day. In this case, therefore, since the girl was bitten first, it was not inappropriate that she should make an equally biting retort. FOURTH STORYCurrado Gianfigliazzi’s cook, Chichibio, converts his master’s anger into laughter with a quick word in the nick of time, and saves himself from the unpleasant fate with which Currado had threatened him.

• From Adam, Eve, and the Serpent (1988)

  But what epitomizes our rebellion against God, above all, is the “rebellion in the flesh”—a spontaneous uprising, so to speak, in the “disobedient members”: After Adam and Eve disobeyed … they felt for the first time a movement of disobedience in their flesh, as punishment in kind for their own disobedience to God.… The soul, which had taken a perverse delight in its own liberty and disdained to serve God, was now deprived of its original mastery over the body.61 Specifically, Augustine concludes, “the sexual desire [libido] of our disobedient members arose in those first human beings as a result of the sin of disobedience … and because a shameless movement [impudens motus] resisted the rule of their will, they covered their shameful members.”62 At first, the Adam and Eve whom God had created enjoyed mental mastery over the procreative process: the sexual members, like the other parts of the body, enacted the work of procreation by a deliberate act of will, “like a handshake.” Ever since Eden, however, spontaneous sexual desire is, Augustine contends, the clearest evidence of the effect of original sin: this, above all, manifests passion’s triumph. What impresses Augustine most is that such arousal functions independently of the will’s rightful rule: “Because of this, these members are rightly called pudenda [parts of shame] because they excite themselves just as they like, in opposition to the mind which is their master, as if they were their own masters.”63 Sexual excitement differs from other forms of passion, Augustine contends, since in the case of anger and the rest, it is not the impulse that moves any part of the body but the will, which remains in control and consents to the movement. An angry man makes a decision whether or not to strike; but a sexually aroused man may find that erection occurs with alarming autonomy. Augustine considers this irrefutable evidence that lust (libido), having wrested the sexual organs from the control of the will, now has “brought them so completely under its rule that they are incapable of acting if this one emotion [libido] is lacking.”64 So disjoined is will from desire that even a man who wills to be sexually aroused may find that libido deserts him. At times, the urge intrudes uninvited; at other times, it deserts the panting lover, and, although desire blazes in the mind, the body is frigid. In this strange way, desire refuses service, not only to the will to procreate, but also to the desire for wantonness; and though for the most part, it solidly opposes the mind’s command, at other times it is divided against itself, and, having aroused the mind, it fails to arouse the body.65 The experience of arousal apart from any action taken, Augustine insists, itself is sin: “Such disobedience of the flesh as this, which lies in the very excitement, even when it is not allowed to take effect, did not exist in the first man and woman.”66 Augustine admits, however, that

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

  But the good effect was in great part neutralized by a stupendous fraud which brought Germany to the brink of a civil war. Philip of Hesse, an ardent, passionate, impulsive, ambitious prince, and patron of Protestantism, was deceived by an unprincipled and avaricious politician, Otto von Pack, provisional chancellor of the Duchy of Saxony, into the belief that Ferdinand of Austria, the Electors of Mainz and Brandenburg, the Dukes of Saxony and Bavaria, and other Roman Catholic rulers had concluded a league at Breslau, May 15, 1527, for the extermination of Protestantism. He procured at Dresden a sealed copy of the forged document, for which he paid Pack four thousand guilders. He persuaded the Elector John of Saxony of its genuineness, and concluded with him, in all haste, a counter-league, March 9, 1528. They secured aid from other princes, and made expensive military preparations, to anticipate by a masterstroke an attack of the enemy. Fortunately, the Reformers of Wittenberg were consulted, and prevented an open outbreak by their advice. Luther deemed the papists had enough for any thing, but was from principle opposed to aggressive war;948 Melanchthon saw through the forgery, and felt keenly mortified. When the fictitious document was published, the Roman Catholic princes indignantly denied it. Duke George denounced Pack as a traitor.949 Archduke Ferdinand declared that he never dreamed of such a league. The rash conduct of Philip put the Protestant princes in the position of aggressors and disturbers of the public peace, and the whole affair brought shame and disgrace upon their cause. § 115. The Second Diet of Speier, and the Protest of 1529. Walch, XVI. 315 sqq. J. J. Müller: Historie von der evang. Stände Protestation und Appellation wider den Reichsabschied zu Speier, 1529, Jena, 1705. Tittmann: Die Protestation der evang. Stände mit Hist. Erläuterungen, Leipzig, 1829. A. Jung: Gesch. des Reichstags zu Speier, 1529, Leipzig, 1830. J. Ney (protest. pastor at Speier): Geschichte des Reichstags zu Speier im Jahr 1529. Mit einem Anhange ungedruckter Akten und Briefe, Hamburg, 1880. Ranke, III. 102–116. Janssen, III 130–146. Under these discouragements the second Diet of Speier was convened in March, 1529, for action against the Turks, and against the further progress of Protestantism. The Catholic dignitaries appeared in full force, and were flushed with hopes of victory. The Protestants felt that "Christ was again in the hands of Caiaphas and Pilate."950 The Diet neutralized the recess of the preceding Diet of 1526; it virtually condemned (without, however, annulling) the innovations made; and it forbade, on pain of the imperial ban, any further reformation until the meeting of the council, which was now positively promised for the next year by the Emperor and the Pope. The Zwinglians and Anabaptists were excluded even from toleration. The latter were to be punished by death.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  To which, heaving a sigh, Ser Ciappelletto replied: ‘Father, I am loath to tell you the truth on this matter, in case I should sin by way of vainglory.’ To which the holy friar replied: ‘Speak out freely, for no man ever sinned by telling the truth, either in confession or otherwise.’ ‘Since you assure me that this is so,’ said Ser Ciappelletto, ‘I will tell you. I am a virgin as pure as on the day I came forth from my mother’s womb.’ ‘Oh, may God give you His blessing!’ said the friar. ‘How nobly you have lived! And your restraint is all the more deserving of praise in that, had you wished, you would have had greater liberty to do the opposite than those who, like ourselves, are expressly forbidden by rule.’ Next he asked him whether he had displeased God by committing the sin of gluttony; to which, fetching a deep sigh, Ser Ciappelletto replied that he had, and on many occasions. For although, apart from the periods of fasting normally observed in the course of the year by the devout, he was accustomed to fasting on bread and water for at least three days every week, he had drunk the water as pleasurably and avidly (especially when he had been fatigued from praying or going on a pilgrimage) as any great bibber of wine; he had often experienced a craving for those dainty little wild herb salads that women eat when they go away to the country; and sometimes the thought of food had been more attractive to him than he considered proper in one who, like himself, was fasting out of piety. Whereupon the friar said: ‘My son, these sins are natural and they are very trivial, and therefore I would not have you burden your conscience with them more than necessary. No matter how holy a man may be, he will be attracted by the thought of food after a long spell of fasting, and by the thought of drink when he is fatigued.’ ‘Oh!’ said Ser Ciappelletto. ‘Do not tell me this to console me, father. As you are aware, I know that things done in the service of God must all be done honestly and without any grudge; and if anyone should do otherwise, he is committing a sin.’ The friar, delighted, said to him: ‘I am contented to see you taking such a view, and it pleases me greatly that you should have such a good and pure conscience in this matter. But tell me, have you ever been guilty of avarice, by desiring to have more than was proper, or keeping what you should not have kept?’ To which Ser Ciappelletto replied: ‘Father, I would not wish you to judge me ill because I am in the house of these money-lenders.