Tenderness

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 Pisces (2018)

  My favorite place to kiss him was smack in the center of one of his big floppy ears. I could tell that he didn’t like to be touched there, but he made the supreme sacrifice and allowed me to drape those delicious suede pancakes over my face. The other area I loved was the crook of his neck, just under the jaw, where his skin was soft and loose. Somehow—perhaps through the wear of the collar, or simply with time—he had gone hairless there, so that what was left was only the creamiest of baby skin. I spent most of my time with him with my head burrowed in that spot. I could have lived there. After we’d both had dinner, I touched the candle I’d purchased, rubbing my fingers up and down it, saying a little prayer for happiness. I said a prayer to the gods I wasn’t sure if I believed in—that I doubted even existed. I actually felt like the prayer was saying me. I said, “Gods, please help me to be happy. Let me do the will of the universe and be willing to do the will of the universe, whatever that even is. Clearly I know very little. Clearly what I think I know leads me only to a place of suicidal longing. I never asked to be born on the planet. I never asked to exist. But I am here now so could you maybe at least try and help me enjoy my life?” I felt silly asking to enjoy my life. I wondered if this was more than any human being should ask. Did anyone ever say that life was to be enjoyed and not suffered? What if the suffering was the point? But I didn’t want to suffer anymore. I couldn’t take it. That was clear. So I was going to try to be happy, even if it brought me more suffering. The candle burning, amethyst in hand, sitting on the deck of the beach house, I felt closer to myself than I had since before Jamie. I began to cry. Dominic made a noise, then got up into my lap and licked the tears off my face. He was licking them because they tasted good. He did the same thing when I was sweaty too. But I pretended that they were licks of love, and that’s what it felt like. Maybe this group therapy shit was working. Maybe this was self-love. I didn’t know and I didn’t really care. Where there had been a vile, depressive ooze was now quiet. The quiet itself was a thing: a sweet-filled quiet, as though the depression had been alchemized into something delicious. I looked out at the ocean. It was as though I hadn’t noticed it before, or hadn’t wanted to see it. I was scared of its wild ambivalence, so powerful and amorphous, like the depression itself. It didn’t give a fuck about me. It could eat me without even knowing.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  “Hi,” I said, spooning up against him, my hands wrapped around his warm belly. He snuggled in closer to me as though I had been there all along, sighed a few times, then rolled over onto his back so I could rub him down. Somehow, this small moment felt more intimate than anything I had done with Garrett. I kissed his doggy cheek and he yawned in my face, a long, pronounced yawn showing all of his teeth and the speckled roof of his mouth. He was so completely himself, could not be anything other than himself, and would never understand why I might want to be anything other than me. It would be silly to him, crazy even. We were as we were and that was it. At sundown I went out to the rocks. The sunset was pink and orange, with the silhouettes of the palms etched into it. Stars were beginning to appear too, between me and the Santa Monica Mountains. I don’t know why but I started singing. I thought of the Sirens in The Odyssey, their island, how they called the men to them. The men were intoxicated by desire and drowned. What exactly were the Sirens? Were they mermaids? Sea deities connected to death, to be sure, but how did they get the men to do what they wished? Was it only their voices that called men forth or did they have some other kind of power? It seemed manipulative. Maybe they needed group therapy for romantic obsession. I also thought about Sappho, how her poems were actually songs. How she sang her poems and played the lyre. Most likely it was a sparse accompaniment, though we can only guess what the music sounded like. Theo had been right, it wasn’t really doable to bullshit about Sappho. Just because some historians projected their own garbage onto her, it didn’t mean I had to project mine. What had drawn me to her in the first place was a feeling, the visceral experience of the words, emotion carried by syllables. How the hell had this led me to theory, the opposite of feeling? I suppose I was scared of feeling. Also, you couldn’t get university money for feeling. Now I had to pretend the spaces left blank in her text were intentional. I could theorize this into being, hopefully convincing readers that the poems could be read in this way. It was true, we didn’t want to project our narratives onto her work. Academically, my conceit was interesting enough. But there was no way to deny that something beautiful and magical had once accompanied the poems and now was lost forever. The nothingness had once been full of music.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I said. “Like you can’t go or you go too much?” “Both,” he said. “It depends on the day.” “I’m sorry I’m laughing. I know it’s not funny. But it’s weird talking about this with a stranger.” “We all do it, you know.” “I know. Have you ever accidentally gone in your wet suit?” Now I was laughing so hard that tears formed in the corners of my eyes. He was grinning and treading water. “That’s privileged information,” he said. “I feel like we’re not intimate enough to go that far.” “Ah, okay, I understand. Good that you have your limits,” I said. “I don’t, it’s just—we would need to be more close for me to disclose something like that,” he said, smirking. “What would be more close?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Like if I had touched you before or something.” I felt surprised. I don’t know why I am always surprised when a man is attracted to me. Maybe because he was so beautiful and young. But I guess it made sense. Why else was he hanging around these rocks? “Do you want to touch me?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Where do you want to touch me?” I said coyly. He swam over to the edge of my rock. I suddenly felt nervous. “Hmmmmm,” he said. “Would you let me touch your ankle?” “My ankle?” I laughed. “Yeah, your ankle.” “Okay,” I said. “You can touch my ankle.” He ceremoniously lifted one hand, wiggled his fingers like a pianist, and gave my calf a little squeeze. I laughed. Then, he lightly cupped my ankle and massaged it gently, looking up at me. I stopped laughing. Slowly, he ran two fingers up and down the middle of my foot bone. He pressed each of the toes, one by one, and made his way around to the back where he gently massaged my Achilles tendon. “You have such cute ankles,” he said. When he was done massaging he sort of patted the top of my foot like a child’s head. Then he hugged my calf with his hand and head. It was weird as hell but it felt so good. “No,” he said. “I’ve never shit in a wet suit.” 28. For the next few days I rose at dawn and walked Dominic to Oakwood Park, where he would run around and chase birds. I felt like a wild woman as I ran beside him, a primal lady of the wolves. He thanked me gleefully, jumping up and licking my face, his cold, wet nose brushing up against mine. I couldn’t believe that his love for me was still so pure and unwavering, and I didn’t even have to work for it. Could a love like that really be trusted?

• From The Pisces (2018)

  She took it, but instead of standing up, she brought me down to the floor to sit with her. With our backs pressed against the wall I held her hand with both of my hands. I softly stroked her skin, so that it was warmed. I felt nervous doing this, as though I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. Why wouldn’t it be appropriate? We were sisters, after all. It was such a small act, but it felt so intimate. It was the gentleness and surety of the way I touched her hand that made me feel strange, as though I didn’t know I knew how to do this. I wondered who or what inside me was doing it. It was motherly, almost. “Do you want me to play with your hair?” I asked her. “Yes,” she said. I put my knees up so she could lean against them. Then I rubbed the back of her neck and the scalp area behind her ears. “Mmmm, that feels nice,” she said. “Lie back,” I said, folding my legs into a cross-legged position. She put her head in my lap and closed her eyes. I traced each of her eyelids with my pointer fingers. I softly rubbed her eyebrows and between them, moving in circles up to her forehead and slowly tickling her scalp. I became less aware of time passing. I seemed to drift in and out of myself for a little while, as though the act of giving this sweet nurture somehow relieved me of having to be a person—or made being a person bearable. But every time I’d almost let go of myself completely, disappear into the experience, I remembered that I had somewhere else I was supposed to be. I didn’t want to remember. I wanted to forget all about my plan. But I felt that I had to go through with it, as though some other part of me that was not my head or my heart—more like an internal magnet—was grabbing me and pulling me toward another magnet. “I’m going to have to go,” I said to her, giving her one final pat on the head. “Where are you going?” she asked, looking up at me. “The airport,” I said. “My cab will be here in a moment or two.” “The airport?” “Yes, I booked my ticket.” “Oh no, don’t go,” she said. “I felt like I should leave you guys alone.” “No, I don’t want that!” she said. “Please stay. Steve is at work all day and it’s going to be so lonely without Dominic. I’m scared to be alone.” “I can’t,” I said, standing up. “I have to get back to the university.” “But I need you,” she said.

• From In Search of Paul: How Jesus's Apostle Opposed Rome's Empire with God's Kingdom (2005)

  I robbed other churches by accepting support from them in order to serve you. And when I was with you and was in need, I did not burden anyone, for my needs were supplied by the friends who came from Macedonia. So I refrained and will continue to refrain from burdening you in any way. (11:8–9) The question, in other words, is very specific: Why did Paul refuse support precisely at Corinth and not elsewhere? What was wrong with Corinthian support? LETTER 1. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is lost, and we know about it only from his comment in 1 Corinthians 5:9: “I wrote to you in my letter.” But it is a second indication of previous trouble. He had warned them in it “not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother or sister who is sexually immoral or greedy, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or robber. Do not even eat with such a one,” as he put it in 1 Corinthians 5:11. How did such individuals come to be within Corinthian Christianity? And did the community not recognize that problem and have to be told by Paul to do something about it? LETTER 2. Letter 2 is our 1 Corinthians. After a long, powerful, and impassioned overture (chaps. 1–4), Paul reacts to several problems reported to him most likely by “Chloe’s people” (5–6) and then responds to several questions posed by the Corinthians (7–16). He must also have been updated on Corinth by “the coming of Stephanas and Fortunatus and Achaicus” (16:17). They were presumably on his side in the disputes with some at Corinth because he himself “did baptize also the household of Stephanas” and “members of the household of Stephanas were the first converts in Achaia” (1:16; 16:15). VISIT 2. Paul sent Timothy to Corinth, but with some trepidation, as he noted in 1 Corinthians 4:17 and 16:10. Timothy’s report was so serious that Paul made a short visit directly from Ephesus to Corinth and back. He refers later to it as a “painful visit” in 2 Corinthians 2:1 and 13:2. But matters continued to get worse. LETTER 3. This is another now lost letter and is known only because Paul mentions later that he wrote this letter to avoid making another “painful” visit. He also refers to it repeatedly in 2 Corinthians: I wrote you out of much distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain, but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you…. For even if I made you sorry with my letter, I do not regret it (though I did regret it, for I see that I grieved you with that letter, though only briefly)…. I do not want to seem as though I am trying to frighten you with my letters. (2:4; 7:8; 10:9)

• From The Pisces (2018)

  “That’s the dopamine talking,” said Chickenhorse. “You want your high. Is it that you don’t know how to stop or you don’t want to stop?” “It’s that I can’t,” said Diana. Suddenly I felt a wave of compassion for her. I knew what it was like. I thought about what Claire said, about being careful to stay away from the freaks or else you become a freak. Diana was so hot and polished—the wealth pouring out of her Spandex—with her diamond rings, chypre fragrance, and golden highlights. Did she see everyone at the meeting as sad and pathetic? Did I look as sad and pathetic to Diana as the other women looked to me when I came in? But after group she came up to me in the parking lot. “You seem like you’re the only one there who isn’t totally insane,” she said. “I wouldn’t bet on that.” I laughed. “Can I call you? If I have questions about what to do?” “Sure,” I said. “I don’t know that I will have the answers. But I can listen.” I saw the sadness in her eyes and the mess of it all. I saw her delusions and the way that things started between her and the older tennis pro as just friends. It was like Theo: you wanted to believe they liked you as a friend. She pretended that’s what it was, because if she admitted to herself what it really was at first she would have never gotten in his car. And she had needed to get in his car. “I’m just afraid of getting worse,” she said. “My son has a friend. He is sixteen and gorgeous. And I see the way he looks at me. I used to think it wasn’t that, it couldn’t be that.” “You’re so beautiful,” I said. “How could it not be that?” “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m…you should see the young girls at their high school. I thought there could simply be no way. But now that I’ve been with Ryan, the younger tennis pro, well, I realize what it is with my son’s friend. I’m not going to go there. At least, I don’t think I would go there. But it scares me that I feel tempted.” “Wow,” I said. “That’s heavy.” “Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t want to admit that to the group. I didn’t want to say I’ve thought about, you know, having sex with my son’s friend…I didn’t say it, because…it would be very illegal. I don’t know what the group’s policy is on that. If someone is tempted to do something illegal, are they forced to report it?” “I don’t know,” I said. “But your secret is safe with me. Do you feel any better now even just telling me?” “Not really,” she said.

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

  already mentioned that of St. Martin at Tours and in 800 those of Cormery and Flavigny. The monastery of Tours1120 owned twenty thousand serfs and its revenue was regal. To it Alcuin retired, although he would have preferred to go to Fulda.1121 There he did good work in reforming the monks, regulating the school and enlarging the library. His most famous pupil during this period of his life was Rabanus Maurus. In the year of his death he established a hospice at Duodecim Pontes near Troyes; and just prior to this event he gave over the monastery of Tours to his pupil Fredegis, and that of Ferrières to another pupil, Sigulf It is remarkable that he died upon the anniversary on which he had desired to die, the Festival of Pentecost, May 19, 804. He was buried in the church of St. Martin, although in his humility he had requested to be buried outside of it. One of his important services to religion was his revision of the Vulgate (about 802) by order of Charlemagne, on the basis of old and correct MSS., for he probably knew little Greek and no Hebrew. This preserved a good Vulgate text for some time. Alcuin was of a gentle disposition, willing, patient and humble, and an unwearied student. He had amassed all the treasures of learning then accessible. He led his age, yet did not transcend it, as Scotus Erigena did his. He was not a deep thinker, rather he brought out from his memory the thoughts of others. He was also mechanical in his methods. Yet he was more than a great scholar and teacher, he was a leader in church affairs, not only on the continent, but, as his letters show, also in England. Charlemagne consulted him continually, and would have done better had he more frequently followed his advice. Particularly is this true respecting missions. Alcuin saw with regret that force had been applied to induce the Saxons to submit to baptism. He warned Charlemagne that the result would be disastrous. True Christians can not be made by violence, but by plain preaching of the gospel in the spirit of love. He would have the gospel precepts gradually unfolded to the pagan Saxons, and then as they grew in knowledge would require from them stricter compliance. Alcuin gave similar council in regard to the Huns.1122 His opinions upon other practical points1123 are worthy of mention. Thus, he objected to the employment of bishops in military affairs, to capital punishment, to the giving up of persons who had taken refuge in a church, and to priests following a secular calling. He was zealous for the revival of preaching and for the study of the Bible. On the other hand he placed a low estimate upon pilgrimages, and preferred that the money so spent should be given to the poor.1124 Writings.—The works of Alcuin are divided into nine classes. I. Letters.1125 A striking peculiarity of these letters is their address.

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

  Maybe they’ll do better than I did, I thought, understanding that I had to try harder to keep that option intact for them. At the doctor’s office, the cast came off, but with instructions not to ski for a while. I saw Hudson’s eyes well with tears. “Listen,” I said to the doctor, “I’m a big rule follower, but Hudson has ADHD and the lack of activity is making him depressed, on top of which we’re going through a family crisis that would knock any kid out, so I’m confessing to you that I’m going to let him ski this weekend. I’m letting you know that I hear your medical advice but I’m not going to follow it and it’s not because I don’t have a ton of respect for you.” Her eyes met mine without judgment and she nodded understandingly as she directed Hudson not to be a total daredevil just yet. I could have flung myself at her, I was so grateful for her compassion. When she left the room, Hudson whispered a thank-you to me. I put my hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, connecting us for just a moment. Hudson, Georgia and I were determined to stay in good spirits on our road trip to Vermont. Hudson was thoughtful and attentive, carrying bags and helping Georgia, and I was moved as I witnessed their deep connection to one another. I reminded him that I valued his help but he needn’t be the man of the house, that I was still the parent and quite capable despite the current circumstances. I was proud of him for jumping out of the car to get our luggage and holding Georgia’s hand as we crossed streets, but I wanted him to feel like a kid and I did not want him to worry about me. We checked into the hotel and were given a room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water park. Although over the years we had gone on day trips to amusement parks, Michael was adamantly opposed to kid-centered vacations. The novelty of this current situation was not lost on them. Even trips to Disney had been one-day affairs, and we would screech out of the parking lot at the end of the day to go to whatever hip hotel Michael had chosen for us. Now, they marveled at all they could do here over the next three days. Georgia’s planned itinerary would require my participation – water rides, an arcade, ice skating, rock climbing – and while it was hard for me to decide which amongst these was my least favorite activity, my only goal was to keep her so busy and happy that she wouldn’t remember her father was not with us. Hudson left early the next morning to ski while Georgia and I changed into bathing suits. She stopped suddenly and climbed back into bed, watching the scene at the water park warily from our windows. “I don’t feel well.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Then Stephen said, not without pardonable pride: ‘I’ve been getting a housemaid’s knee, like you, Collins!’ And as Collins looked stupid and rather bewildered—‘You see, I wanted to share your suffering. I’ve prayed quite a lot, but Jesus won’t listen, so I’ve got to get housemaid’s knee my own way—I can’t wait any longer for Jesus!’ ‘Oh, hush!’ murmured Collins, thoroughly shocked. ‘You mustn’t say such things: it’s wicked, Miss Stephen.’ But she smiled a little in spite of herself, then she suddenly hugged the child warmly. All the same, Collins plucked up her courage that evening and spoke to the nurse about Stephen. ‘Her knees was all red and swollen, Mrs. Bingham. Did ever you know such a queer fish as she is? Praying about my knee too. She’s a caution! And now if she isn’t trying to get one! Well, if that’s not real loving then I don’t know nothing.’ And Collins began to laugh weakly. After this Mrs. Bingham rose in her might, and the self-imposed torture was forcibly stopped. Collins, on her part, was ordered to lie, if Stephen continued to question. So Collins lied nobly: ‘It’s better, Miss Stephen, it must be your praying—you see Jesus heard you. I expect He was sorry to see your poor knees—I know as I was when I saw them!’ ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ Stephen asked her, still doubting, still mindful of that first day of Love’s young dream. ‘Why, of course I’m telling you the truth, Miss Stephen.’ And with this Stephen had to be content. 3 Collins became more affectionate after the incident of the housemaid’s knee; she could not but feel a new interest in the child whom she and the cook had now labelled as ‘queer,’ and Stephen basked in much surreptitious petting, and her love for Collins grew daily. It was spring, the season of gentle emotions, and Stephen, for the first time, became aware of spring. In a dumb, childish way she was conscious of its fragrance, and the house irked her sorely, and she longed for the meadows, and the hills that were white with thorn-trees. Her active young body was for ever on the fidget, but her mind was bathed in a kind of soft haze, and this she could never quite put into words, though she tried to tell Collins about it. It was all part of Collins, yet somehow quite different—it had nothing to do with Collins’ wide smile, nor her hands which were red, nor even her eyes which were blue, and very arresting.

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

  Do you have time to come get it before your kids get home?” he asks. I know he wants to give me the soup but I know too that he needs reassurance and I am touched by it. It continually surprises me that not so much changes from the time we are teens first dipping our toes into the world of intimate relationships, terrified of being left behind by someone we like. We may mature and evolve, have kids and learn how to handle emergencies with aplomb, but feelings of vulnerability stay remarkably the same. CHAPTER 40 Bald Monkeys “It turns out sex parties are not for me,” #8 writes to me the next day, inviting me over for a lunch of his self-proclaimed famous crab cakes so that he can tell me about it in person. Wednesday morning, I go through my pre-tryst routine: touching up my bikini area – which I have succeeded in keeping bare with an electric hair trimmer after I vowed never to undergo the pain and humiliation of bikini waxing or sugaring or any other inhumane torture again, rubbing rose body oil all over, donning a black lacy thong and bra that match closely enough. I text Lauren to tell her I’m heading uptown, keeping my promise that I will always let her know before I go to a man’s home so that someone is keeping track of me. It’s a beautiful winter day, a bright blue sky melting off heaps of snow and icicles that drip rhythmically onto the sidewalk. I find his building, a charming brownstone that has been divided into apartments, and buzz his apartment. A moment later, I see his considerable frame filling the narrow staircase as he jogs down the steps in Puma sneakers to let me in. Up in his apartment, I am struck by the simplicity of the decor. It is clean and tidy, but feels makeshift, like a glorified dorm room. The furniture is comfortable but shoddy and there is a huge TV screen filling the wall across from the sofa. I have been getting the feeling that #8 is commitment averse in every aspect of his life and maybe even a bit of a Peter Pan, refusing to grow up. The fact that this apartment could have been put together by a 20-something man right out of college verifies this for me. His saving grace is that he seems to know his way around his kitchen and tells me to make myself comfortable while he heats a pan already filled with oil and takes a platter out of the refrigerator with softball- sized balls of crabmeat.

• From A History of Christianity (1976)

  They were motivated by inter-order rivalry, by the quest for spiritual and material power, but also, right from the start, by compassion for the Indians. In Hispaniola, on Christmas Day 1511, the Dominican Antonio de Montesimos preached a sermon to the settlers to the text ‘I am a voice crying in the wilderness’ in which he demanded: ‘By what right or justice do you keep these Indians in such horrible servitude? . . . Are these not men? Have they not rational souls? Are you not bound to love them as you love yourselves?’ The first batch of twelve Franciscans arrived in Mexico in 1526: within thirty years there were 380 of them, plus 210 Dominicans and 212 Augustinians. By this time, it was claimed the Franciscans alone had baptized over five million natives, considerably more than the entire population of England at that time. There is no means of checking these figures or even of knowing how they were compiled. The whole conversion process was an extraordinary mixture of force, cruelty, stupidity and greed, redeemed by occasional flashes of imagination and charity. We have a copy of the first address by the original twelve Franciscans: ‘We do not seek gold, silver or precious stones: we seek only your health.’ Some Indians were baptized immediately after submission. Papal efforts to restrict defective ceremonies of baptism were failures. The catechism process was rudimentary. Moreover, we have an episcopal edict of 1539 forbidding missionaries to beat Indians with rods, or imprison them with irons, ‘to teach them the Christian doctrine’. In Mexico there were six main languages and many minor ones, none of which the missionaries spoke at first. One witness, Munoz Camargo, says they pointed to the earth, fire, toads and snakes to suggest Hell, raised their eyes to Heaven, then spoke of a single God. More systematic conversion was attempted by seizing children, teaching them at missionary schools, and then using them as interpreters and proselytes. The Aztecs were polytheists, practising human sacrifice and, in some areas, ritual cannibalism; but there were also points of comparison with Christianity – their chief god was born of a virgin, they ate pastry images of him twice a year, they had forms of baptism and confession, and a compass-point cross. Yet there was no attempt to build on these foundations, contrary to early Christian practice and, indeed, to the instructions of Gregory the Great. From the time of Juan de Zumarraga, first Bishop of Mexico, a great destroyer of religious antiquities, a systematic attempt was made to erase all trace of pre-Christian cults. Writing in 1531, he claimed that he personally had smashed over 500 temples and 20,000 idols. (It is true, of course, that temples were sometimes used as fortresses.) Little resistance is recorded. Some idols were taken away and hidden, and Indians refused to reveal them even under torture.

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

  Germ. Hist. Script. Tom. II. ed. Pertz, pp. 260–270. Homiliae in: Martène et Durand, Veterum scriptorum collectio, Paris, 1733, Tom. IX. Carmina (both his and Peter’s) in: Poetae latini aevi Carolini, ed. E. Dümmler, Berlin, 1880, I. 1. pp 27–86. Translations: Die Langobardengeschichte, übertsetzt Von Karl von Spruner, Hamburg, 1838; Paulus Diaconus und die übrigen Geschichtschreiber der Langobarden, übersetzt von Otto Abel, Berlin, 1849. II. Felix Dahn: Paulus Diaconus. I. Abtheilung, Leipzig, 1876. Each of the above mentioned editions contains an elaborate introduction in which the life and works of Paul are discussed, e.g. Waitz ed. Hist. pp. 12–45. For further investigations see Bethmann: Paulus Diaconus’ Leben und Schriften, and Die Geschichtschreibung der Langobarden, both in Pertz’s "Archiv der Gesellsch. für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde." Bd. X. Hannover, 1851; Bauch: Ueber die historia romana des Paulus Diaconus, eine Quellenuntersuchung, Göttingen, 1873; R. Jacobi: Die Quellen der Langobardengeschichte des Paulus Diaconus, Halle, 1877; and Mommsen: Die Quellen der Langobardengeschichte des Paulus Diaconus in: Neues Archiv der Gesellsch. für ältere Geschichtskunde, Bd. V. pp. 51 sqq. Du Pin, VI. 115–116. Ceillier, XII. l141–148. Ebert, II. 36–56. Paul the Deacon (Paulus Diaconus), the historian of the Lombards, was the son of Warnefrid and Theudelinda. Hence he is frequently called Paul Warnefrid. He was descended from a noble Lombard family and was born in Forum Julii (Friuli, Northern Italy), probably between 720 and 725. His education was completed at the court of King Liutprand in Pavia. His attainments included a knowledge of Greek, rare in that age. Under the influence of Ratchis, Liutprand’s successor (744–749), he entered the church and became a deacon. King Desiderius (756–774) made him his chancellor,1070 and entrusted to his instruction his daughter Adelperga, the wife of Arichis, duke of Benevento. In 774 the Lombard kingdom fell, and Paul after residing for a time at the duke’s court entered the Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino. There he contentedly lived until fraternal love led him to leave his beloved abode. In 776 his brother, Arichis, having probably participated in Hruodgaud’s rebellion, was taken prisoner by Charlemagne, carried into France, and the family estates were confiscated. This brought the entire family to beggary.1071 Paul sought Charlemagne; in a touching little poem of twenty-eight lines, probably written in Gaul in 782, he set the pitiful case before him1072 and implored the great king’s clemency. He did not plead in vain. He would then at once have returned to Monte Cassino, but Charlemagne, always anxious to retain in his immediate service learned and brilliant men., did not allow him to go. He was employed as court poet, teacher of Greek, and scribe, and thus exerted great influence. His heart was, however, in his monastery, and in 787 he is found there. The remainder of his life was busily employed in literary labors. He died, April 13, probably in the year 800, with an unfinished work, the history of the Lombards, upon his hands.

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

  The festivities were brought to a close Jan. 6th, 1502. 150 mules carried the bride’s trousseau and other baggage. The lavish father had told her to take what she would. Her dowry in money was 100,000 ducats. A brilliant cavalcade, in which all the cardinals and ambassadors and the magistrates of the municipality took part, accompanied the party to the city gates and beyond, while Cardinal Francesco Borgia accompanied the party the whole journey. In this whole affair, in spite of ourselves, sympathy for a father supplants our indignation at his perfidy in violating the sacred vows of a Catholic priest and the pledge of the supreme pontiff. Alexander followed the cavalcade as far as he could with his eye, changing his position from window to window. But no mention is made by any of the writers of the bride’s mother. Was she also a witness of the gayeties from some concealed or open standing-place? Lucretia never returned to Rome. And so this famous woman, whose fortunes awaken the deepest interest and also the deepest sympathy, passes out from the realm of this history and she takes her place in the family annals of the noble house of Este. She gained the respect of the court and the admiration of the city, living a quiet, domestic life till her death in 1519. Few mortals have seen transpire before their own eyes and in so short a time so much of dissemblance and crime as she. She was not forty when she died. The old representation, which made her the heroine of the dagger and the poisoned cup and guilty of incest, has given way to the milder judgment of Reumont and Gregorovius, with whom Pastor agrees. While they do not exonerate her from all profligacy, they rescue her from being an abandoned Magdalen, and make appeal to our considerate judgment by showing that she was made by her father an instrument of his ambitions for his family and that at last she exhibited the devotion of a wife and of a mother. Her son, Hercules, who reigned till 1559, was the husband of Renée, the princess who welcomed Calvin and Clement Marot to her court.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  That evening she and Mary walked over the fields to a little town not very far from their billets. They paused for a moment to watch the sunset, and Mary stroked the new Croix de Guerre; then she looked straight up into Stephen’s eyes, her mouth shook, and Stephen saw that she was crying. After this they must walk hand in hand for a while. Why not? There was no one just then to see them. Mary said: ‘All my life I’ve been waiting for something.’ ‘What was it, my dear?’ Stephen asked her gently. And Mary answered: ‘I’ve been waiting for you, and it’s seemed such a dreadful long time, Stephen.’ The barely healed wound across Stephen’s cheek flushed darkly, for what could she find to answer? ‘For me?’ she stammered. Mary nodded gravely: ‘Yes, for you. I’ve always been waiting for you; and after the war you’ll send me away.’ Then she suddenly caught hold of Stephen’s sleeve: ‘Let me come with you—don’t send me away, I want to be near you. . . . I can’t explain . . . but I only want to be near you, Stephen. Stephen—say you won’t send me away. . . .’ Stephen’s hand closed over the Croix de Guerre, but the metal of valour felt cold to her fingers; dead and cold it felt at that moment, as the courage that had set it upon her breast. She stared straight ahead of her into the sunset, trembling because of what she would answer. Then she said very slowly: ‘After the war—no, I won’t send you away from me, Mary.’ CHAPTER 371T he most stupendous and heart-breaking folly of our times drew towards its abrupt conclusion. By November the Unit was stationed at St. Quentin in a little hotel, which although very humble, seemed like paradise after the dug-outs. A morning came when a handful of the members were together in the coffee-room, huddled round a fire that was principally composed of damp brushwood. At one moment the guns could be heard distinctly, the next, something almost unnatural had happened—there was silence, as though death had turned on himself, smiting his own power of destruction. No one spoke, they just sat and stared at each other with faces entirely devoid of emotion; their faces looked blank, like so many masks from which had been sponged every trace of expression—and they waited—listening to that silence. The door opened and in walked an untidy Poilu; his manner was casual, his voice apathetic: ‘Eh bien, mesdames, c’est l’Armistice.’ But his shining brown eyes were not at all apathetic. ‘Oui, c’est l’Armistice,’ he repeated coolly; then he shrugged, as a man might do who would say: ‘What is all this to me?’ After which he grinned broadly in spite of himself, he was still very young, and turning on his heel he departed. Stephen said: ‘So it’s over,’ and she looked at Mary, who had jumped up, and was looking in her turn at Stephen.

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

  They were connected with the Church and were, in part, under the direction of the priesthood, although from some of them, as in Lübeck, priests were distinctly excluded. Like the gilds, their organization was based upon the principle of mutual aid1311 but they emphasized the principle of unselfish sympathy for those in distress. Luther once remarked, there was no chapel and no saint without a brotherhood. In fact, nothing was so sure to make a saint popular as to name a brotherhood after him. By 1450, there was not a mendicant convent in Germany which had not at least one fraternity connected with it. Cities often had a number of these organizations. Wittenberg had 21, Lübeck 70, Frankfurt 31, Hamburg 100. Every reputable citizen in German cities belonged to one or more.1312 Luther belonged to 3 at Erfurt, the brotherhoods of St. Augustine, St. Anna and St. Catherine. The dead, who had belonged to them, had the distinct advantage of being prayed for. Their sick were cared for in hospitals, containing beds endowed by them. Sometimes they incorporated the principle of mutual benefit or assurance societies, and losses sustained by the living they made good. At Paderborn, in case a brother lost his horse, every member contributed one or two shillings or, if he lost his house, his fellow-members contributed three shillings each or a load of lumber. As there were gilds of apprentices as well as of master-workmen, so there were brotherhoods of the poor and humble as well as of those in comfortable circumstances. Even the lepers had fraternities, and one of these clans had fief rights to a spring at Wiesbaden. So also had the beggars and cripples at Zülpich, founded 1454. The entrance fee in the last case was 8 shillings, from which there was a reduction of one-half for widows.1313 In the case of the Italian brotherhoods, it is often difficult to distinguish between a society organized for a benevolent purpose and a society for the cult of some saint. The gilds of Northern Italy, as a rule, laid emphasis upon religious duties such as attendance upon mass, confession of sins and refraining from swearing. The Roman societies had their patron saints,—the blacksmith and workers in gold, St. Eligius, the millers Paulinus of Nola, the barrel-makers St. James, the inn-keepers St. Blasius and St. Julian, the masons St. Gregory the Great, the barbers and physicians St. Cosmas and St. Damian, the painters St. Luke and the apothecaries St. Lawrence. The popes encouraged the confraternities and elevated some of them to the dignity of archfraternities, as St. Saviour in Rome, the first to win this distinction. Florence was also good soil for religious brotherhoods. At the beginning of the 16th century, there were no less than 73 within its bounds, some of them societies of children.1314 Society did not wait for the present age to apply the principle of Christian charity.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  They say all the Irish are poets at heart, so perhaps they pass on the gift to their horses.’ Then the two of them smiled, each a little embarrassed, but their eyes held great friendship the one for the other, a friendship of years now cemented by Raftery whom they loved—and small wonder, for assuredly never did more gallant or courteous horse step out of stable. ‘Oh, well,’ sighed Williams, ‘I be gettin’ that old—and Raftery, ’e do be comin’ eleven, but ’e don’t feel it yet in ’is limbs the way I does—me rheumatics ’as troubled me awful this winter.’ She stayed on a little while, comforting Williams, then made her way back to the house, very slowly. ‘Poor Williams,’ she thought, ‘he is getting old, but thank the Lord nothing’s the matter with Raftery.’ The house lay full in a great slant of sunshine; it looked as though it was sunning its shoulders. Glancing up, she came eye to eye with the house, and she fancied that Morton was thinking about her, for its windows seemed to be beckoning, inviting: ‘Come home, come home, come inside quickly, Stephen!’ And as though they had spoken, she answered: ‘I’m coming,’ and she quickened her lagging steps to a run, in response to this most compassionate kindness. Yes, she actually ran through the heavy white doorway under the semi-circular fanlight, and on up the staircase that led from the hall in which hung the funny old portraits of Gordons—men long dead and gone but still wonderfully living, since their thoughts had fashioned the comeliness of Morton; since their loves had made children from father to son—from father to son until the advent of Stephen. 2 That evening she went to her father’s study, and when he looked up she thought she was expected. She said: ‘I want to talk to you, Father.’ And he answered: ‘I know—sit close to me, Stephen.’ He shaded his face with his long, thin hand, so that she could not see his expression, yet it seemed to her that he knew quite well why she had come to him in that study. Then she told him about Martin, told him all that had happened, omitting no detail, sparing him nothing. She openly mourned the friend who had failed her, and herself she mourned for failing the lover—and Sir Philip listened in absolute silence. After she had spoken for quite a long time, she at length found the courage to ask her question: ‘Is there anything strange about me, Father, that I should have felt as I did about Martin?’ It had come. It fell on his heart like a blow.

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

  In 838 Louis the Pious appointed him abbot of Reichenau, but two years later Louis the German drove him from his post and he went to Spires, where he lived until 842, when the same Louis restored him to his abbotship, probably at the solicitation of Grimald, his chancellor.1280 In 849 he went over to France on a diplomatic mission from Louis the German to Charles the Bald, but died on August 18th of that year while crossing the Loire, and was buried at Reichenau.1281 Walahfrid was a very amiable, genial and witty man, possessed remarkable attainments in both ecclesiastical and classical literature, and was moreover a poet with a dash of genius, and in this latter respect is a contrast to the merely mechanical versifiers of the period. He began writing poetry while a mere boy, and in the course of his comparatively brief life produced many poems, several of them of considerable length. His Writings embrace 1. Expository Works. 1. Glosses,1282 i.e., brief notes upon the entire Latin Bible, including the Apocrypha; a very meritorious compilation, made especially from Augustin, Gregory the Great, Isidore of Seville, and Bede, with very many original remarks. This work was for five hundred years honored by the widest use in the West. Peter Lombard quotes it as "the authority" without further designation; and by many its notes have been given equal weight with the Bible text they accompany. It was one of the earliest printed works, notwithstanding its extent.1283 2. Exposition of the first twenty Psalms,1284 rather allegorical than really explanatory. 3. Epitome of Rabanus Maurus’ Commentary on Leviticus.1285 This work is an indication of Walahfrid’s reverence for his great teacher. 4. Exposition of the Four Evangelists.1286 It was formerly printed among the works of Jerome. The notes are brief and designed to bring out the "inner sense." 5. The beginnings and growth of the divine offices.1287 This valuable and original work upon the archeology of the liturgy was written about 840 at the request of Reginbert, the learned librarian of the abbey of Reichenau, who desired more accurate information upon the origin of the different parts of the liturgy. The supplementary character of the work explains its lack of system. Walahfrid treats in disconnected chapters of temples and altars; bells; the derivation of several words for holy places; the use of "pictures," as ornaments and aids to devotion, but not as objects of worship; the things fitting divine worship; "the sacrifices of the New Testament" (in this chap., No. XVI., he dissents from the transubstantiation theory of Radbertus, saying, Christ "after the Paschal supper gave to his disciples the sacrament of his body and blood in the substance of the bread and wine and taught them to celebrate [the sacrament] in memory of his passion"1288); then follow a number of chapters upon the Eucharist; sacred vestments;

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

  Leipzig, 1877, 1878; Theod. Zahn: Sklaverei und Christenthum In Der Alten Welt. Heidelberg, 1879. Overbeck: Verh. d. alten Kirche zur Sclaverei im röm. Reiche. 1875. Heathenism had no conception of the general and natural rights of men. The ancient republics consisted in the exclusive dominion of a minority over an oppressed majority. The Greeks and Romans regarded only the free, i.e. the free-born rich and independent citizens as men in the full sense of the term, and denied this privilege to the foreigners, the laborers, the poor, and the slaves. They claimed the natural right to make war upon all foreign nations, without distinction of race, in order to subject them to their iron rule. Even with Cicero the foreigner and the enemy are synonymous terms. The barbarians were taken in thousands by the chance of war (above 100,000 in the Jewish war alone) and sold as cheap as horses. Besides, an active slave-trade was carried on in the Euxine, the eastern provinces, the coast of Africa, and Britain. The greater part of mankind in the old Roman empire was reduced to a hopeless state of slavery, and to a half brutish level. And this evil of slavery was so thoroughly interwoven with the entire domestic and public life of the heathen world, and so deliberately regarded, even by the greatest philosophers, Aristotle for instance, as natural and indispensable, that the abolition of it, even if desirable, seemed to belong among the impossible things. Yet from the outset Christianity has labored for this end; not by impairing the right of property, not by outward violence, nor sudden revolution; this, under the circumstances, would only have made the evil worse; but by its moral power, by preaching the divine descent and original unity of all men, their common redemption through Christ, the duty of brotherly love, and the true freedom of the spirit. It placed slaves and masters on the same footing of dependence on God and of freedom in God, the Father, Redeemer, and Judge of both. It conferred inward freedom even under outward bondage, and taught obedience to God and for the sake of God, even in the enjoyment of outward freedom. This moral and religious freedom must lead at last to the personal and civil liberty of the individual. Christianity redeems not only the soul but the body also, and the process of regeneration will end in the resurrection and glorification of the entire natural world. In the period before us, however, the abolition of slavery, save isolated cases of manumission, was utterly out of question, considering only the enormous number of the slaves. The world was far from ripe for such a step. The church, in her persecuted condition, had as yet no influence at all over the machinery of the state and the civil legislation.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Abbot, on hearing his fine, precise way of talking and observing his manners more closely, judged him to be a gentleman despite the lowly nature of his past occupation, and became even more enraptured with him. Being filled with compassion by the tale of Alessandro’s misfortunes, he began to console him in tones of deep affection, telling him not to lose hope; for if he kept his courage, God would not only restore him to the position from which he had been toppled by Fortune, but set him even higher. The Abbot then said that he too was making for Tuscany, and invited Alessandro to join his party. Alessandro thanked him for his kind words, and declared his readiness to do whatever he was asked. So the Abbot rode on, becoming more and more fascinated by what he saw of Alessandro. And after a few days, they arrived at a small town, not very richly endowed with inns, where the Abbot wished to put up for the night. Alessandro persuaded the Abbot to dismount at a place run by a very good friend of his, and saw that he was given a room in the most comfortable part of the house. By this time, Alessandro, being a very experienced traveller, had become a sort of major-domo to the Abbot, and he searched high and low to find accommodation in the town for the whole of the Abbot’s retinue, lodging some in one place, some in another. By the time he returned to the inn, the Abbot had supped, the hour was very late, and everyone had gone off to bed. He asked the landlord where he could sleep, and the landlord replied: ‘I really don’t know. As you can see, the place is completely full, and my family and I are having to sleep on benches. But in the Abbot’s room there are some cupboards for storing grain. If you like, I’ll show you where they are and fix you up some sort of bed in there to sleep the night on as best you can.’ ‘How am I to squeeze into the Abbot’s room?’ said Alessandro. ‘You know how tiny it is. There wasn’t even any space in there for a single one of his monks to lie on the floor. If only I had noticed those cupboards when the Abbot’s bed-curtains were drawn! His monks could have slept in those, and I could have lodged where the monks are staying.’ ‘Well, that’s how matters stand,’ said the landlord. ‘Once you resign yourself to it, you’ll sleep like a top in there. The Abbot is asleep, and the curtains are drawn in front of his bed. I’ll slip in quietly, and put down a nice mattress for you to sleep on.’ When he saw that it could all be arranged without disturbing the Abbot, Alessandro fell in with the scheme, and, making as little noise as possible, he bedded down where the landlord had suggested.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  There were flowers in the quiet old garden for instance, and some large red carp in the fountain’s basin, and two married couples of white fantail pigeons who lived in a house on a tall wooden leg and kept up a convivial cooing. These pigeons lacked all respect for Stephen; by August they were flying in at her window and landing with soft, heavy thuds on her desk where they strutted until she fed them with maize. And because they were Mary’s and Mary loved them, Stephen would laugh, as unruffled as they were, and would patiently coax them back into the garden with bribes for their plump little circular crops. In the turret room that had been Puddle’s sanctum, there were now three cagefuls of Mary’s rescues—tiny bright coloured birds with dejected plumage, and eyes that had filmed from a lack of sunshine. Mary was always bringing them home from the terrible bird shops along the river, for her love of such helpless and suffering things was so great that she in her turn must suffer. An ill-treated creature would haunt her for days, so that Stephen would often exclaim half in earnest: ‘Go and buy up all the animal shops in Paris . . . anything, darling, only don’t look unhappy!’ The tiny bright coloured birds would revive to some extent, thanks to Mary’s skilled treatment; but since she always bought the most ailing, not a few of them left this disheartening world for what we must hope was a warm, wild heaven—there were several small graves already in the garden. Then one morning, when Mary went out alone because Stephen had letters to write to Morton, she chanced on yet one more desolate creature who followed her home to the Rue Jacob, and right into Stephen’s immaculate study. It was large, ungainly and appallingly thin; it was coated with mud which had dried on its nose, its back, its legs and all over its stomach. Its paws were heavy, its ears were long, and its tail, like the tail of a rat, looked hairless, but curved up to a point in a miniature sickle. Its face was as smooth as though made out of plush, and its luminous eyes were the colour of amber. Mary said: ‘Oh, Stephen—he wanted to come.