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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

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Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

#sansa stark #jonsa #eugénie grandet #honoré de balzac

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

I Do...I Guess (2)

Mushroom Rock

Ao3 | FF.net

The chocobo eater was a great team building exercise, though Yuna’s new Aeon did a lot of the leg work.

What was the name again? Ifeert? Oh well, Hot Dog it would be to Tidus.

Zanarkand was really missing out on those Chocobos though. They were fun to ride, and pretty easy to handle...though they were a little smelly.

Of course, Tidus tried to imagine riding one around back home, among the motorcycles and the cars...and thought that maybe the chocobos were fine here in Spira.

The birds allowed for much quicker travel of the High Road, and they made it to the crusaders blockade before lunch.

“A blockade?” Wakka wondered aloud. “But how else are we supposed to get to Djose?”

“I’m sorry folks,” one of the nearby crusaders explained. “The road will be closed off during our operation. We’re very sorry for the inconvenience.”

“We have to get through,” argued Lulu. “This is Summoner Yuna, and you are hindering her pilgrimage.”

“I’m sorry. Summoner or not, I have strict orders not to let anyone pass.”

It was then that Wakka made the startling discovery. “Hey, there’s Al Bhed here.”

“The Al Bhed and the Crusaders are teaming up?” Asked Yuna.

Wakka frowned. “What kind of operation needs the Al Bhed a part of it?”

“I find myself asking the same question.” A wispy voice interrupted.

The party turned to see Maester Seymour joining the fray. He seemed none too bothered by the presence of those so-called heathens.

He almost looked excited.

“Lady Yuna? Is there something the matter?”

Tidus felt an uncomfortable crawling sensation in his veins. This blue haired clown really made his skin crawl. Jealousy, the others might say. But no, he could read those sleazy bedroom eyes from a mile away.

How old was this dude anyway? Should he be allowed to look at Yuna like that?

Why did he care? He wondered. He was a guardian now, so obviously he was watching out for her.

And a pending marriage proposal, his subconscious reminded him politely. He had managed to forget about that all morning.

“We need to get through to continue my pilgrimage,” Yuna said simply.

Tidus really admired that she didn’t try any persuasion at that moment. No beating her enchanting mismatched eyes, or pitching her voice up like so many girls had done to him.

She didn’t even say please.

“I’ll take care of it.” Seymour smiled.

Tidus mimed a gagging motion at Kimahri, but the joke was wasted on the stoic ronso.

Miraculously, Seymour did take care of it. They were waved on almost immediately, much to the chagrin of Dona, who was asked to stay back.

They were prompted forward, down the Mushroom Rock trail, to the beach and the command post, where everything was going down.

The Mi’ihen Highroad was lush with greens. A perfect day with ideal blue skies, with happy chocobos fluttering around.

But the closer they got to the operation, the grayer the sky, the drier the ground, and the more fierce the fiends.

Yuna shivered slightly as they entered a valley.

“You okay, Yuna?” Tidus asked.

“Oh, yes. Just got a chill up my spine.” She came a little closer to him and admitted. “I don’t know why, but I got a sense of dread all of a sudden.”

“What’s the operation all about, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. But I suppose we’ll find out more when we reach the command post.”

They found out plenty when they crested the hill and found a half a dozen machina canons all lined up and pointed out to sea.

The horror on his teammates faces proved that whatever was going on was likely very heretical.

“What are all these Machina doing here?” Asked Wakka.

A crusader answered. “We Crusaders and Al Bhed share the same dream. To be rid of Sin forever! And if we can take the burden away from the summoners, we’re going to try!”

It was a noble cause, Tidus thought. He had seen the devastation that Sin was capable of. Were these little canons good enough?”

They were explained the situation. A huge canon sat on the cliff side, easily big enough to wipe out a city if they weren’t careful. And there was an army on the beach, ready to fight and distract with swords.

He hoped this would all work, maybe then Yuna could stop her journey.

Maybe Sin would come to shore and he would go home, and then he wouldn’t have to come up with an answer for Yuna’s marriage proposal.

He felt like maybe all these things were unlikely, and that only the worst was to come.

The army was still preparing, and there was no sign of Sin, though the bait was set and waiting.

Tidus spotted a familiar merchant standing back, behind the cliff wall.

“O’aka, right?”

“Ah, so my name is catching on, eh?”

“Well...maybe. We rode in the boat over from Kilika, remember?”

“Oh yes. I never forget a face! You lent me a pretty penny, and for that, I’m grateful. Are you after anything? I have a special rate because of the operation.”

“Do you...have any rings?”

“Rings? Ah yes, all sorts of magic wards. And they’re pretty too!”

Tidus had been given an allowance for such an occasion.

O’aka displayed his tray of jewelry, with about a dozen different choices on it. Golds and silvers, with all sorts of jewels.

“What about this one?” He pointed to a silver and blue one, with a very intricate design.

“Excellent choice! A real heavy hitter! Stone, water, fire, and lightning proof, and it's blessed!”

“How much?”

“For you my friend, only 9999!”

Tidus opened and closed his mouth in shock. “Uhhh...”

“What are you doing?” Auron asked, coming up behind him.

He yelped in surprise, and then tried to school his expression into something that didn’t look like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uhh...just looking at rings.”

“For Yuna?”

O’aka’s eyes widened. “For Lady Summoner Yuna? My my, how interesting!”

“Mind your own business!” Tidus scolded with a blush.

“So you decided to say yes?” Auron asked.

“Not...completely. I’m still thinking things through...I just want to be prepared. You know? I thought, maybe having it would help me think.”

“A wise decision.” Auron took out a sack of Gil and handed it to O’aka, then took the ring, and a thicker, plainer band. “You get one too.”

“Oh. Right.” For now, Tidus just pocketed them, and decided to concentrate on the mission.

A mission that was doomed to fail, according to Maester Seymour and Kinoc.

“Let them keep dreaming.” They said. It was almost an admission to a genocide.

Everybody here, crusaders, Al Bhed, and a few Yevonites, they were all fighting for peace. For calm.

And yet, these ‘Holy Men’ had laughed behind their backs.

Tidus had nothing against the temples. Faith and prayer were vital in keeping hope in such a dismal world. But these Maesters smelled heavily of nepotism and flagrant thirst for power.

In Zanarkand, such men would find places of power. In government, in business, on boards and councils. But of the religions back home, he thought of them as pious and self sacrificing.

Not whatever these two men were.

How many others were like this? How many others were willing to sacrifice people?

Why wasn’t anyone speaking up?

They shouldn’t have come. They should have stayed at the blockade, or gone back to stay another night at the Travel Agency.

But no. Now Tidus was in the water, rapidly chasing down his old man. The beach was littered with bodies and shrapnel of destroyed Machina. The operation had failed catastrophically, and yet, all he could do was swim on, chasing.

He wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by.

But Sin was gone. Just as Jecht had vanished from his life, so had the beast once again. Giving no answers, leaving more questions, and leaving oblivion it's wake.

How long had he been passed out for? Minutes? Hours? He wasn’t sure. The wet sand pressed against his back as he washed ashore. All his chasing and he was back.

“There you are! You good, brudda?” Wakka hurried to him and pulled him to his feet.

“Yeah. Just...I just fell.”

And he had. He had been up top fighting that Sinspawn before he fell below. So it wasn’t a complete lie. He just didn’t want to explain to Wakka that he had tried to chase down the biggest menace on Spira because of a childhood grudge.

“Where’s Yuna?” He asked instead.

“Talking to Maester Seymour.” He pointed up towards the ridge. Yuna stood there, head bowed as Maester Seymour stood too close, speaking to her.

“I gotta go.”

“I don’t know man, seems like a private conversation.”

“Like I care!” Tidus staggered to his feet and hurried over to her. He stood below the ridge, just out of sight, but not out of earshot.

“…so you mustn’t cry.” Seymour preached. “You must be a beacon of light to Spira, you must be strong for these survivors.”

“I know,” Yuna said, in a tender voice. “But some of these people were my friends, and I want to grieve their loss.”

“Yuna, being a summoner means removing your emotions from those around you. You can care, but not too much. You know that, right?”

Tidus wanted to grab that cretin by the robes and push him into the sea. Maybe Sin would come back and swallow him. Was that too much to ask?

“I understand. Thank you, Maester Seymour.”

The man patted her head, like she was a dog, and moved on.

Yuna stood there for a moment, just staring at the ground.

“Yuna?” Tidus spoke behind her.

She turned, and saw him just below her on the ridge. She nodded with resolve and sat down on the edge. “Will you help me down?”

He held his arms up for her, and she took hold of his shoulders. She slid down, to stand with him, keeping her eyes locked with his. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. You okay?”

She just nodded. Then added, “I have a sending to do.”

So he let her go, and watched as she began her dance.

A dance devoid of joy, of fun, of merriment. It was still graceful, and haunting, but the tightness in her face contrasted with the fluid movement in her body.

Sobs and wailing filled the air, as survivors of the massacre witnessed their friends and family rise as Pyreflies into the air.

If it was up to him, she’d stop dancing. So she could stop hiding her sorrows.

Her strength did amaze him, though. He watched as she danced up and down that beach, long after the sun had set. She wouldn’t allow one soul to not be sent. They already suffered, they didn’t need to remain as fiends.

Long after Seymour and Kinoc left, long after the other guardians set up camp, Tidus still followed Yuna down the beach. All the way to the other end, before she collapsed in exhaustion.

“Yuna?” He asked softly.

“I just need a moment,” she breathed.

She sprawled out on the sand, and Tidus wondered if she cared about it getting in her hair.

She looked exhausted. Her lips pulled into a tight line, and her eyes were shut hard.

“Why did this have to happen?” She asked aloud, mostly hypothetical, but loud enough for him to hear.

“Because people were sick of Sin. And death was a better alternative to sitting and twiddling their thumbs.”

She sighed. “My mind knows that, but my heart...”

He sat in the sand beside her, just a hands length away. “You know, it’s okay to cry.”

She shook her head.

“Even I let out a few tears back there, and most of these people were complete strangers. You knew some of them.”

“I have to be strong. Summoners are a pillar of strength to the people of Spira.”

“So I heard,” he shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t ever cry.”

“I don’t want to.” She protested. “I want my journey to be full of laughter, and you’ve been so good about helping with that. Don’t tell me to cry.”

“Fine. I’m not going to make you cry. Just...sometimes, being happy isn’t possible. Then it’s the best to just be less sad.”

Yuna turned to look at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Maybe I don’t know anything about Yevon, or hardly anything about life. But I think grief is when you love too much, and you can’t give it. I think if I saw a summoner cry from loss, I would feel better. My future, my world, is in the hands of someone who loves.”

Yuna hummed softly, garnering his attention. She had streaks on her cheeks, but he politely chose not to mention it. “What happened here was a tragedy, but for a moment, everyone was United and working together, and I thought it was really beautiful. So maybe it was bad...but not all bad.”

“Feel better?”

“Yeah...not happy, but less sad.” She sat up, dusting the sand from her clothes. She admired the stars above and the crashing of waves before pushing to stand. “We should get back soon, before they worry.”

“We will,” Tidus assured. “But I want to ask you something first.”

“Alright?”

With resolve he hadn’t felt in a while, he took the ring out of his pocket, and got down on one knee. “You know, it might feel like weird timing, but I want to help.”

“Tidus?”

He held the ring up to her. “Yuna, will you marry me?”

She just stared at him for a long time.

“I know you asked me, but back home, it’s kind of tradition for the guy to ask. Hope you don’t mind?”

“So...you’re accepting my proposal?”

“Only if you accept mine.”

She laughed, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. “Alright. I accept!”

He smiled too, and pushed to his feet. Then he held out for her hand and slipped the ring on for her.

“I never thought I’d propose to a girl I wasn’t dating.” He joked.

“Already getting cold feet?”

He shook his head, before gathering her into a hug.

Yuna was startled for only a moment, before snuggling into his arms.

“Whatever you need, you come to me, okay?” He asked. “If you need to laugh, or cry, or a hug. I’m your man.”

Yuna smiled into the embrace. “Yes, you are my man.”

#Final Fantasy #Final Fantasy X #FFX #tidus x yuna #tidus #final fantasy tidus #yuna #I Do...I guess?#Fanfiction

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freewilllife · 3 years

Text

I just recalled something. Soo-won and Kusanagi Mizuho share the same birthday. I understand its a silly line of thought, but maybe— just maybe, she treasures Soo-won more than the manga lets on at the moment.

So maybe Soo-won isn’t just there to make Yona look good. Maybe, he’ll be more than just a wall for Yona to scale and say END GAME. I mean come on, you don’t put so much thought into an individual, just to make him a ladder for a not-so-impressive male lead and ridiculously divine protagonist.

Yeah, it’s a shoujo manga. But what message will that give? There is no significance in the determination and perseverance of someone who worked with and against unfavorable odds?

Yeah I’ll give credit to the - she has four dragons and still chooses to stand on her own feet rather than be depressingly retarded to the point it takes 100 chapters of who’s my fated partner?

But still, its going to take a lot more than reckless actions and frightening luck to beat the former.

Does that make sense? Or is it just my obsession talking?

Anyway, what do you think?

Hi @under-my-pillow,

I apologize for the long rambling. But I ended up writing way more than I have actually intended….

I do think the problem with Soo Won is that he is a really strong antagonist…

This might be troubling for Kusanagi-sensei…since I agree…she put so much blood and soul into him that he became one of the brightest figures inside of the manga…

Soo Won has a few advantages that Yona doesn´t have…

1. He was given a background that leads us to believe his actions as a king, while Yona was supposed to be held naive and was supposed to have not learnt as much as Soo Won regarding many topics that would benefit a ruler…

2. Soo Won is actually seen to fail …like in Xing, where he had to agree with Yona

3. He has to use his head to actually gain, what he wishes for…For example he threatened the Wind Tribe by blocking the river, when Mundoek refused at first…Soo Won can only use “earthly measures to get what he wants”…and he gets his hands dirty…

4. Soo Won suffers the consequences of his actions…He has lost his friends, the love of his mother…We can see that Kouren is reminded of his father…We see that Ogi helps both Yona and Hak…ect…

5. If Soo Won threats or stares people down it makes more sense than in Yona´s case, since she has hardly anything during this times to back her words...She is often alone and not with the dragon warriors then and sorry…Yona alone can hardly harm a group of people…Soo Won as the king can..like it is demonstrated in Li Hazara´s case for example.

6. Least but not last…Soo Won has a plan..a concrete aim…We know now, what he wishes to acquire..and it is indeed a rather noble goal…He wishes to protect the country…yet…Yona wishes to protect people…but not just her own, but also others…it rather sounds like a nice dream…but can she make it come true? She has hardly done anything to make it come true…So in my eyes it is like “building castles in the sky”.

Both Yona and Soo Won show charisma, but I do think given the points above it is often more believable in Soo Won´s case.

To sum it up…that is surely a problem…(if the antagonist has a stronger agenda than the main character )…so my impression was that she was intending to keep him away for a while, because of this. (However with the upcoming war…Soo Won has to be in charge once again…)

Kusanagi-sensei can create believable characters, but she has refused for a while to make more out of Yona´s character. At one point in time…Yona stopped developing…She talks big, but doesn´t show the “oh so needed character development”…

Apart from Yona´s character that I don´t understand anymore…

There is also a line between the “objective facts” and “Yona´s perception”

Objectively the following things happened in the flashback…

1. Il and Yu hon were pretty different brothers.

Il was ridiculed, while Yu hon was admired.

Both were unhappy about it.

Yu hon felt alone, King Il was very pious.

Yu hon loved his little brother Il, but is unable to communicate that.

2. Yu hon met Yon hi and married her because he thougth he could trust her

3. Yon hi is a descendant of Hiryuu and Yu hon promised to never let the secret slip…

4. The priests found it out and still approached the descendants.

King Il became jealous.

5. Expulsion and murder of the priests.

(Though it appears that Ik soo and Kashi did survive) and Il most likely rescued Kashi…

(Did he also rescue Ik soo? Likely, but unproven).

Yu hon was not able to destroy the mausoleum…Zeno has never bothered to explain the reason...

6. Soo Won was born and his uncle hated him, since he believed that the boy would kill him one day. He did not see the loveliness of the child.

7. Yon hi met Kashi again, remindind her of her existence. King Il married Kashi and they both had Yona like she had prophecied previously.).

Kashi believed that King Il only married her due to “having the reincarnation of King Hiryuu”.

8. The Xing War happened and Yu hon beheaded the prisoners. Soo Won is two years old.

9, Soo Won felt attracted to Yona, especially her red hair and wished to see her (Sorry I was reminded of Furuba and the zodiacs meeting “their god”)

10 King Junam died and appointed King Il his successor.

Yu hon accepted his fate and decided to support his younger brother.

11 Yon hi suffered from headaches. Yona, Hak and Soo Won met for the first time for real...

previously…Yona had been a baby.

Kashi and Yon hi talked to each other. Kashi told some things…while refusing to talk about others…like that King I became solely king because of Yona.

(King Il admitted this in his letter later).

From this point on Soo Won was allowed to see Yona.

12 Yon hi became awfully ill and Kashi went to meet her for a dubious reason, even though she did not bring Yona like promised.

13. Kashi was killed.

Soo Won started to care for Yona.

Hak, Yona and Soo Won became friends. Here them being sick happened, where Mundoek, Yu hon and Il visit them.

14. Hak and Soo Won cemented their friendship by rescuing Yona.

15. Yu hon was killed, since King Il believed that his brother had killed his spouse.

>However, he does never bother to tell, why he believed it to be the case.

>They end up talking about their different point of views.

>King Il honestly talked nearly entirely about Yona being the reincarnation and refered to his spouse as “mother of King Hiryuu”..

>It is revealed that King Il believed that Yu hon would look down on other people, while Yu hon offered him his service for life

16.Keishuk watched the event and told it later the followers of Yu hon. They nearly killed him, but a calm and collected Soo Won was able to prevent his.

17. Soo Won became the successor of his father.

He prevented that the followers of Yu hon took revenge immediately.

Soo Won wished to see if King Il would be a good king.

His mother interpreted his words that he wished to kill King Il.

18. Yo hi started to despise her son and sent her diary with the information to the murderer of her husband.

She does not know why exactly she was doing it.

19. King Il did not wish to speak with Soo Won and decided to play martyr without trying to rescue his life.

However he recruted Hak in order to protect Yona.

Yona was growing up in a golden cage.

She did not know any other people her age apart from Tae Jun, Hak and Soo Won.

Her father also did hardly let her learn anything senseful for a ruler.

20. King Il became exactly the bad king like his brother feared him to be…and he was killed by Soo Won.

KIng Il tells us in his letter that he believed that Soo Won would kill Yona

However, he told Soo Won that Yona was the reincarnation (It could also be that he told him that she would kill him)…

Yona´s point of view…however is a lil different she believes:

1. Yu hon really killed her mother (We have no proof) that was the reason King Il killed his brother.

2, She felt compassion for Keishuk, because she knew that he had lost a person ( = Yu hon) who is by the way…Soo Won´s father.

3. She lacks the same sentiment for Soo Won…although…

a) He had become an orphan at age 9-10 thanks to her father

b) Her father hated his nephew, for a deed he had yet to commit

c) His mother despised him, even though his feelings of hate were a pretty normal reaction. Yon hi put Yona before her own son who would soon become an orphan.

d) He had given King Il 10 more years. His followers would have killed him asap.

e) He even gave King Il a chance…a thing her father did not grant his brother..

f) The main reason for committing the deed was in fact in order to correct the mistakes of her father…

Yona blatantly refuses to see that Soo Won was only a victim of circumstances…In a way…we are supposed to believe that Soo Won is an unloving person that wished for Yona´s death? Honestly?

That can just be a a Red Herring since it would pretty much contradict Soo Won´s character in the manga so far.

Not only this…Having Yona succeed without really learning something,

a) would pretty much give King Il right…

b) That would mean then…that all the misery of the people the last 10 years would be justified…

c) the horrible treatment of the dragon warriors

d) the cruel soon death of the descendants

Pretty much all of Soo Won´s achievements would be in vain, since Yona would have been able to do the same thing…That would mean that people = human beings are ultimatively dependent on the gods and are merely their puppets….since only a former god could lead the kingdom

Because then would be all fate and you cannot succeed without being the reincarnation of a god…Since Yona lives merely for a couple of years…then what?…Do the people have to suffer for another 2000 years?

The message would be pretty toxic and I do believe that every editor would have stopped Kusanagi-sensei if this kind of story would have been intended…

So all I can believe is, if this story is not supposed to end as horribly as “Games of Thrones” or “Voltron, that the current development is partially a Red Herring…misleading us to believe that everything was fate…

And Soo Won who literally has a very powerful message:”to use the power of the people”…to enable them to take their life in their own hands…cannot be completely wrong without literally taking every agency from every character and hence destroy the story.

That is at least my opinion!

#akatsuki no yona #under-my-pillow #soo won #su won #yona #submission

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lady-plantagenet · 3 years

Note

Tumblr History Ask meme, No. 30! (An AU where George was never executed but Edward IV still dies at 40, and his sons both die of the plague or sweating sickness, leaving GEORGE to be King of England! what think you? 😆)

Hohoho ho. I have a lot of thoughts on this. Hell I even wrote an entire fictional AU series on AO3 on this topic - you can find it here (please R&R I’m desperate). So yes sorry for the late reply and I really hope you enjoy my usual bursting out in an essay (as per usual). Mwah x

Without speaking about it anymore and spoiling I’ll just answer your ask straight. Ok so George becomes king. Princes dead or not this may still cause issues because technically speaking Elizabeth of York has a stronger claim to the throne (Edward IV recognised the same in 1469 and before presenting her as his true heir presumptive not George).

While on a practical level George would easily be able to hold the throne against Elizabeth of York (who on her own did not command enough support to overthrow Richard III despite the illegitimacy rumours not really being considered as true by most), if Elizabeth married and got a son it would wreak havoc. Everytime King George fails in any way people will look at Elizabeth’s son as an alternative. Sure he could pull a King John I and keep her unmarried under house arrest until the end of her days (what happened to his niece Eleanor of Brittany) but how will he manage to do this will all 5 sisters?

There are many things to consider, for one, George was popular in London and if there was an outspread plague and he gave the princes a state burial I really think people could believe him that they were not murdered. Not to mention under these circumstances, Richard III would be the protector so the blame would fall on him anyway - pretty excellent for George id say. Hell he could even use the kid’s death as some sort of God’s divine judgment propaganda against his brother’s reign. He would need to continue denigrating Edward because his daughters (as explained above) will continue to be an issue. He would most likely continue with the ‘Edward IV was a bastard’ rumour. Otherwise, George could use the ‘by law I’m Lancaster’s heir’ as some sort of further support his reign and why he can overreach his nieces and their sons.

Another question remains ~ is Isabel dead or not? Assuming you mean this is 1483 and she dies, I am certain George would get remarried once he becomes king because while his part in the Mary of Burgundy marriage shamaz remains unclear I think what it shows is that he was more likely than not to want to remarry. This need would further increase if he became king because two young children (only one of which is a boy) is no secure line of succession. George took no decisive steps to get married to Mary upon his brother’s refusal (eg scheming for a dispensation or trying to go abroad) so I will assume that in this timeline George remains unmarried until 1483 and Mary dies in 1482 as canon. Mary (and his sister Margaret behind her) would have gained him great support in keeping the throne, England and Burgundy would have pretty much united (if Edward of Warwick died prematurely and George and Mary’s son became the next king) and England may have become the dominating European power as opposed to the Habsburg empire.

However since Mary is out of question, I can’t think of some other foreign Princess at that time that would have brought with her considerable power. George seems to have had no wish to war with France so that’s nice. I can’t say that Louis XI had great admiration for him but his place in the Picquiny committee (one of the four) implies that France trusted that he would keep the peace. George (mostly because of Warwick) was hated in Burgundy but Margaret clearly would have guided Maximilian (Mary’s real husband who took up control after she died) towards good relations with England and given Maximilian’s support of the York Pretenders in Henry VII’s reign I think he was the type of man who had no strong opinions towards any individual in England so would have been fine with it.

Anything else is difficult to say. George was described by Hicks (who is very very un-pop-history in his biography/PhD thesis of George) as a man ultimately unsuited to his role because of his temperament. His actions even before Isabel’s death do suggest something like that but the way he was after her death (Dec 1476 - May/June 1477) was just so uncharacteristically erratic and one-after-another that many people (including me) think it was him becoming unstabilised by his wife’s death as opposed to a reflection of his general fortitude and decision-making capabilities. So I ask: was it a phase he would have gotten out of by 1483 or was he permanently going to stay this way even if he did get remarried? I don’t think he was mad - certainly not, but a bit perturbed definitely and I don’t know how it would affect some aspects of his reign eg being merciful, pardoning people who’ve done him wrong, giving patronage of influence to his ministers... etc. However, if he did get out of this phase (or at least calmed down a bit by 1483) I think he could have genuinely been a good king. His role as a regional magnate shows him as generous, pious, eloquent, handsome, popular, refined, extremely knowledgeable of the law and good at peace-weaving. On a downside he also seemed inflexible in his approach, disproportionately harsh on certain penalties (eg Poaching), quick to act in certain aspects yet full of procrastinative habits in others, prideful, vengeful, susceptible to flattery, suspicious and with something suggestive of an overly superstitious personality.

Nevertheless, it is one thing to be a baron and another thing to be king. George had become quite detached from the national stage (let alone the international) towards the end of his life so he would have a lot of catching up to do. And as always is the issue with a king coming from the nobility and not the crown directly, there may be factional issues and the Neville affinity might expect certain favours and privelages from him especially since his heir Edward comes from their line. As we know, Neville support for George waned after Isabel’s death but the few that remained would expect great favour from him - this being at odds with those who were in power during Edward IV’s reign eg William Hastings, Anthony Woodville etc. After all, they really saw him as their earl (Rous speaks of him in the same terms as he spoke of his predecessors the Beauchamps).

George would inherit a country full of administrative issues and as much as I believe he was genuinely concerned with ‘the common weale’ and deserved all the praise given to him by his contemporaries, I see him falling into the same trap as Edward IV. Circumstances would likely force him to strengthen the crown’s authority and people would call him a hypocrite for this. Otherwise, he would let himself become a small centre around which others revolve but I don’t know if his pride would allow that either. Nevertheless, I think he would lead England into the ‘renaissance’ culturally. He would continue patronising the printing press, continue with the previous monarchs’ cultural endowments of colleges, churches and such (as he had done in his own lands), he would also share in Edward’s popularity with the city and trade (he gave great privileges to his burgesses says Rous, his permanent retinue had burgesses in them and many other stuff point to him respecting the place of trade) - though he wouldn’t engage in them because (as according to Hicks and others) he didn’t have a good business sense. This could go at odds against him most likely attempting to retain military retention privelages to the barons which in itself was a factor which worked against the development of a early modern state. This is the odd thing about George, in some ways he appears beyond his time and in other behind his time. All we can hope is that Warwick had tried to cultivate him a bit in national leadership and that it stayed with him.

Will he reign peacefully or get deposed? It could go either way but I am certain his reign would be filled with problems. If he gets his own Bosworth (with his niece’s sons or Henry Tudor) I think he would get romanticised as the last Plantagenet king in case of the latter because unlike Richard III he wouldn’t have nephew killing as his issue. A saving grace of George was that he was a master propagandist so I have bit of faith in his posterity and image and I think it could have made his reign flow more smoothly to a degree.

#george of clarence #don’t be shy anon #🍷❤️#lady plantagenet’s assizes #george plantagenet #george duke of clarence #the wars of the roses #the white queen

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timeforelfnonsense · 3 years

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Between Heaven & Hell

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M (no spice but its mentioned)

Ao3

Inaleth Sweet is a D&D oc belonging to one of my dear friends @ladyofthelatke from one of our old games. We were talking about Dafni liking romance novels and realized she'd be a fan of Inaleth. A fun little easter egg! The name of Dafni's book was also brainstormed by our D&D party! I don't know that I love the ending but meh!

Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series

Downtime for Dafni had become rare and fleeting in the past few days. Not that she mined being busy! She’d never been much good at sitting still. Her mind moved from thought to thought as quick as a hummingbird’s wing. A life of adventure rather agreed with her breezy disposition, that was a silver lining among the mess at least. But she found herself road-weary and overextended. Perhaps it was the tadpole or the fact she’d been in more battles in two days than she had in the last year. She couldn’t be sure. Either way, a little idle time would be good for her.

She was lounging on her belly in a grassy patch on the river bank, idly flipping through the dog-eared pages of a novel bound in soft pink leather, Between Heaven and Hell scrawled across the cover in faded gold lettering. It was a rather risqué account of an amours elf torn between the affection of her aasimar and a tiefling suiters. The first in a series penned by one Inaleth Sweet of Waterdeep - A fellow eladrin and personal favorite author of Dafni’s. She’d read it dozens of times but it never failed to enchant and intrigue her.

She’d always enjoyed reading. It was the only time she could bring herself to be (mostly) still. She could lose herself in the colorful whimsy of her imagination. She’d always been a romantic. Her headful of silly daydreams of love and adventure from a tender age. She had spent days on end in her village imagining what the world might be like beyond the shelter of Peleira and the familiar forests and shores of Faerie-Gwynneth. Books provided her wanderlust an outlet in the years before she crossed into the Material.

A pale hand snatched the book from her hands pulling her back to reality. Astarion glanced down at her with a mischievous grin, raising a singular angled brow. She clumsily fumbled to her knees attempting to reclaim it from him but Astarion simply raised the novel out of her reach.

He looked almost ethereal, shrouded in the soft, peachy glow of sunset as he flipped through his stolen prize. His loose undershirt was unbuttoned almost to his navel showing off his lanky feline-esque physique. It was completely unfair for him to be that gorgeous! Somehow he managed to mix boyish charm with noble dignity. She imagined Astarion was very much the kind of man humans pictured when they talked about the peerless beauty and grace of the elves.

“My, my, Daffodil, I never pegged you as a consumer of salacious novels. Aren’t you just full of surprises?” He said through a chuckle as he began to thumb through the pages, “You fold the corners of your books? And I thought I was despicable!”

He might have been from the Material Plane but he had that spark of mirth common to those hailing from her homeland. It was a welcome change of pace. She’d found he could be quite charming (when he wasn’t being surly or aloof). He’d taken to treating her with teasing endearment as of late. He would refer to her by little diminutives such as darling or dear. That was when he wasn’t calling her by that twee pet name, Daffodil. She knew that the majority of his doting was little more than suave twaddle but she couldn’t help but be won over by him.

There were things about himself he’d clearly chosen not to disclose. She was never one for secrets but she could hardly begrudge others for having them. Astarion’s omissions were likely connected to whatever had made him so prickly in the first place. She was curious of course but she wasn’t going to press him for anything he was unwilling to give. Dafni understood relationships much the same way she did gardens. Both required patience and dedication in order for something beautiful to flourish. She earnestly hoped a genuine friendship could blossom between them but that meant allowing him to open up to her in his own time no matter how badly she wanted to bombard him with a-million-and-one questions.

“What have I done to deserve this roguery?”

“Roguery?” Astarion snickered.

“Roguery.” She repeated. “Now find your own way to pass the time and give me mine back!”

Her brows stitched, her lower lip forming that perfect little pout of hers. She was trying very hard to appear cross but her eyes gave her away. They were sparkling with impish delight as she made another valiant effort at retrieving the silly thing. Despite her tilt towards clemency, Dafni was a bit of a puck.

“This is my way of passing the time. I can only wander among the trees so many times before the novelty wears off. Besides, making you blush is far more entertaining.”

Dafni snorted a blite smile forming at the corners of her plump lips, “You are incorrigible, you know that right?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Well, I suppose if you are that bord I could read to you?” She yanked the book from his hands, clutching it to her chest smug and victorious. Reaching out with her free hand to tap a finger on the tip of his nose. “But, I’m skipping all the dirty bits!”

“Spoilsport.”

“It’s that or walking around the woods for the hundredth time.”

“You do raise an excellent point.” He sighed carefully arranging himself on the grass beside her, “Very well, I’ll agree to your stipulations.”

“Just be glad I’m not going to make you read for one of the characters! And because I’m just so sweet I’ll even start from the beginning for you.”

He listened intently as Dafni delivered the tale as if she were performing a one-woman play. Her face was adorably expressive as she changed her voice with each new character. Messy curls bouncing with every animated gesture. Occasionally she’d trail off feigning horror at the ‘dirty bits’ as she called them.

What would lewd words have sounded like in her lilt voice? Part of him wanted to find out right then. That wasn’t the first time such musings had crossed his mind. Dafni had made a few appearances in his private thoughts since their meeting. She had a coy, maidenly allure that conjured up all kinds of tempting images. These were nothing more than flights of fancy but fun nonetheless. Just another benefit of keeping her around.

He found himself lingering around her almost on instinct. The joy that followed her was tangible and warm as the sun on his skin. When she was near his mind felt quieted and the fear that gnawed at him would soften just a tad. He had grown to genuinely enjoy her company. He’d expected her to be dull and overly pious. Instead, he found she was rather amusing, coquettish even. She was witty and observant, always having a playful quip at the ready. The sort of whimsical woman whose effortless charm drew people in. She would have made an excellent vampire if not for her ridiculous soft heart.

Her compulsive need to care for every living thing with a sob story was somewhat vexing but he could hold his nose and deal with it most days. He’d make a comment here and there but really that was for her own good. She was painfully naïve, always seeing the best in people. It was clear to him Dafni’s life had been gentle. Free of hardships that might have taught her to approach others with such little skepticism.

A part of him was grateful for her lack of suspension. He knew gaining the trust of at least one of the members of the party would be crucial if he intended to enjoy the benefits of traveling with a group long term. Her friendship and propensity for peace making provided him with no small measure of safety. Still, that safety was at risk if she continued to offer herself up on a silver platter to every soul with even the smallest tale of woe she came across.

He glanced over at her, a found (begrudging, but found nonetheless), smile on his lips. The last rays of the setting sun casting its light on her lovely cherubic profile. While his motivations for befriending her had been far from altruistic having her near made his life provable better. When they’d first met he’d assumed her kindness would come at a price but she had surprised him, wanting nothing but his company in exchange. Without thinking he reached out cupping her cheek in his hand. The freckles, sage skin was unbearably soft and warm against his cool palm. Her heartbeat quickened bringing his attention to the tantalizing, wildflower sent of her blood. She leaned in close her eyes fluttering closed-

“We should head back to the others, it’s getting dark.” Astarion muttered, pulling back from her.

“I- Ha, of course. It’s late…” Her lower lip was caught in her teeth, her eyes darting ever so quickly from his mouth back to his eyes.

As tempting as she might be he was already in too deep with her. If he kissed her, he’d only want more. Any change to the current dynamic could disrupt the fragile safety he’d acquired. He couldn’t put himself at risk for the temporary happiness she might have brought. Perhaps when things were more settled. When he knew he could afford the risk, he would know the taste of her lips. For now though, he would have to resist.

#elf writes #astarion #bg3 early access #dafni of gwynneth #bg3 oc

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minervacasterly · 3 years

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18 JANUARY 1486: The Union of Elizabeth of York and Henry VII of England.

There is a not a lot of information regarding the wedding ceremony. Henry VII had swore he would marry Elizabeth when he had been in exile in Brittany, at Vannes Cathedral, three years prior. A lot had happened since then though. The papal dispensation that their mothers had secretly plotted to get had to be reissued.

The papal dispensation covered the Earl of Richmond and the natural daughter of Elizabeth of York (meaning the Lady Elizabeth, not the legitimate daughter and heiress of Edward IV). It was vital that the couple married under the good eyes of the church. The fifteenth century had descended into chaos when two branches of the Plantagenet House had annihilated each other, their descendants had married off to other noble houses and as a result (after Bosworth), Henry claimed the crown. But he was not blind. Connquering and ruling were two different things. He needed stability or at the very least, give the illusion of it to the people to put down civil unrest.

Therefore, he needed to marry Elizabeth who was the eldest living descendant of the first Yorkist King. The papal dispensation took time, and meanwhile Henry had to establish himself as the realm's ruler. He established his claim to the throne through his "right of conquest" and his mother, Margaret Beaufort whose family descended from John of Gaunt via his third marriage to his mistress, Katherine Swynford.

Nevertheless, his claim to the throne was still seen as weak, which was why parliament asked him on December 1485, two months after he had been crowned, to keep his promise to marry the Princess Elizabeth, and strengthen the claim of his descendants and *"restore some stability to the English royal line."

The pope had finally granted the dispensation at the beginning of the year, and it was confirmed in England by the papal legate, the Bishop of Imola on 16 January, two days later the coupe were married.The wedding ceremony was officiated by the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bourchier. Given the statement that Henry wanted to make, as it was mentioned earlier, about their union; the Abbey would have been filled with Tudor imagery that Henry had created that gave a new interpretation of the dynastic conflict that is now known as the wars of the roses. By intertwining the white rose of York (Edward IV's favorite symbol besides the sun in splendor) with the red rose, Henry VII's union with Elizabeth meant to give a powerful message of peace. Illusory as it was, its impression lasted and their descendants continued to use this device and celebrate the union of their ancestors, Henry and Elizabeth. The building would have been decorated by royal colors such as "purple and gold, silk, ermine and delicate cloths of tissue." And the bride, adds Licence, "would have been splendidly dressed and adorned with jewels, lace, brocade and ribbons."

She would not have worn white, given that white was not a color worn for wedding dresses.(The first royal bride who did was in fact her daughter-in-law, Katherine of Aragon, when she married Prince Arthur). Elizabeth would have likely worn purple as it symbolized royalty, or taken one of her many new gowns.

After the archbishop placed the golden ring on Elizabeth, the couple said their vows. Following royal custom, Elizabeth promised to take Henry as her husband "for fairer, for fouler, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to be blithe and amiable, and obliging in bed and at board" till death do them part.Besides the expenses, that no doubt would have been great, Elizabeth would have seen the new rose, the Tudor rose in every corner as well as her husband's other badges. By intertwining the white rose of York (Edward IV's favorite symbol besides the sun in splendor) with the red rose, Henry VII's union with Elizabeth meant to give a powerful message of peace. Illusory as it was, its impression lasted and their descendants continued to use this device and celebrate the union of their ancestors, Henry and Elizabeth.In recent fiction the two have been portrayed as an unhappy couple, pushed into the marriage by their shrewish mothers, but this is an interpretation based on secondary sources that have come many years (more than a century in fact) after the even took place. Francis Bacon writes very colorfully of Henry, and negatively of his mother but Francis was writing a century after the events took place and the two George Bucks themselves wrote even later. It is very easy to believe these sources, but if we want to look at the couple, we just have to look at their actions, at what they faced and what moral attitudes people had in this period.

A young woman such as Elizabeth would not have missed the opportunity to regain her status as Princess, and much less to be Queen. After being bastardized, and forced into hiding at Westminster, then in the midst of intrigue in the Ricardian court (with rumors -whether they are true or not, we will never know- that her uncle wanted to marry her shortly after his wife's passing and he later recanted after people protested at such an idea that he began to look elsewhere for a bride, and a spouse for Elizabeth); she would have no doubt welcome this new change in status. Elizabeth was a Princess-born, she had at one point been betrothed to the heir to the French Crown. She could not accept no better offer than to be a Queen, as it would also bolster her family's position as well and it did. Henry VII rewarded the Woodvilles. Richard Woodville as the third Earl of Rivers lived comfortably, Elizabeth Woodville kept some of her dower properties and when she was present, she always took precedence. Even Margaret Beaufort had to walk behind her as the older woman was Queen Dowager whereas Margaret was just a Countess -a Countess in her own right but a Countess nonetheless. Sir Edward Woodville, Elizabeth of York's uncle who took after his late eldest brother, was a highly pious and adventurous individual who proved his loyalty many times and was favored. The Catholic Kings themselves spoke very finely of him after his death. The set of ordinances that Edward IV had made for princes and that Anthony Woodville had supervise for Elizabeth's brother, Prince Edward, was kept and used for Arthur's upbringing. And Elizabeth herself was not left behind.

**"Like her parents, Elizabeth of York was a patron of William Caxton and his successor at the Westminster printing press, Wynkyn de Worde."

Furthermore, as Queen, she ruled over her own court and her own properties -some of which had previously belonged to her aunt Isabel, the Duchess of Clarence.As for Henry, this was also a personal triumph. Born to Margaret when she was thirteen (a birth that scarred her immensely. She would have no more children). Given as a ward to William Herbert who was given his uncle Jasper's earldom of Pembroke, and raised to be the perfect Yorkist to neutralize the threat he might pose in the future, he was then sent into exile after the Lancastrian Readetion failed and every member of the royal house was eliminated. Henry lived in a period of uncertainty, danger, and now it was all over. He was King. And he could also boast of having one important advantage. Many royal couples did not have the luxury of getting to know one another. They were married to this person or that, and whether or not they liked each other, they were expected to fulfill their duties. Henry fortunately did no have this problem. In the five month period that they waited for the dispensation to come, the two got to know each other. So when they walked down the aisle, they were not complete strangers.After the ceremonies ended, came the consummation. Elizabeth proved herself an exemplary Queen, living by the virtues of the day and this, as well as her fertility, made her well-remembered and loved. She would not be crowned until the following year, after “she proved herself” by giving Henry a male heir that autumn, less than nine months after their marriage. Given the speed in which they conceived, it is possible that the marriage could have been consummated before (since being betrothed was as good as being married. And the pope had given his approval, they knew it was only a matter of time before the bull came). But there is also the possibility that Arthur could have been premature.

Henry and Elizabeth’s marriage would remain strong, with the two relying on one another for mutual support when tragedy struck.

*From Dan Jones' Hollow Crown: The Wars of the Roses and the Rise of the Tudors. **Elizabeth of York: A Tudor Queen and her World by Alison Weir. I also recommend the following biographies: Elizabeth of York by Amy Licence and Blood Sisters by Sarah Gristwood.

#Henry VII #Elizabeth of York #History #English Monarchy #Renaissance #18 January 1486 #dailytudors

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 years

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November 2 - Today is the feast of All Souls’ Day.

Instructions for All Souls’ Day by Leonard Goffine, 1871

What is All Souls’ day?

It is the day set apart by the Catholic Church for the special devout commemoration of those of its members, who have departed this life in the grace and friendship of God, for whom we pray, that they may soon be released by God from the prison of purgatory.

What is purgatory?

Purgatory is that place in which the souls of the deceased faithful, who though dying in the grace of God, are yet burdened with some small sins not yet atoned for, suffer temporal punishment, and become purified from all sin. It is called the place of purification or purgatory, because in it those souls, which are not perfectly unsullied, are purified by fire as gold in the furnace. St. Paul writes to the Corinthians: And the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide which he had built thereupon, he shall receive a reward; if any man’s work burn, he shall suffer loss; but he himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire. (i. Cor.iii.23.) “And when St. Paul,” says St. Ambrose (Serm. 20. in Ps. cxviii.), “says, yet so as by fire, he shows that such a man indeed becomes happy, having suffered the punishment of fire, having been cleansed by the blessed fire, but not being, like the wicked, continually tormented in eternal fire.” St. Paul’s words, then, can only be understood to refer to the fire of purification, as the infallible Church has always explained them.

Are the heretics right in denying, that there is such a place of purification as purgatory?

By no means, for by such denial they oppose the holy Scriptures, tradition, and reason. The holy Scriptures teach, that there is a purgatory: it is related in the Second Book of the Machabees, that Judas Machabeus sent twelve thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem, to be used in the temple to obtain prayers for those who fell in battle, for he believed it: a good and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from their sins. But for what dead shall we pray? Those in heaven do not require our prayers; to those in hell they are of no avail; we must then pray for those who are in the place of purification. Christ speaks of a prison in the future life, from which no man comes out until he has paid the last farthing. (Matt. v. 25, 26.) This prison cannot be hell, because from hell there is never any release; it must be, then, a place of purification. Again Christ speaks of sin which shall be forgiven neither in this world nor in the next (Matt. xii. 32.), from which it follows, there is remittance of some sins in the next world; but this can be neither in heaven nor in hell, consequently in purgatory.

As the Consistory of Trent says (Sess. 6. c. 30.), the Church has always taught, according to the old tradition of the fathers, in all her councils, that there is a purgatory, and all centuries show proofs of the continual belief of all true Christians in a purgatory. Finally, man’s unblinded reason must accept a purgatory; for how many depart this earth before having accomplished the great work of their own purification? They cannot enter heaven; for St. John tells us: There shall not enter into it any thing defiled. (Apoc. xxi. 27.) The simple separation of the soul from the body does not make the sinful soul pure, and yet God cannot reject them as the hardened sinners in hell; there must then be a middle place, a purgatory, where those who have departed not free from stain, must be purified. See how the doctrine of the Church, reason, and the holy Scriptures all agree, and do not let yourself be led away by false arguments from those who not only believe in no purgatory, but even in no hell, so that they may sin with so much more impunity.

What, how much, and for how long must we suffer in purgatory?

Concerning this the Church has made no decision, though much has been written by the fathers of the Church on the subject. Concerning the severity of the punishment in purgatory, St. Augustine writes: “This fire is more painful than any that man can suffer in this life.” This should urge us to continual sanctification and atonement, so that we may escape the fearful judgment of God.

How can we aid the suffering souls in purgatory?

Of this St. Augustine writes: “It is not to be doubted, that we can aid the souls of the departed by the prayers of the Church, by the holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and by the alms which we offer for them.” The Church has always taught, that prayers for the faithful departed are useful and good, and she has always offered Masses for them.

What should urge us to aid the suffering souls in purgatory?

1. The consideration of the belief of the Church in the communion of saints, by which all the members of the Church upon earth, in heaven, and in purgatory are joined together by the bonds of love, like the members of one body, and as the healthy members of a body sympathize with the suffering members, seeking to aid them, so should we assist our suffering brothers in purgatory. 2. The remembrance that it is God’s will, that we should practise charity towards one another, and that fearful judgments are threatened those who show no charity to a brother in need, together with the recollection of God’s love which desires, that all men should be happy in heaven. 3. We should be urged to it by love for ourselves, for if we should be condemned to the pains of purification, we would assuredly desire our living brothers to pray for us and perform good works for our sake, while the souls who through our prayers have perhaps found redemption, will not fail to reward our aid by interceding for us.

Can we aid the souls in purgatory by gaining indulgences?

Yes, for as indulgences, as explained in the Instruction for the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, are a complete or a partial remittance of the temporal punishment due to sin, bestowed by the Church to penitent sinners from the treasury of the merits of Christ and His saints. If we gain such a remittance, we can apply it to the souls in purgatory. But it is to be remembered, that such an indulgence can be transferred only to one soul.

For which souls should we pray?

We should certainly, especially on this day, offer prayers and good works for all the faithful departed, and since we are more under obligation to some, some are more pleasing to God, some need assistance more, some deserve it more than others, we should strive to pray most earnestly for our parents, relations, friends, and benefactors; for those who are most acceptable to God; for those who have suffered the longest, or who have the longest yet to suffer; for those who are most painfully tormented; for those who are the most forsaken; for those who are nearest redemption; for those who are suffering on account of us; for those who hope in our prayers; for those who during life have injured us, or been injured by us; for our spiritual brothers and sisters.

When and by which means was this yearly commemoration of the departed introduced into the Church?

The precise time of its introduction cannot be told. Tertullian (A. D. 160) writes, that the early Christians held a yearly commemoration of the faithful departed. Towards the end of the tenth century St. Odilo, Abbot of the Benedictines at Cluny, directed that the yearly commemoration of the faithful departed, should be observed on the Second of November with prayers, alms, and the Sacrifice of the Mass, which time and manner of celebration spread through various dioceses, and was officially, confirmed by Pope John XIX. And this day was appointed, that, having the day previously rejoiced at the glory of the saints in heaven, we might on this day most properly pray for those who are yet doing penance for their sins and sigh in purgatory for their redemption.

The Introit of this day’s Mass as for all Masses of the deads reads: Grant them eternal rest, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine on them. (Ps. lxiv.) A hymn becometh thee O God, in Sion; and a vow shall be paid to thee in Jerusalem. O hear my prayer: all flesh shall come to thee. Grant them, &c.

PRAYER OF THE CHURCH. O God, the Creator and Redeemer of all the faithful, give to the souls of Thy servants departed the remission of their sins: that through the help of pious supplications, they may obtain the pardon they have always desired. Who livest.

The Epistle and Gospel of this day speak of the resurrection of all men and of the judgment, when every one accordingly as he has lived, sinful and impenitent, or pure and innocent, will receive an eternally miserable or an eternally happy life. Purgatory will then end and there will be only heaven and hell. It remains with us to choose by our life, which of these two we shall possess.

At the Offertory of the Mass, the priest prays: Lord Jesus Christ, King of Glory, deliver the souls of all the faithful departed from the flames of hell, and from the deep pit. Deliver them from the lion’s mouth, lest hell swallow them, lest they fall into darkness: and let the standard hearer, St. Michael, bring them into the holy light: which thou promisedst of old to Abraham and his posterity. We offer thee, O Lord, a sacrifice of praise and prayers: accept them in behalf of the souls we commemorate this day: and let them pass from death to life.

V. From the gates of hell,

R. Deliver their souls, O Lord.

V. Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord,

R. And let perpetual light shine upon them.

V. May they rest in peace,

R. Amen.

V. May the souls of all the faithful departed by the mercy of God rest in peace,

R. Amen.

[We may profitably and devoutly repeat this versicle as often as we pass a graveyard.] (3)

All Souls Day

by Father Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“When shall I come and appear before the face of God?”–Psalms xli, 3.

On the Feast of All Souls, and whenever we are reminded of Purgatory, we can not help thinking of the dreadful pains which the souls in Purgatory have to suffer, in order to be purified from every stain of sin; of the excruciating torments they have to undergo for their faults and imperfections, and how thoroughly they have to atone for the least offenses committed against the infinite holiness and justice of God.

It is but just, therefore, that we should condole with them, and do all that we can to deliver them from the flames of Purgatory, or, at least, to soothe their pains. Sufferings, however, are not the only cause which renders the state of the poor souls deplorable in our eyes, and moves us to commiseration. There is yet another reason, which, though it occurs less frequently to our minds, yet, if duly considered, will prove a powerful incentive to charitable exertion in behalf of the souls of our departed brethren. I allude to their ardent yearning for God, and their sincere desire of being united with Him forever in heaven; a desire, which as long as it is not satisfied, will be no less painful to them than the keenest flames of their place of torture. We should, then, with the same eagerness with which we try to deliver the poor souls from the pain of fire, endeavor to obtain for them the accomplishment of their ardent longing to be united with their heavenly Spouse. I say: all that can increase the pain of desire and eager yearning in our hearts, makes the longing of the poor souls after God and heaven immeasurably great and tormenting.

Let us now reflect on this, and endeavor, if possible, to open for them today the gates of their heavenly home.

O Mary, Mother of mercy, obtain for us the grace to hasten to the relief of thy suffering children in Purgatory, and to offer them, even this day, to thy maternal embrace! I address you, dear Christians, in the name of Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

Theologians rightly maintain that the pain of the damned in hell is a twofold one–namely, that of fire and that of loss of the beatific vision or contemplation of the unveiled splendor of the Divinity and the other delights of heaven. This last pain torments the damned still more, increases their sorrow and despair to a higher degree than all the suffering which they undergo in the expiating flames. Now, in like manner is the agony of the souls in Purgatory twofold–namely: the pain of the purifying flames; and of the delay in beholding God and enjoying the other pleasures that await them in heaven. To comprehend this more clearly, we need but consider the pain which an ardent longing for that which is most dear to us produces in our hearts, as long as it is withheld from us, and then compare our state with that of the poor afflicted souls.

The first source or cause of a desire to be delivered from any state in life is, when that state is connected with great embarrassment and afflictions. Hence it is that the sick long so eagerly for the presence of the physician and for the medicine that will cure them; in like manner the starving long for bread and nourishment; the thirsty, for water; the poor, for the sentence of the judge, that will declare them heirs to riches, and save them from destitution. So also does the wayfarer upon the billows of the stormy ocean sigh for the port, yearn to reach the place where a happy future awaits him; and so does the prisoner in his dreary cell anxiously expect the hour of his delivery. How great, therefore, must not be the desire of the poor souls to be ransomed from Purgatory.

The fire of Purgatory, as the doctors of the Church declare, is as intense as that of the abode of hell; with this difference, that it has an end. Yea! it may be that today a soul in Purgatory is undergoing more agony, more excruciating suffering than a damned soul, which is tormented in hell for a few mortal sins; while the poor soul in Purgatory must satisfy for millions of venial sins.

All the pains which afflict the sick upon earth, added to all that the martyrs have ever suffered, can not be compared with those of purgatory, so great is the punishment of those poor souls. We read, how once a sick person who was very impatient in his sufferings, exclaimed: “O God, take me from this world! “Thereupon the Guardian Angel appeared to him, and told him to remember that, by patiently bearing his afflictions upon his sick-bed, he could satisfy for his sins and shorten his Purgatory. But the sick man replied that he chose rather to satisfy for his sins in Purgatory. The poor sufferer died; and, behold, his Guardian Angel appeared to him again, and asked him if he did not repent of the choice he had made of satisfying for his sins in Purgatory by tortures rather than upon earth by afflictions? Thereupon the poor soul asked of the Angel: ” How many years am I now here in these terrible flames?” The Angel replied: ” How many years? Thy body upon earth is not yet buried; nay, it is not yet cold, and still thou believest already thou art here for many years!” Oh, how that soul lamented upon hearing this. Great indeed was its grief for not having chosen patiently to undergo upon earth the sufferings of sickness, and thereby shorten its Purgatory.

In that abode of sorrow the departed souls hunger after the possession of God, and with so famishing a desire that nothing on earth can be compared with it. They thirst after the fountain of eternal life with that thirst which knows no comparison in this world. They suffer; poor and destitute of all worldly goods. Yea! they are even deprived of all those consolations which at times lessen our desires, and afford us moments of repose. Here upon earth, though we long and sigh ever so much after a thing, still we can sleep; and the pains produced by our heart’s desires in our waking moments leave us, we feel them no longer. We can engage ourselves in other occupations; other cares may distract our minds. We may, at times, enjoy various pleasures, and partake of the good things of this life. Now all these things remove, or, at least, soothe the pain and care of our desires. Not so, however, is the condition of these distressed souls. They have no refreshing slumber; they are incessantly awake; they have no occupation; they can not indulge in other cares, in other distractions. They are wholly and continually absorbed with the burning desire of being liberated from their intense misery.

Again, upon earth, persons who anxiously seek another abode or another state of life, often know not whether, perhaps, they may not fall into a more wretched condition. How many have forsaken the shores of Europe, with the bright hope of a better future awaiting them in America? All has been disappointment! They have repented a thousand times of having deserted their native country. Now, does this disappointment await the souls of Purgatory upon their deliverance? Ah! by no means. They know too well that when they are released heaven will be their home. Once there, no more pains, no more fire for them; but the enjoyment of an everlasting bliss, which no eye hath seen, nor ear heard; nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive. Such will be their future happy state. Oh, how great is their desire to be already there.

Another circumstance which especially intensifies hope in the breast of man, is intercourse, union with those who are near and dear to him. How many, indeed, have bid a last farewell to Europe, where they would have prospered; but oh, then there are awaiting them in another land their beloved ones,–those who are so dear, and in whose midst they long to be! Oh, what a great source of desire is not this, for the poor souls in Purgatory to go to Heaven!

In heaven they shall find again those whom they loved and cherished upon earth, but who have already preceded them on the way to the heavenly mansion. There with their friends shall they share forever untold bliss and glory. Not only will they possess this happiness, but they will, moreover, partake of the glory, blessedness, and love of all the angels and saints. Yea, even Jesus and Mary will share their blessedness with the now happy souls. There is still another feature, another circumstance which presents itself in the condition of the poor souls in Purgatory. I mean the irresistible force or tendency with which they are drawn towards God; the intense longing after Him, their last aim and end.

So long as man is burdened upon earth with his mortal body and its appetites, so long will he not feel this attraction with such intensity. But immediately upon his soul’s separation from its mortal frame does it, as the image of God, experience this incomprehensible desire for its Creator and aim.

Like the balloon that rises aloft as soon as the cords are detached, and rapidly soars higher and higher; just so the soul which leaves this world in the grace of God mounts upward with inconceivable rapidity towards God; and the more pure and spotless she is, the greater is its intensity. Hence it was that David, filled with an ardent longing after God, sighs aloud: “When, when, O Lord, shall I appear in Thy presence? ” Oh, with what intense anxiety and longing is not a poor soul in Purgatory consumed, to behold the splendor of its Lord and Creator!

But also with what marks of Gratitude does not every soul whom we have assisted to enter heaven pray for us upon its entrance. Therefore, let us hasten to the relief of the poor suffering souls in Purgatory. Let us help them to the best of our power, so that they may supplicate for us before the throne of the Most High; that they may remember us when we too shall one day be afflicted in that prison-house of suffering, and may procure for us a speedy release and an early enjoyment of a blissful eternity. Amen!

#all souls day

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alkhale · 4 years

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Lost and Found (Jason Todd x Reader) Ko-fi Request

JASON TODD x new fledging superhero female OC plssssss

I wanted to try to make this one as open as possible because I wanted to give more free reign over the imagination of the hero’s occupation as a hero, but hopefully these work for you! Always love writing for this beautiful, beautiful boy :’)

THE BACKGROUND:

- You have a very interesting choice for occupation as a so-called “hero”

- Within the scope of that title, many brave men and women under that profession might not exactly consider you to be on their… level, per say. Several very, very big names have become only a bit or vaguely aware of your new, bustling presence in Bludhaven, apparently making quick time and moving all the way to Star City or popping up in Metropolis in a single night.

- Villains don’t really know what to do with you. They most leave you alone, to be honest, because they have a feeling dealing with you is just a headache. The only villains that really have any beef with you are big time thieves, and Cat Woman is not happy about your new rising popularity but she’s still staying off your radars for now. (You’re working on her)

- Most heroes advise you to stay home, they’re the ones giving you the most trouble. Small run-ins have them instructing you to go ahead and give up this line of work and perhaps join a local law enforcement or help-group, they think it’s much better for you.

- You, however, are determined, and you’re rather set on doing what you feel is truly your happiest calling.

Jason Todd, currently donning the sleek, reinforced metal of Red Hood’s mask, gave the drug dealer one last good kick to the ribs, listening for the satisfying crack of a few that promised he wasn’t getting up or going anywhere anytime soon.

Goons littered the hallways, their blood spilling over across the walls. The acrid smell of cigars snubbed out by their own fluids flooded the deserted motel hallways. Car lights were punched out in the front of the parking lot of the cheap, off-the-highway motel they’d been hiding out at like a pack of rats. It hadn’t been hard for him to find them, to be honest, a much easier job tonight more than anything. Jason was just a bit pissed off so he let off more steam than usual.

Jason tapped one gun against the side of his mask, a light little thump thump as he set his hand on his hip, surveying his work. He’d dump the cash in a fucking river. It was blood money and he had better things to do then get his hands on it. He’d rather just break another ATM. Fuck, I’m still pissed off. I should get Thai tonight.

Normally, Jason had a very nice, selective choice of arsenal on his person. Guns he’d tuned up and had tricked out. Nice, pretty things that never failed him. Classic knives, the works, he liked having options.

Jason let out an aggravated sigh, muffled through his mask. He scowled, kicking another limp body for emphasis and turning, wiping some blood off the corner of his jacket.

His fucking problem was that one of his pretty, nice little guns was missing. Gone. Lost. He was one hundred-fucking-percent sure it was his last job in Bludhaven after tangling up with Dickie Bird and having to scram before he received any kind of dark tongue lashing from Bats or the Demon Spawn pulled some sick shit like pulling Alfred up on speaker again to discuss his misdemeanors. Like the little shit can talk. Jason had come scrounging back, searching through the dockyard left and right for his gun and found nothing. Nada.

He really liked that gun too.

Have to put in an order for a new one. Jason rubbed the top of his mask, hooking his fingers to prepare taking it off. What a pain. Thai it is. I’m starving—

“Hi! Excuse me, but is this your gun?”

Jason stopped.

It took him a second to process what he was seeing. Only a second, because he sensed no blood thirst or killing intent—he still cocked his gun and pointed it at the newcomer without a single hesitation though because what the hell, right?—and he needed that good second because even quick footed, always adaptable, always moving Jason needed that fat second to understand what the fuck was in front of him.

Halfway through what appeared to be some kind of… portal? It was the weirdest fucking portal he’d ever seen and he’d seen some weird fucking portals. A bright yellow, piss yellow, stretching in a warped, warbling kind of flame in the middle of the air, as though cutting straight through dimensions. Jason could get a peek of something behind. A city? He sniffed the air. A dock?

In the middle of the portal, with one, combat booted foot out, was a slender leg covered in black tights. Black tights led to a black fitted top that was clad by a… a construction vest? A neon green construction vest. Over her face—he assumed her because of the body and hair, but who the hell was he to know, right?—was a weird mask of a man, like some kind of religious figure, covering her entire face. Her hair was pulled back into two buns on either side of her head.

In one bare hand, held out to him by this new person in the middle of a piss yellow portal, was his gun.

Jason stared.

“Sorry, I know, this must look strange, right?” you quickly apologized, stepping fully out of the portal. It disappeared and you now stood before him, mask and stupid construction vest and his gun. “Here! This should be yours unless…”

You trailed off, mask looking pointedly at the bodies scattered around them. “Oh, unless it’s one of these guys’s. Sorry about that.”

“What the fuck?” Jason said, rough through his mask. He still had the gun pointed at you.

You beamed behind your own. “I come in peace! Just trying to return this. Found it in the dock by… Fifth? It was glowing, so that meant someone was looking for it—”

“Hold on,” Jason waved his gun at you for emphasis. You nodded at it, waving his gun back. Jason almost laughed. Who the fuck is this clown? “I’ll ask you two questions. Just two. Depending how you answer, I’m going to shoot you, got it?”

“Oh,” you said, sounding a bit sullen. You glanced at your watch. “Will this take long? I have two more deliveries.”

“No,” Jason said. “Depending on how you answer.”

“...okay, shoot,” you said. You paused, quickly holding a hand when Jason raised his gun. “Sorry, I meant figuratively, please. Ask the questions.”

Jason cocked his masked head to the side. “Who the fuck are you. Why the fuck do you have my gun.”

“I feel like those weren’t phrased as questions—”

Jason shot at your feet. You yelped, jumping up. “Jeez! Is this what I get for doing a good deed? Saint Anthony! I’m Saint Anthony!”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “And I’m Jesus fucking Christ.”

Jason prepared to shoot your kneecap out and you squawked, tossing the gun his way. Jason quickly caught it, inspecting it for any damage before narrowing his eyes at you behind his mask. You wiped your hands off your pants like brushing off germs.

“That’s my alias,” you said, tapping your mask, a pious man’s face printed over it. “Saint Anthony! You know, the patron saint of lost things? The guy you pray to when you lose shit?”

“Do I look like I pray?” Jason said, pointing his gun to the drug dealer whose brains he’d blasted out. You made a small noise, as though just noticing.

“Well, you never know. Met some strange folks who pray and still do some very questionable things—let’s not get hasty!” Jason put his gun down. “That’s my codename! Have to be careful with this hero business, you know. I felt like it fits because of my power.”

You pointed to his gun and it began to glow a soft piss yellow. Jason dropped it in disgust, pulling his other gun back up and getting ready to shoot you. “I can see what items are lost! If an item belongs to someone and they’re looking for it, it’ll glow and I can see it like that. Then I pick it up and it teleports me to whoever it belongs to.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Jason said. “You’re a human lost and found?”

“Yes! But much more effective,” you reached into a sack you had strapped to your back, opening it up for him to see where several more objects were glowing a piss yellow. “I decided I should put my talents to use, so I go around returning lost objects. Everybody loses something once in a while, you know? The other day I found this strange looking little USB and it turned out it belonged to Lex Luthor’s secretary and oh, boy, that was a sticky situation when Mr. Superman came and—”

Jason shot at your feet again. You jumped, clutching the sack protectively to your chest. “What the hell was that for?”

“I just felt like it,” Jason said. He tucked his gun back into his strap and picked up his now found weapon, inspecting it curiously. “Weird fucking power, sweetheart.”

You shrugged in a what-can-you-do manner.

“You said you were a hero?”

“Oh, more of a good samaritan,” you said, waving a hand. “I’ve just been working with the police lately on stolen goods. Sometimes burglars are real clumsy and drop items, you know? Apparently night vision goggles are very expensive so they’re always looking for those.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. Jason watched you in idle interest, having a bit of fun with this interaction. Been a while since he met anyone so fucking weird. He kind of liked it.

“Anthony, huh?”

“Yes!” you slung your sack back over your shoulder, sticking out a hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you…?”

Jason tapped his gun against your palm in greeting. He tucked it back into its holster, giving you a long look behind his mask. You stopped, cocking your head at him. “What?”

“No, it’s just…” you rubbed the back of your neck. “Ah, nothing really. If we’re all squared away here, you mind if I take off? I’ve still got this pair of chain cutters and this funny looking stone to deliver.”

“You ever worry you’re delivering it to some weird place?” Jason said. “Or to someone who, I dunno, might kill you?”

“Oh, all the time,” you said cheerfully. “But usually I can take care of myself.” Jason quirked a brow behind his mask. “But thank you for your concern! I’ll be off then, Mr. Red. Thanks for your cooperation!”

You grabbed the funny shaped rock from the bag, a piss yellow portal appearing in front of you. Jason watched wordlessly as you stepped halfway through before turning back to him, raising a small hand in a little wave.

“Live a good life, Mr. Red!” you waved harder. “If you ever lose anything again, I’ll be sure to look out for it!”

Jason offered a lazy wave back, kicking a goon in the head who’d started to rouse.

You curled your fingers into your palm. The portal began to swallow you whole and you watched behind your mask as Jason turned, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You figured for this particular customer, perhaps it was better not to say he was glowing a very beautiful, very somber shade of yellow.

Looks like whoever lost you is looking very hard for you, Mr. Red.

#jason todd x reader #ko-fi request #jason todd #reader insert #batman reader insert #this was very fun to write

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defensefilms · 3 years

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Is Ayesha Curry The Worst Wife In NBA History?

“Don’t piss my drillers off, cos certifed man is drilling off”

I’d like to open this blog by giving the absolute maximum amounts of props to Savannah James.

That’s her picture up there. In 2021 LeBron James’ wife is an absolute rarity. Since marrying Lebron in 2013, this woman has zero scandals on her docket. No weird comments in the media. No constant passive aggressive attempts at insulting her husband. None of it. The closest thing to a scandal was in 2016 when her and LeBron were at a MLB game and they looked like they were smoking that cheech n chong. In 2021, that’s not enough to indict.

When writing this blog, I tried to find interviews of Savannah with mainstream media. I couldn’t really find anything. There was an interview from 3 years ago with a channel called Driving Cleveland. There’s another interview from 11 years ago where she’s talking about doing make-up. Other than that? Nothing. You might catch her on the gram doing a live. The rest of the time she’s showing up in her kids’ Youtube videos.

Simply put, they don’t build women like this anymore. I think that millenial women try to convince guys that they are like Savannah and it just ain’t like that. It’s just not what’s going down.

Fam, I’m just gonna put it to you straightforward, cut and dry. The majority of married men in 2021 do not know peace like what LeBron does and the crazy thing is they will pretend different.

The mandem are living a lie.

It’s 2021, since the 1980′s, western education has fed women the idea that they can’t be wrong about anything when it comes to sex, marriage and relationships. So knowing the kinds of environments that most wives and girlfriends grew up in, as well as the ideology espoused by mainstream media, do you really think there’s a lot of wife-quality women just roaming the streets?

Some guys will tell you that the secret hack is to find a girl who has a good relationship with her father. What you’d be ignoring is that most fathers raise their daughters to be terrible mates to men. They raise them with the express purpose of never needing a man. Most fathers raise women to be competitors to men. So don’t let these guys push up on you with them lies.

Street dreams are made of these.

Ayesha Curry was first introduced to the world when Steph Curry was going crazy during the 2015/16 season and trust me it matters that this is the way she entered the mainstream public sphere.

In 2015, the conservative values of the Curry family and their marriage was how they were introduced. Ayesha even made comments alluding to how her husband should be the only one to see certain parts of her. Fair enough. Sounds like the right thing to say right.

Right up until she went and made an appearance alongside Jada Pinkett, who has since announced her dedication to the streets after going public about cheating on Will Smith with August Alsina. So Ayesha’s hanging with all kinds of positive role models there. During that appearance she admitted that she misses having the attention of men other than her husband. Yes gentlemen, a married women went onto a public platform and admitted basically wanting to fraternize with someone other than the NBA SUPERSTAR SHE’S MARRIED TO. Worse yet, she got to keep her marriage.

The signs and shenanigans didn’t stop there though. Months later a video emerges of Ayesha Curry looking like she’s baking something. Nice. Problem is like 10 seconds into that video, she starts twerking.

At this point, the streets knew Steph has a problem. However, the streets can think what they want right? I mean, who the hell are we?

Except, after waxing lyrical about how pious and holy her and Steph are, Ayesha Curry has apparently gonna and posed nude for some or other platform. So, you know, just a model of consistency, right? This is all a picture of attention seeking, Make no mistake about it, she’s daring the wolves to come after her.

I don’t like Steph Curry. I never have.

But make no mistake about it, I got his back on this one. What’s happening to Steph is something that happens to most married guys and the loss that they end up taking is so bad, that people don’t like to talk about it.

Every time I’m in a conversation about marriage and I mention the possibility of divorce, it’s like people clam up. They get this stiff, uncomfortable smile, their shoulders stiffen up, they get really rigid with all sorts of uncomfortable body language. That’s what the mere thought and mention of divorce does to people.

This is way bigger than Steph Curry. Plus he’s Seth Curry’s brother, we’re not going to see the Warriors in the post season, so yeah, I’m with Steph, fam.

One last message to the younger guys that might read this. You can do the “right thing”. Go to school, get a good job, earn lots of money and get married. What not one is going to tell you, including those that have been married, is that in all likelihood, it still won’t be enough.

That’s why I have such deep issues with the older generations of guys because if it weren’t for the internet we would never be able to have this conversation. That’s the truth about our father’s generation and the rest of them. No matter what happens, their dedication to hypergamy and the traditional family trumps their loyalty to you and their leadership fails hardest right when young men need it the most. Sad reality. These guys were perfectly aware of what was finna’ happen to you and they’d let you walk yourself down in to the marriage trap anyway.

It’s rare that basketball gives me an opportunity to speak on something so important.

One more thing, what do you think the public would be saying if Steph was the one saying he wants to smash thots on the road?

One of my favorite Youtubers is a guy named Anthony Spade and he has a saying that goes “she ain’t holding you down, she slowing you down”.

#nba #nba2021 #steph curry #men on strike #redpill

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colascriptura · 5 years

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A Christmas Sermon For Pagans (C.S. Lewis)

Somewhere in the mid- to late-1940s, C.S. Lewis wrote "A Christmas Sermon For Pagans", which was rediscovered in 2017. The number of copies on the internet is currently zero, as far as I can tell. However, by extremely guerilla means, I have obtained the following copy (though I don't know if it's complete) which I now present to you for your edification and enlightenment...

A Christmas Sermon For Pagans

When I was asked to write a Christmas sermon for pagans, I accepted the job light-heartedly enough, but now that I sit down to tackle it, I discover a difficulty: are there any pagans in England for me to write to? I know that people keep on telling us that this country is relapsing into paganism; but they only mean that it is ceasing to be Christian, and is that at all the same thing?

Let us remember what a pagan or heathen (I use the words interchangably) really was. A heathen was a man who lived out on the heath, out in the wilds. A pagan was a man who lived in a "pagus" or small village. Both words in fact meant a rustic or yokel. They date from the time when the larger towns of the Roman Empire were already Christianised, but the old nature religions still lingered in the country. Pagans or heathens were the backward people in the remote districts who had not yet been converted, who were still pre-Christians. To say that modern people who have drifted away from Christianity are pagans is to suggest that a post-Christian man is the same as a pre-Christian man. But that is like thinking that a woman who has lost her husband is the same sort of person as an unmarried girl. Or that a street where the houses have been knocked down is the same as a field where no house has yet been built.

The ruined street and the unbuilt field are alike in one respect, namely that neither will keep you dry if it rains, but they are different in every other respect: rubble, dust, broken bottles, old bedsteads, and stray cats are very different from grass, thyme, clover, buttercups, and the lark singing overhead.

The real pagan differed from the post-Christian in the following ways. Firstly, he was religious. From the Christian point of view, he was indeed too religious by half. He was full of reverence. For him the earth was holy, the woods and waters were alive. His agriculture was a ritual as well as a technique. And secondly, he believed in what we now call "an objective right and wrong". That is, he thought the distinction between pious and impious acts was something that existed independently of human opinions: something like the multiplication table, which man had not invented, but had found to be true, and which he had better take notice of. The gods would punish him if he did not.

To be sure, by Christian standards his list of right and wrong acts was rather a muddled one. He thought (and the Christians agreed) that the gods would punish him for setting the dogs on a beggar who came to his door, or for striking his father. But he also thought they would punish him for turning his face to the wrong point of the compass when he began ploughing. Though his code included some fantastic sins and duties, it got in most of the real ones.

This leads us to the third great difference between a pagan and a post-Christian man. Believing in a real right and wrong means finding out that you are not very good. The pagan code may have been on some points a low one, but it was too high for the pagan to live up to. Hence a pagan, though in many ways merrier than a modern, had a deep sadness. When he asked himself what was wrong with the world, he did not immediately reply "the social system" or "our allies" or "education". It occurred to him that he -- himself -- might be one of the things that was wrong with the world. He knew he had sinned. And the terrible thing was he thought the gods made no difference between voluntary and involuntary sins. You might get into their bad books by mere accident. And once in, it was very hard to get out of them. The pagan dealt with this situation in a rather silly way. His religion was a mass of ceremonies, sacrifices, purifications, et cetera, which were supposed to take away guilt, but they never quite succeeded. His conscience was not at ease.

Now, the post-Christian view which is gradually coming into existence (it is complete already in some people, and still incomplete in others) is quite different. According to it, nature is not a living thing to be reverenced. It is a kind of machine for us to exploit. There is no objective right or wrong. Each race or class can invent its own code or ideology just as it pleases. And whatever may be amiss with the world, it is certainly not we the ordinary people. It is up to God, if after all he should happen to exist, or to government, or to education, to give us what we want. They are the shop, we are the customer, and the customer is always right.

Now if the post-Christian view is the correct one then we have indeed woken from a nightmare. The old fear, the old reverence, the old restraints... how delightful to have woken up into freedom, to be responsible to no one, to be utterly and absolutely our own masters! We have, of course, lost some fun. A universe of colourless electrons (which is presently going to run down and annihilate all organic life everywhere and forever) is, perhaps, a little dreary compared with the earth-mother and the sky-father, the wood nymphs and the water nymphs, chaste Diana riding the night sky and homely Vesta flickering on the hearth. But one can't have everything, and there are always the flicks and the radio: if the new view is correct, it has very solid advantages.

But is it? And if so, why are things not going better? What do you make of the present threat of world famine? We know now it is not entirely due to the war. From country after country comes the same story of failing harvests. Even the whales have less oil. Can it be that nature, or something behind nature, is not simply a machine that we can do what we like with? That she is hitting back? Waive the point. Suppose she is only a machine, and that we are free to master her at our pleasure. Have you not begun to see that man's conquest of nature is really man's conquest of man? That every power wrested from nature is used by some men over other men? Men are the victims, not the conquerors in this struggle. Each new victory over nature yields new means of propaganda to enslave them, new weapons to kill them, new power for the state, and new weakness for the citizen. New contraceptives to keep man from being born at all.

As for ideologies, does no one see the catch? If there is no real wrong and right -- nothing good or bad in itself -- none of these ideologies can be better or worse than another. For a better moral code can only mean one which comes nearer to some real or absolute code. One map of New York can be better than another only if there is a real New York for it to be truer to. If there is no objective standard then our choice between one ideology and another becomes a matter of arbitrary taste. Our battle for democratic ideals against Nazi ideals has been a waste of time, because the one is no better than the other. Nor can there ever be any real improvement or deterioration. If there is no real goal, we can't get any nearer to it, or farther from it. In fact there is no real reason for doing anything at all.

It looks to me, neighbours, as though we shall have to set about becoming true pagans, if only as a preliminary to becoming Christians. I don't mean that we should begin leaving little bits of bread under the tree at the end of the garden as an offering to the dryad. I don't mean that we should dance to Dionysus across Hampstead Heath, though perhaps a little more solemn or ecstatic gaity and a little less commercialised amusement might make our holidays better than they now are. I don't even mean (though I do very much wish) that we should recover that sympathy with nature, that religious attitude to the family, and that appetite for beauty which the better pagans had. Perhaps what I do mean is best put like this: if the modern post-Christian view is wrong (and every day I find it harder to think it right) then there are three kinds of people in the world. 1) Those who are sick and don't know it: the post-Christians. 2) Those who are sick and know it: the pagans. 3) Those who have found the cure.

And if you start in the first class, you must go through the second to reach the third. For (in a sense) all that Christianity adds to paganism is the cure. It confirms the old belief that in this universe we are up against Living Power: that there is a real Right and that we have failed to obey it: that existence is beautiful and terrifying. It adds a wonder of which paganism had not distinctly heard: that the Mighty One has come down to help us, to remove our guilt, to reconcile us. All over the world, even in Japan, even in Russia, men and women will meet on December the 25th to do a very old-fashioned and very pagan thing: to sing and feast because God has been born.

You are uncertain whether it is more than a myth. Well, if it is only a myth then our last hope is gone. But is the opposite explanation not worth trying? Who knows but that here -- and here alone -- lies your way back? Not only to heaven, but to earth too, and to the great human family whose oldest hopes are confirmed by this story that does not die.

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harajukumasked · 4 years

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| Permissibility of shunning/boycotting muslims for their sins IF there is benefit |

Narrated `Abdullah bin Ka`b bin Malik:Who, from among Ka`b's sons, was the guide of Ka`b when he became blind:

I heard Ka`b bin Malik narrating the story of (the Ghazwa of) Tabuk in which he failed to take part. Ka`b said, "I did not remain behind Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) in any Ghazwa that he fought except the Ghazwa of Tabuk, and I failed to take part in the Ghazwa of Badr, but Allah did not admonish anyone who had not participated in it, for in fact, Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) had gone out in search of the caravan of Quraish till Allah made them (i.e. the Muslims) and their enemy meet without any appointment. I witnessed the night of Al-`Aqaba (pledge) with Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) when we pledged for Islam, and I would not exchange it for the Badr battle although the Badr battle is more popular amongst the people than it (i.e. Al-`Aqaba pledge). As for my news (in this battle of Tabuk), I had never been stronger or wealthier than I was when I remained behind the Prophet (ﷺ) in that Ghazwa. By Allah, never had I two she-camels before, but I had then at the time of this Ghazwa. Whenever Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) wanted to make a Ghazwa, he used to hide his intention by apparently referring to different Ghazwa till it was the time of that Ghazwa (of Tabuk) which Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) fought in severe heat, facing, a long journey, desert, and the great number of enemy. So the Prophet (ﷺ) announced to the Muslims clearly (their destination) so that they might get prepared for their Ghazwa. So he informed them clearly of the destination he was going to. Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) was accompanied by a large number of Muslims who could not be listed in a book namely, a register." Ka`b added, "Any man who intended to be absent would think that the matter would remain hidden unless Allah revealed it through Divine Revelation. So Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) fought that Ghazwa at the time when the fruits had ripened and the shade looked pleasant. Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) and his companions prepared for the battle and I started to go out in order to get myself ready along with them, but I returned without doing anything. I would say to myself, 'I can do that.' So I kept on delaying it every now and then till the people got ready and Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) and the Muslims along with him departed, and I had not prepared anything for my departure, and I said, I will prepare myself (for departure) one or two days after him, and then join them.' In the morning following their departure, I went out to get myself ready but returned having done nothing. Then again in the next morning, I went out to get ready but returned without doing anything. Such was the case with me till they hurried away and the battle was missed (by me). Even then I intended to depart to take them over. I wish I had done so! But it was not in my luck. So, after the departure of Allah's Messenger (ﷺ), whenever I went out and walked amongst the people (i.e, the remaining persons), it grieved me that I could see none around me, but one accused of hypocrisy or one of those weak men whom Allah had excused.

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) did not remember me till he reached Tabuk. So while he was sitting amongst the people in Tabuk, he said, 'What did Ka`b do?' A man from Banu Salama said, 'O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)! He has been stopped by his two Burdas (i.e. garments) and his looking at his own flanks with pride.' Then Mu`adh bin Jabal said, 'What a bad thing you have said! By Allah! O Allahs Apostle! We know nothing about him but good.' Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) kept silent." Ka`b bin Malik added, "When I heard that he (i.e. the Prophet (ﷺ) ) was on his way back to Medina. I got dipped in my concern, and began to think of false excuses, saying to myself, 'How can I avoid his anger tomorrow?' And I took the advice of wise member of my family in this matter. When it was said that Allah's Messenger (ﷺ), had come near all the evil false excuses abandoned from my mind and I knew well that I could never come out of this problem by forging a false statement. Then I decided firmly to speak the truth. So Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) arrived in the morning, and whenever he returned from a journey., he used to visit the Mosque first of all and offer a two-rak`at prayer therein and then sit for the people. So when he had done all that (this time), those who had failed to join the battle (of Tabuk) came and started offering (false) excuses and taking oaths before him. They were something over eighty men; Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) accepted the excuses they had expressed, took their pledge of allegiance asked for Allah's Forgiveness for them, and left the secrets of their hearts for Allah to judge. Then I came to him, and when I greeted him, he smiled a smile of an angry person and then said, 'Come on.' So I came walking till I sat before him. He said to me, 'What stopped you from joining us. Had you not purchased an animal For carrying you?' I answered, "Yes, O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)! But by Allah, if I were sitting before any person from among the people of the world other than you, I would have avoided his anger with an excuse. By Allah, I have been bestowed with the power of speaking fluently and eloquently, but by Allah, I knew well that if today I tell you a lie to seek your favor, Allah would surely make you angry with me in the near future, but if I tell you the truth, though you will get angry because of it, I hope for Allah's Forgiveness. Really, by Allah, there was no excuse for me. By Allah, I had never been stronger or wealthier than I was when I remained behind you.' Then Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, 'As regards this man, he has surely told the truth. So get up till Allah decides your case.' I got up, and many men of Banu Salama followed me and said to me. 'By Allah, we never witnessed you doing any sin before this. Surely, you failed to offer excuse to Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) as the others who did not join him, have offered. The prayer of Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) to Allah to forgive you would have been sufficient for you.' By Allah, they continued blaming me so much that I intended to return (to the Prophet) and accuse myself of having told a lie, but I said to them, 'Is there anybody else who has met the same fate as I have?' They replied, 'Yes, there are two men who have said the same thing as you have, and to both of them was given the same order as given to you.' I said, 'Who are they?' They replied, Murara bin Ar-Rabi Al- Amri and Hilal bin Umaiya Al-Waqifi.' By that they mentioned to me two pious men who had attended the Ghazwa (Battle) of Badr, and in whom there was an example for me. So I did not change my mind when they mentioned them to me.

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) forbade all the Muslims to talk to us,the three aforesaid persons out of all those who had remained behind in that Ghazwa.So we kept away from the people and they changed their attitude towards us till the very land (where I lived) appeared strange to me as if I did not know it. We remained in that condition for fifty nights. As regards my two fellows, they remained in their houses and kept on weeping, but I was the youngest of them and the firmest of them, so I used to go out and witness the prayers along with the Muslims and roam about in the markets, but none would talk to me, and I would come to Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) and greet him while he was sitting In his gathering after the prayer, and I would wonder whether the Prophet (ﷺ) did move his lips in return to my greetings or not. Then I would offer my prayer near to him and look at him stealthily. When I was busy with my prayer, he would turn his face towards me, but when I turned my face to him, he would turn his face away from me. When this harsh attitude of the people lasted long, I walked till I scaled the wall of the garden of Abu Qatada who was my cousin and dearest person to me, and I offered my greetings to him. By Allah, he did not return my greetings.I said, 'O Abu Qatada! I beseech you by Allah! Do you know that I love Allah and His Apostle?' He kept quiet. I asked him again, beseeching him by Allah, but he remained silent. Then I asked him again in the Name of Allah. He said, "Allah and His Apostle know it better.' Thereupon my eyes flowed with tears and I returned and jumped over the wall."

Ka`b added, "While I was walking in the market of Medina, suddenly I saw a Nabati (i.e. a Christian farmer) from the Nabatis of Sham who came to sell his grains in Medina, saying, 'Who will lead me to Ka`b bin Malik?' The people began to point (me) out for him till he came to me and handed me a letter from the king of Ghassan in which the following was written: "To proceed, I have been informed that your friend (i.e. the Prophet (ﷺ) ) has treated you harshly. Anyhow, Allah does not let you live at a place where you feel inferior and your right is lost. So join us, and we will console you." When I read it, I said to myself, 'This is also a sort of a test.' Then I took the letter to the oven and made a fire therein by burning it.

When forty out of the fifty nights elapsed, behold ! There came to me the messenger of Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) and said, 'Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) orders you to keep away from your wife,' I said, 'Should I divorce her; or else! what should I do?' He said, 'No, only keep aloof from her and do not cohabit her.' The Prophet (ﷺ) sent the same message to my two fellows. Then I said to my wife. 'Go to your parents and remain with them till Allah gives His Verdict in this matter." Ka`b added, "The wife of Hilal bin Umaiya came to Apostle and said, 'O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)! Hilal bin Umaiya is a helpless old man who has no servant to attend on him. Do you dislike that I should serve him? ' He said, 'No (you can serve him) but he should not come near you.' She said, 'By Allah, he has no desire for anything. By, Allah, he has never ceased weeping till his case began till this day of his.' On that, some of my family members said to me, 'Will you also ask Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) to permit your wife (to serve you) as he has permitted the wife of Hilal bin Umaiya to serve him?' I said, 'By Allah, I will not ask the permission of Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) regarding her, for I do not know What Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) would say if I asked him to permit her (to serve me) while I am a young man.' Then I remained in that state for ten more nights after that till the period of fifty nights was completed starting from the time when Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) prohibited the people from talking to us.

When I had offered the Fajr prayer on the 50th morning on the roof of one of our houses and while I was sitting in the condition which Allah described (in the Qur'an) i.e. my very soul seemed straitened to me and even the earth seemed narrow to me for all its spaciousness, there I heard the voice of one who had ascended the mountain of Sala' calling with his loudest voice, 'O Ka`b bin Malik! Be happy (by receiving good tidings).' I fell down in prostration before Allah, realizing that relief has come. Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) had announced the acceptance of our repentance by Allah when he had offered the Fajr prayer. The people then went out to congratulate us. Some bringers of good tidings went out to my two fellows, and a horseman came to me in haste, and a man of Banu Aslam came running and ascended the mountain and his voice was swifter than the horse. When he (i.e. the man) whose voice I had heard, came to me conveying the good tidings, I took off my garments and dressed him with them; and by Allah, I owned no other garments than them on that day. Then I borrowed two garments and wore them and went to Allah's Apostle. The people started receiving me in batches, congratulating me on Allah's Acceptance of my repentance, saying, 'We congratulate you on Allah's Acceptance of your repentance."

Ka`b further said, "When I entered the Mosque. I saw Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) sitting with the people around him. Talha bin Ubaidullah swiftly came to me, shook hands with me and congratulated me. By Allah, none of the Muhajirin (i.e. Emigrants) got up for me except him (i.e. Talha), and I will never forget this for Talha." Ka`b added, "When I greeted Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) he, his face being bright with joy, said "Be happy with the best day that you have got ever since your mother delivered you." Ka`b added, "I said to the Prophet (ﷺ) 'Is this forgiveness from you or from Allah?' He said, 'No, it is from Allah.' Whenever Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) became happy, his face would shine as if it were a piece of moon, and we all knew that characteristic of him. When I sat before him, I said, 'O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)! Because of the acceptance of my repentance I will give up all my wealth as alms for the Sake of Allah and His Apostle. Allah's Apostle said, 'Keep some of your wealth, as it will be better for you.' I said, 'So I will keep my share from Khaibar with me,' and added, 'O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)! Allah has saved me for telling the truth; so it is a part of my repentance not to tell but the truth as long as I am alive. By Allah, I do not know anyone of the Muslims whom Allah has helped fortelling the truth more than me. Since I have mentioned that truth to Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) till today, I have never intended to tell a lie. I hope that Allah will also save me (from telling lies) the rest of my life.

So Allah revealed to His Apostle the Verse:-- "Verily, Allah has forgiven the Prophet, the Muhajirin (i.e. Emigrants (up to His Saying) And be with those who are true (in word and deed)." (9.117-119) By Allah, Allah has never bestowed upon me, apart from His guiding me to Islam, a Greater blessing than the fact that I did not tell a lie to Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) which would have caused me to perish as those who have told a lie perished, for Allah described those who told lies with the worst description He ever attributed to anybody else. Allah said:-- "They (i.e. the hypocrites) will swear by Allah to you when you return to them (up to His Saying) Certainly Allah is not pleased with the rebellious people-- " (9.95-96)

Ka`b added, "We, the three persons, differed altogether from those whose excuses Allah's Apostle accepted when they swore to him. He took their pledge of allegiance and asked Allah to forgive them, but Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) left our case pending till Allah gave His Judgment about it. As for that Allah said):-- And to the three (He did for give also) who remained behind." (9.118) What Allah said (in this Verse) does not indicate our failure to take part in the Ghazwa, but it refers to the deferment of making a decision by the Prophet (ﷺ) about our case in contrast to the case of those who had taken an oath before him and he excused them by accepting their excuses.

Some benfits and commentary on this hadith:

▪ Al-Haafiz Ibn Hajar (may Allaah have mercy on him) said, discussing the lessons learned from this hadeeth:

"(One of the lessons we learn) is not saying salaams to one who commits sin, and that it is permissible to shun him for more than three days. The prohibition on shunning someone for more than three days is to be understood as referring to situations where the reason for shunning is not something prescribed in Islam.

(Another lesson we learn) is that the obligation to return salaams is waived in the case of one who is greeted by the person who is being shunned, because if it were obligatory, Ka’b would not have wondered whether he (the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him)) moved his lips in returning the greeting."

Fath al-Baari (8/124).

▪ Shaykh al-Islam Ibn Taymiyah (may Allaah have mercy on him) said:

"If a person is known to openly fail to do obligatory duties or to do haraam things, then he deserves to be shunned and should not be greeted with salaams, as a rebuke to him, until he repents."

Majmoo’ al-Fataawa (23/252).

▪ Shaykh al-Islam Ibn Taymiyah (may Allaah have mercy on him) said:

"Shunning varies according to how strong or weak, and how few or how numerous the people who are doing the shunning are. The purpose is to rebuke and discipline the person being shunned and to deter the masses from doing likewise.

If the purpose is more likely be to achieved by shunning, and it will weaken and reduce the evil, then it is prescribed, but if the person being shunned and others will not be deterred by that, rather the evil will increase, and the person doing the shunning is weak and the bad consequences will outweigh the good, then shunning is not prescribed, rather softening the hearts of some people is more effective than shunning.

But in some cases shunning is more effective than softening the hearts. Hence the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) sought to soften the hearts of some people and shunned others, and the three who stayed behind (from Tabook) were better than most of those whose hearts were to be softened, because they were leaders who held positions of influence among their tribes. So the interests of Islam dictated that the hearts of the leaders be softened, whereas the three who were shunned were believers and there were many other believers besides them. So shunning them was supporting Islam and was a means of purifying them of their sins. Similarly what is prescribed with regard to the enemy is to fight them sometimes, and to seek truces with them sometimes, and to take the jizyah sometimes, according to circumstances and what is in the ummah’s best interests."

Majmoo’ al-Fataawa (28/206).

▪ "This Hadith contains many aspects of warnings and advices, some of which are given below:

1. A Muslim should always speak the truth even if he has to face troubles and turmoil for it because the Pleasure of Allah lies in truth.

2. One must avoid at all costs the attitude of hypocrites because eventually one is ruined by it.

3. In spite of hardship and stringency, one must take part in Jiんād.

4. For the admonition and exhortation of others, it gives justification for the economic boycott of even sincere Muslims who adopt wrong methods.

5. One must face with forbearance the difficulties which come in the way of Deen.

6. It is not praiseworthy that one gives in charity all the property he has. One must keep what is needed for the lawful needs.

7. It is lawful to give something by way of gift and reward to a person who congratulates in the events of happiness.

8.The ability to seek pardon is a gift from Allah for which one must express gratitude to Him.

9.Any promise that one makes must be kept, etc. etc. "

Riyād us Sālihīn, Page 16.

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