Why glory of satan

She hated being in trouble; she had never been in this kind of trouble before—never a principal's office, never! I've seen him every night. And he's always gone by morning. He sat with his hands in his lap like a star pupil.

Clarice was ready with the answer she'd been preparing ever since she'd caught sight of Josephine—that traitor! Sister Three leaned back against her chair and Sister Blood folded her hands into the sleeves of her habit.

He's very thin and his eyes are red with white, like a cat's eyes, you know, vertical. And he has a sort of cap with pointy ears. It's dark, so I can't always see what he's doing. He just seems to sit and think. Like he's resting. That's what I think it is, really, he's tired and he just wants to take it easy. Sometimes he taps his finger on the desk, sort of absent-mindedly.

But mostly all I hear is breathing. They don't need lungs. Clarice heard suspicion in that voice. She had no doubt that there was sex in the principal's mind. Lately they'd been getting sex talks and lectures at unpredictable times. The previous month the entire seventh grade had been summoned to the auditorium without explanation. As soon as everyone was seated, all the nuns rose without a sound or signal and filed out, their hands hidden in their habits, their eyes riding far away.

A doctor walked onstage with diagrams and slides, and the lights were discreetly dimmed. So Clarice knew the principal suspected sex—perhaps all of them did, even Father Reese.

This was new; she had never been suspected of sex, and she almost groaned. That's why I watch him. And yet you're sure it's the devil. I said my prayers and he was still there. But he didn't do anything, nothing at all—so I got kind of used to it. But I thought someone should know. That's why I told my mother. I'm not afraid of the dark. And besides"—her eyes flickered quickly past the sisters to rest on Father Reese—"there must be a reason he comes to see me.

Having a light on wouldn't change that. Do you spend all your time in acts of charity, religious devotions? Do you start each day by dedicating it to Our Lord? You're not planning on becoming a saint, are you? As a matter of fact, we don't come across saints very much anymore. Just people who think they can distress themselves into martyrdom. If the devil went around visiting people—sitting in their chairs—don't you think we would have heard about it? Whatever the reason, it just doesn't happen.

Clarice looked sullen. I'm not lying, and I did see him. Besides," she said, sticking her chin up, "maybe I'm not ordinary. Maybe I'm not. Father Reese shook his head. I wasn't trying to belittle you. I meant that you're ordinary in your religious life—that's all. And before you think I may be dismissing your faith, let me just warn you. Most people have religious moments, some of them quite powerful moments. They may feel an overwhelming presence of God; they may feel called to God.

For most people, the moment passes. For others, they do indeed find they have a vocation, and they dedicate their lives to the service of God.

But some people, even some of the spiritual ones, fall into the error of thinking they have sanctified themselves, that they are safe with the Lord. That's the sin of presumption. In a way, it would be better or at least simpler if it were. You see, you're not talking about visits from Christ or the Virgin—you're claiming to see the devil. An apparently harmless devil, too. That's a problem. If he were tempting you—if he were making lewd suggestions—if he were encouraging you to do something wrong or if you were doing something wrong.

You stand there calmly, saying the devil has taken to visiting you—you, of all people, Clarice Jackson—and it doesn't seem to bother you, you haven't asked how to make it stop , you just want us to accept this on faith, so to speak. You keep saying the devil comes to people—". I thought they meant it. We're not saying that everything spiritual exists literally in the mortal world—how could it?

And here you're saying you've met the most powerful manifestation of evil ever known, without any ill effects, and we have no choice, no choice at all, but to ask you why you want to see the devil.

Clarice was agitated; she held her hands tightly together, then wrapped her arms across her chest. Her mouth twisted itself tightly together. She shivered. Father Reese plucked absently at his cuff before looking at Sister Three.

He smiled wanly. You are dismissed. She cast a pleading glance at Father Reese and left the room. As soon as the door shut she heard the principal's voice complaining harshly. She knew no one was going to say anything in her favor, and it was a shock. She wasn't the best girl in the world—she knew that—but to be called ordinary, a liar, and a possible heretic; these things shook her.

And to top it all, the most amazing thing was happening and no one believed her. Because it was all true, it really was, and why would she make it up? She couldn't figure out why it was happening, she couldn't explain it or ignore it, but she didn't have doubts.

She trusted herself, she knew her steadiness and she trusted her intelligence. Except that she would expect people to know she was not the kind of girl who made things up. She was not trying to get attention; she was not scaring herself for the thrill of it—she knew girls who did both these things and she was not like them in the least. The bells rang for lunch.

She retrieved her books from the last classroom and went to her assigned table in the cafeteria. She had brought lunch with her, so she sat down at her table immediately. She was quivering with annoyance and fear.

Clarice in the principal's office! Were you talking about me? She did forbidden things and what's worse, had a tendency to do them in the wrong places. She'd been caught smoking right outside the school, had botched her father's signature on a report card, had told far too many people about cutting school and going to a rock concert she had been threatened with suspension for that.

She was a good-hearted girl who loved her own impulses. She and Clarice were convinced they were the only girls in school who had never once considered becoming nuns. They were friends for life. Now that it was over, she felt terrible—a mixture of fear, repentance even though she'd done nothing wrong, she was sorry for doing it , self-defense, and—this was odd—triumph.

They hadn't proved anything, after all. So Clarice told her all about the devil and about telling Josephine. Rosemary frowned at that. It was obvious that she thought she should have been the first to know. Rosemary nodded. But tell me, Clarice—you're not joking, right? It really was the devil?

After talking to Rosemary, the devil seemed merely a practical problem. Rosemary had a way of doing that—perhaps because her world was almost entirely directed by cause and effect. At any rate, by the time she went home Clarice was determined to get some kind of proof of the devil's existence.

Rosemary had offered to spend the night with her, as a witness, but Clarice had refused. She wasn't sure the devil would appear to anyone else—and Rosemary was not the kind of witness to persuade anyone in authority. The two girls decided that the first thing to do was to get a camera, preferably a Polaroid so Clarice wouldn't have to wait to see it developed. Rosemary had one—a cast-off from her parents—and promised to bring it the next day.

She called Clarice that night to say there was film but no flashbulbs. The idea of flashbulbs bothered Clarice; what would the devil do if he was suddenly exposed like that?

So she decided to test the devil in a small way. She had been told, in school, that God and the angels knew all, saw all.

She supposed it was true for the devil as well, though she couldn't remember any discussions about the limits of the devil's power and authority. Wasn't he also eternal, omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient? She supposed so; she supposed there was as little hope of surprising the devil as there was of surprising God.

They knew her thoughts. When she remembered that, her thoughts seemed silly. She decided resolutely not to think about her thoughts. She checked the kitchen until she found a box of matches, which she took to her own room and placed under her pillow. She decided to do it; she decided not to do it.

The devil might see it as a challenge—and what protection did she have against the devil? But he never does anything, she thought, nothing at all. She was counting on that, that he would stay there, watching her, whatever she did. She hoped that she was already protected, was in fact immune.

It seemed likely—if the devil sat down comfortably with her, then she was safe. And maybe there was sainthood in that—or at the very least, lack of ordinariness. Because the truth of it was she had to approach this sideways, she saw the possible sin , the charge of being an ordinary girl rankled horribly. Was she ordinary? How could that be—she didn't feel ordinary, she didn't put herself in the same group as Margaret, Linda, Barbara—those withdrawn, timid, tucked-in girls who hid in their seats and never had brave thoughts, she could tell.

There is no evidence left of any yellow gamboge or pinkish red lakes. Does this text contain inaccurate information or language that you feel we should improve or change? We would like to hear from you. Read more. Butts; his widow, sold April through Carfax to W.

Graham Robertson, offered Christie's 22 July 23, repr. This is an illustration to Ezekiel, xxviii, 14— Blake makes this equation in Millon , dated but written and etched c. Blake shows Satan in his original beauty as the covering Cherub of the Biblical text and personifies the precious stones and musical instruments with which he was endowed in the Garden of Eden, but Blake adds the orb and sceptre, symbols of Satan's role as Prince of this World. Janet Warner notes the probable derivation of the figure of Satan from the Apollo in Vincenzo Cartari's emblem book Imagini delli Dei gl' Antichi of ; the linking of Satan and Apollo is perhaps a meaningful one.

Rossetti seems to have been confused by the two titles under which this watercolour has been known. Thomas from Mr. The blue washes that have faded from much of the background can be seen at the bottom where they were covered by the old mount. Main menu additional Become a Member Shop. Not on display. Artist William Blake — Medium Ink and watercolour on paper. Collection Tate. Acquisition Presented by the executors of W.