Literature help due in 72 hours

due in 72 hours

attached

Don't use plagiarized sources. Get Your Custom Essay on
Literature help due in 72 hours
Just from $13/Page
Order Essay

Reading response 1

 

Answer the following question  in three complete paragraphs:

Does Woolf’s argument still make sense today? Why or why not? How does Virginia Woolf make her ideas apply to twenty-first century life.

You must have two quotes that are cited and introduced correctly in each paragraph:

What are In-Text Citations?

 

Lecture – Present Tense -2

Malleus Maleficarum Discussion

Bonus points may be earned by responding thoughtfully to the posts of your classmates.  You will not be able to see their posts until you contribute your own.
Answer both of the following questions regarding your reading of The Malleus Maleficarum.  Each of your answers should be at least one paragraph long, and should include specific lines/quotations from the original text to support your ideas.
1) What reference is made in The Malleus Maleficarum to the story of Adam and Eve?  What connection do you see between that reference and the Biblical texts you read last week?
2) Look back at your terminology Power Point at the term “Essentialism.”  What does The Malleus Maleficarum say about women and men’s essential natures?  How are they different?

The Wife of Bath Discussion

Choose one of the following questions below and write a well-developed paragraph in response, using a quotation from the text to prove your point.
1) After reading the tale, what parts of it do you find empowering to women?  Was there anything you found dis-empowering or sexist? 
2) How do stereotypes operate in the tale?  (Think about stereotypes of men and women, stereotypes to do with what women vs. men desire, stereotypes about age and beauty)

A Room of One’s Own

A Room of One’s Own

Virginia Woolf

A L M A C L A S S I C S

a l m a c l as s i c s
an imprint of

a l m a b o o k s lt d
3 Castle Yard
Richmond
Surrey TW10 6TF
United Kingdom
www.almaclassics.com

A Room of One’s Own first published in 1929
This edition first published by Alma Classics in 201

9

  • Extra Material
  • © Alma Books Ltd

    Cover design: Will Dady

    Printed in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

    i s b n : 978-1-84749-788-

    8

    All the pictures in this volume are reprinted with permission or pre sumed
    to be in the public domain. Every effort has been made to ascertain and
    acknowledge their copyright status, but should there have been any
    unwitting oversight on our part, we would be happy to rectify the error
    in subsequent printings.

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored
    in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or
    by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or other-
    wise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is
    sold subject to the condition that it shall not be resold, lent, hired out or
    otherwise circulated without the express prior consent of the publisher.

    Contents

    A Room of One’s Own 1
    Chapter I

    3

    Chapter II 30
    Chapter III 50
    Chapter IV 69
    Chapter V 9

    5

    Chapter VI 11

    4

  • Note on the Text
  • 138

  • Notes
  • 138

    Extra Material 153

  • Virginia Woolf ’s Life
  • 155

  • Virginia Woolf ’s Works
  • 16

    7

  • Select Bibliography
  • 180

    Virginia Woolf (1882–1941)

    Leslie Stephen,
    Virginia’s father

    Julia Duckworth Stephen,
    Virginia’s mother

    Leonard Woolf,
    Virginia’s husband

    Vanessa Bell,
    Virginia’s sister

    Talland House, the Stephens’ summer house in St Ives(above)
    and Monk’s House, the Woolfs’ Sussex cottage (below)

    Cover of the first edition of
    A Room of One’s Own

    A Room of One’s Own *

    3

    Chapter I

    B ut, you may say, we asked you to speak about women and fiction – what has that got to do with a room of
    one’s own? I will try to explain. When you asked me to speak
    about women and fiction I sat down on the banks of a river
    and began to wonder what the words meant. They might
    mean simply a few remarks about Fanny Burney; a few more
    about Jane Austen; a tribute to the Brontës and a sketch of
    Haworth Parsonage under snow; some witticisms if pos-
    sible about Miss Mitford;* a respectful allusion to George
    Eliot; a reference to Mrs Gaskell and one would have done.
    But at second sight the words seemed not so simple. The
    title “women and fiction” might mean, and you may have
    meant it to mean, women and what they are like, or it might
    mean women and the fiction that they write; or it might
    mean women and the fiction that is written about them; or
    it might mean that somehow all three are inextricably mixed
    together and you want me to consider them in that light. But
    when I began to consider the subject in this last way, which
    seemed the most interesting, I soon saw that it had one fatal
    drawback. I should never be able to come to a conclusion. I
    should never be able to fulfil what is, I understand, the first
    duty of a lecturer – to hand you after an hour’s discourse a

    4

    a room of one’s own

    nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your
    notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece for ever. All I could
    do was to offer you an opinion upon one minor point – a
    woman must have money and a room of her own if she is
    to write fiction – and that, as you will see, leaves the great
    problem of the true nature of woman and the true nature
    of fiction unsolved. I have shirked the duty of coming to a
    conclusion upon these two questions – women and fiction
    remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems. But in
    order to make some amends I am going to do what I can to
    show you how I arrived at this opinion about the room and
    the money. I am going to develop in your presence as fully
    and freely as I can the train of thought which led me to think
    this. Perhaps if I lay bare the ideas, the prejudices that lie
    behind this statement you will find that they have some bear-
    ing upon women and some upon fiction. At any rate, when a
    subject is highly controversial – and any question about sex is
    that – one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show
    how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold. One
    can only give one’s audience the chance of drawing their own
    conclusions as they observe the limitations, the prejudices,
    the idiosyncrasies of the speaker. Fiction here is likely to con-
    tain more truth than fact. Therefore I propose, making use
    of all the liberties and licences of a novelist, to tell you the
    story of the two days that preceded my coming here – how,
    bowed down by the weight of the subject which you have
    laid upon my shoulders, I pondered it and made it work in
    and out of my daily life. I need not say that what I am about

    5

    chapter i

    to describe has no existence; Oxbridge is an invention; so is
    Fernham; “I” is only a convenient term for somebody who
    has no real being. Lies will flow from my lips, but there may
    perhaps be some truth mixed up with them; it is for you to
    seek out this truth and to decide whether any part of it is
    worth keeping. If not, you will of course throw the whole of
    it into the waste-paper basket and forget all about it.

    Here then was I (call me Mary Beton, Mary Seton, Mary
    Carmichael* or by any name you please – it is not a matter
    of importance), sitting on the banks of a river a week or
    two ago in fine October weather, lost in thought. That
    collar I have spoken of – women and fiction, the need of
    coming to some conclusion on a subject that raises all
    sorts of prejudices and passions – bowed my head to the
    ground. To the right and left bushes of some sort, golden
    and crimson, glowed with the colour, even it seemed burnt
    with the heat, of fire. On the further bank the willows wept
    in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders.
    The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and
    burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his
    boat through the reflections they closed again, completely,
    as if he had never been. There one might have sat the clock
    round lost in thought. Thought – to call it by a prouder name
    than it deserved – had let its line down into the stream. It
    swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the
    reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it
    until – you know the little tug, the sudden conglomeration
    of an idea at the end of one’s line, and then the cautious

    6

    a room of one’s own

    hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid
    on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of
    mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts
    back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one
    day worth cooking and eating. I will not trouble you with
    that thought now, though if you look carefully you may
    find it for yourselves in the course of what I am going to say.

    But however small it was, it had, nevertheless, the mysteri-
    ous property of its kind – put back into the mind, it became
    at once very exciting and important, and, as it darted and
    sank and flashed hither and thither, set up such a wash and
    tumult of ideas that it was impossible to sit still. It was thus
    that I found myself walking with extreme rapidity across a
    grass plot. Instantly a man’s figure rose to intercept me. Nor
    did I at first understand that the gesticulations of a curious-
    looking object, in a cutaway coat and evening shirt, were
    aimed at me. His face expressed horror and indignation.
    Instinct rather than reason came to my help; he was a beadle;
    I was a woman. This was the turf; there was the path. Only
    the fellows and scholars are allowed here; the gravel is the
    place for me. Such thoughts were the work of a moment.
    As I regained the path, the arms of the beadle sank, his face
    assumed its usual repose, and though turf is better walking
    than gravel, no very great harm was done. The only charge
    I could bring against the fellows and scholars of whatever
    the college might happen to be was that in protection of
    their turf, which has been rolled for three hundred years in
    succession, they had sent my little fish into hiding.

    7
    chapter i

    What idea it had been that had sent me so audaciously
    trespassing I could not now remember. The spirit of peace
    descended like a cloud from heaven, for if the spirit of
    peace dwells anywhere, it is in the courts and quadrangles
    of Oxbridge on a fine October morning. Strolling through
    those colleges past those ancient halls, the roughness of the
    present seemed smoothed away; the body seemed contained
    in a miraculous glass cabinet through which no sound could
    penetrate, and the mind, freed from any contact with facts
    (unless one trespassed on the turf again), was at liberty to
    settle down upon whatever meditation was in harmony with
    the moment. As chance would have it, some stray memory of
    some old essay about revisiting Oxbridge in the long vacation
    brought Charles Lamb to mind – St Charles, said Thackeray,
    putting a letter of Lamb’s to his forehead.* Indeed, among all
    the dead (I give you my thoughts as they came to me), Lamb
    is one of the most congenial; one to whom one would have
    liked to say, “Tell me then how you wrote your essays?” For
    his essays are superior even to Max Beerbohm’s,* I thought,
    with all their perfection, because of that wild flash of imagi-
    nation, that lightning crack of genius in the middle of them
    which leaves them flawed and imperfect, but starred with
    poetry. Lamb then came to Oxbridge perhaps a hundred
    years ago. Certainly he wrote an essay – the name escapes
    me – about the manuscript of one of Milton’s poems which
    he saw here. It was ‘Lycidas’* perhaps, and Lamb wrote
    how it shocked him to think it possible that any word in
    ‘Lycidas’ could have been different from what it is. To think

    8
    a room of one’s own

    of Milton changing the words in that poem seemed to him
    a sort of sacrilege. This led me to remember what I could
    of ‘Lycidas’ and to amuse myself with guessing which word
    it could have been that Milton had altered, and why. It then
    occurred to me that the very manuscript itself which Lamb
    had looked at was only a few hundred yards away, so that one
    could follow Lamb’s footsteps across the quadrangle to that
    famous library* where the treasure is kept. Moreover, I recol-
    lected, as I put this plan into execution, it is in this famous
    library that the manuscript of Thackeray’s Esmond* is also
    preserved. The critics often say that Esmond is Thackeray’s
    most perfect novel. But the affectation of the style, with its
    imitation of the eighteenth century, hampers one, so far as
    I can remember; unless indeed the eighteenth-century style
    was natural to Thackeray – a fact that one might prove by
    looking at the manuscript and seeing whether the altera-
    tions were for the benefit of the style or of the sense. But
    then one would have to decide what is style and what is
    meaning, a question which… but here I was actually at the
    door which leads into the library itself. I must have opened
    it, for instantly there issued, like a guardian angel barring
    the way with a flutter of black gown instead of white wings,
    a deprecating, silvery, kindly gentleman, who regretted in a
    low voice as he waved me back that ladies are only admitted
    to the library if accompanied by a fellow of the College or
    furnished with a letter of introduction.

    That a famous library has been cursed by a woman is
    a matter of complete indifference to a famous library.

    9
    chapter i

    Venerable and calm, with all its treasures safe locked within
    its breast, it sleeps complacently and will, so far as I am
    concerned, so sleep for ever. Never will I wake those echoes,
    never will I ask for that hospitality again, I vowed as I
    descended the steps in anger. Still an hour remained before
    luncheon, and what was one to do? Stroll on the meadows?
    Sit by the river? Certainly it was a lovely autumn morn-
    ing; the leaves were fluttering red to the ground; there was
    no great hardship in doing either. But the sound of music
    reached my ear. Some service or celebration was going for-
    ward. The organ complained magnificently as I passed the
    chapel door. Even the sorrow of Christianity sounded in that
    serene air more like the recollection of sorrow than sorrow
    itself; even the groanings of the ancient organ seemed lapped
    in peace. I had no wish to enter had I the right, and this
    time the verger might have stopped me, demanding perhaps
    my baptismal certificate, or a letter of introduction from
    the Dean. But the outside of these magnificent buildings is
    often as beautiful as the inside. Moreover, it was amusing
    enough to watch the congregation assembling, coming in
    and going out again, busying themselves at the door of the
    chapel like bees at the mouth of a hive. Many were in cap
    and gown; some had tufts of fur on their shoulders; others
    were wheeled in bath chairs; others, though not past middle
    age, seemed creased and crushed into shapes so singular
    that one was reminded of those giant crabs and crayfish
    who heave with difficulty across the sand of an aquarium.
    As I leant against the wall, the University indeed seemed a

    10

    a room of one’s own

    sanctuary in which are preserved rare types which would
    soon be obsolete if left to fight for existence on the pavement
    of the Strand. Old stories of old deans and old dons came
    back to mind, but before I had summoned up courage to
    whistle – it used to be said that at the sound of a whistle old
    Professor —— instantly broke into a gallop – the venerable
    congregation had gone inside. The outside of the chapel
    remained. As you know, its high domes and pinnacles can
    be seen, like a sailing ship always voyaging never arriving,
    lit up at night and visible for miles, far away across the hills.
    Once, presumably, this quadrangle with its smooth lawns, its
    massive buildings and the chapel itself was marsh too, where
    the grasses waved and the swine rootled. Teams of horses
    and oxen, I thought, must have hauled the stone in wagons
    from far countries, and then with infinite labour the grey
    blocks in whose shade I was now standing were poised in
    order one on top of another, and then the painters brought
    their glass for the windows, and the masons were busy for
    centuries up on that roof with putty and cement, spade
    and trowel. Every Saturday somebody must have poured
    gold and silver out of a leathern purse into their ancient
    fists, for they had their beer and skittles presumably of an
    evening. An unending stream of gold and silver, I thought,
    must have flowed into this court perpetually to keep the
    stones coming and the masons working – to level, to ditch,
    to dig and to drain. But it was then the age of faith, and
    money was poured liberally to set these stones on a deep
    foundation, and when the stones were raised, still more

    11

    chapter i

    money was poured in from the coffers of kings and queens
    and great nobles to ensure that hymns should be sung here
    and scholars taught. Lands were granted; tithes were paid.
    And when the age of faith was over and the age of reason
    had come, still the same flow of gold and silver went on;
    fellowships were founded; lectureships endowed; only the
    gold and silver flowed now, not from the coffers of the king,
    but from the chests of merchants and manufacturers, from
    the purses of men who had made, say, a fortune from indus-
    try, and returned, in their wills, a bounteous share of it to
    endow more chairs, more lectureships, more fellowships in
    the university where they had learnt their craft. Hence the
    libraries and laboratories, the observatories, the splendid
    equipment of costly and delicate instruments which now
    stands on glass shelves, where centuries ago the grasses
    waved and the swine rootled. Certainly, as I strolled round
    the court, the foundation of gold and silver seemed deep
    enough; the pavement laid solidly over the wild grasses.
    Men with trays on their heads went busily from staircase to
    staircase. Gaudy blossoms flowered in window boxes. The
    strains of the gramophone blared out from the rooms within.
    It was impossible not to reflect – the reflection, whatever it
    may have been, was cut short. The clock struck. It was time
    to find one’s way to luncheon.

    It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making
    us believe that luncheon parties are invariably memorable
    for something very witty that was said, or for something
    very wise that was done. But they seldom spare a word for

    12

    a room of one’s own

    what was eaten. It is part of the novelist’s convention not
    to mention soup and salmon and ducklings, as if soup and
    salmon and ducklings were of no importance whatsoever,
    as if nobody ever smoked a cigar or drank a glass of wine.
    Here, however, I shall take the liberty to defy that convention
    and to tell you that the lunch on this occasion began with
    soles, sunk in a deep dish, over which the college cook had
    spread a counterpane of the whitest cream, save that it was
    branded here and there with brown spots like the spots on
    the flanks of a doe. After that came the partridges, but if
    this suggests a couple of bald, brown birds on a plate you are
    mistaken. The partridges, many and various, came with all
    their retinue of sauces and salads, the sharp and the sweet,
    each in its order, their potatoes thin as coins but not so
    hard, their sprouts foliated as rosebuds but more succulent.
    And no sooner had the roast and its retinue been done with
    than the silent serving man, the beadle himself perhaps in
    a milder manifestation, set before us, wreathed in napkins,
    a confection which rose all sugar from the waves. To call
    it pudding and so relate it to rice and tapioca would be an
    insult. Meanwhile the wineglasses had flushed yellow and
    flushed crimson, had been emptied, had been filled. And
    thus by degrees was lit, halfway down the spine, which is
    the seat of the soul, not that hard little electric light which
    we call brilliance, as it pops in and out upon our lips, but
    the more profound, subtle and subterranean glow which
    is the rich yellow flame of rational intercourse. No need
    to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but

    13

    chapter i

    oneself. We are all going to heaven and Van Dyck is of the
    company* – in other words, how good life seemed, how
    sweet its rewards, how trivial this grudge or that grievance,
    how admirable friendship and the society of one’s kind, as,
    lighting a good cigarette, one sunk among the cushions in
    the window seat.

    If by good luck there had been an ashtray handy, if one
    had not knocked the ash out of the window in default, if
    things had been a little different from what they were, one
    would not have seen, presumably, a cat without a tail. The
    sight of that abrupt and truncated animal padding softly
    across the quadrangle changed by some fluke of the sub-
    conscious intelligence the emotional light for me. It was as
    if someone had let fall a shade. Perhaps the excellent hock
    was relinquishing its hold. Certainly, as I watched the Manx
    cat pause in the middle of the lawn as if it too questioned
    the universe, something seemed lacking, something seemed
    different. But what was lacking, what was different? I asked
    myself, listening to the talk. And to answer that question
    I had to think myself out of the room, back into the past,
    before the war indeed, and to set before my eyes the model
    of another luncheon party held in rooms not very far dis-
    tant from these, but different. Everything was different.
    Meanwhile the talk went on among the guests, who were
    many and young, some of this sex, some of that; it went on
    swimmingly, it went on agreeably, freely, amusingly. And as
    it went on I set it against the background of that other talk,
    and as I matched the two together I had no doubt that one

    14

    a room of one’s own

    was the descendant, the legitimate heir of the other. Nothing
    was changed; nothing was different save only – here I listened
    with all my ears not entirely to what was being said, but
    to the murmur or current behind it. Yes, that was it – the
    change was there. Before the war at a luncheon party like
    this people would have said precisely the same things but
    they would have sounded different, because in those days
    they were accompanied by a sort of humming noise, not
    articulate, but musical, exciting, which changed the value of
    the words themselves. Could one set that humming noise to
    words? Perhaps with the help of the poets one could. A book
    lay beside me and, opening it, I turned casually enough to
    Tennyson. And here I found Tennyson was singing:

    There has fallen a splendid tear
    From the passion flower at the gate.
    She is coming, my dove, my dear;
    She is coming, my life, my fate;
    The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near”;
    And the white rose weeps, “She is late”;
    The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear”;
    And the lily whispers, “I wait.”*

    Was that what men hummed at luncheon parties before the
    war? And the women?

    My heart is like a singing bird
    Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;

    15

    chapter i

    My heart is like an apple tree
    Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
    My heart is like a rainbow shell
    That paddles in a halcyon sea;
    My heart is gladder than all these
    Because my love is come to me.*

    Was that what women hummed at luncheon parties before
    the war?

    There was something so ludicrous in thinking of people
    humming such things even under their breath at luncheon
    parties before the war that I burst out laughing, and had
    to explain my laughter by pointing at the Manx cat, who
    did look a little absurd, poor beast, without a tail, in the
    middle of the lawn. Was he really born so, or had he lost
    his tail in an accident? The tailless cat, though some are
    said to exist in the Isle of Man, is rarer than one thinks. It
    is a queer animal, quaint rather than beautiful. It is strange
    what a difference a tail makes – you know the sort of things
    one says as a lunch party breaks up and people are finding
    their coats and hats.

    This one, thanks to the hospitality of the host, had lasted
    far into the afternoon. The beautiful October day was fading
    and the leaves were falling from the trees in the avenue as
    I walked through it. Gate after gate seemed to close with
    gentle finality behind me. Innumerable beadles were fitting
    innumerable keys into well-oiled locks; the treasure house
    was being made secure for another night. After the avenue

    16

    a room of one’s own

    one comes out upon a road – I forget its name – which
    leads you, if you take the right turning, along to Fernham.
    But there was plenty of time. Dinner was not till half-past
    seven. One could almost do without dinner after such a
    luncheon. It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the
    mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
    Those words –

    There has fallen a splendid tear
    From the passion flower at the gate.
    She is coming, my dove, my dear

    – sang in my blood as I stepped quickly along towards
    Headingley. And then, switching off into the other measure,
    I sang, where the waters are churned up by the weir:

    My heart is like a singing bird
    Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
    My heart is like an apple tree…

    “What poets,” I cried aloud, as one does in the dusk, “what
    poets they were!”

    In a sort of jealousy, I suppose, for our own age, silly and
    absurd though these comparisons are, I went on to wonder
    if honestly one could name two living poets now as great
    as Tennyson and Christina Rossetti were then. Obviously
    it is impossible, I thought, looking into those foaming
    waters, to compare them. The very reason why that poetry

    • A Room of One’s Own
    • Note on the Text
      Notes
      Extra Material
      Virginia Woolf ’s Life
      Virginia Woolf ’s Works
      Select Bibliography

    Excerptsfrom The Malleus Maleficarum

    About the text: The Malleus Maleficarum was at one point the most popular book on earth after

    the Bible. It was written by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger and details how witches came

    to be, how to discover witches, and how to punish them in courts. The book was so highly

    regarded by the Catholic Church that anyone who disagreed with any part of the book was

    labeled a heretic and ran the risk of being tortured or executed as a witch themselves. Nearly

    600,000 women and female children (that we know of) were tortured and executed as witches

    during the Inquisition with help from this book. Some scholars put the number as high as

    8,000,000. We will never know exactly.

    Here are the titles of the chapters of The Malleus Maleficarum:

     The Belief in Witches is so Essential a Part of the Catholic Faith that Having the

    Opposite Opinion Manifestly Qualifies as Heresy

     Whether Children can be Generated by Incubi and Succubi

     By which Devils are the Operations of Incubus and Sucubus Pratcised?

     What is the Source of the Increase of Works of Witchcraft? Why Has It So Notably

    Increased?

     Why is it that Women are Chiefly Addicted to Evil Superstitions?

     Whether Witches Can Sway the Minds of Men to Love

     Whether Witches can Hebetate the Powers of Generation or Obstruct the Venereal Act

     Whether Witches Can Change Men into Beasts

     Witches Who are Midwives Kill Children Conceived in the Womb, Procure Abortions,

    Offer New-Born Children to Devils, or Eat Them

    Excerpt from the Section on Why there are more Women Witches than Men:

    Others again have propounded other reasons why there are more superstitious women

    found than men. And the first is, that they are more credulous; and since the chief aim of the

    devil is to corrupt faith, therefore he rather attacks them… The second reason is, that women are

    naturally more impressionable, and more ready to receive the influence of a disembodied spirit;

    and that when they use this quality well they are very good, but when they use it ill they are very

    evil….The third reason is that they have slippery tongues, and are unable to conceal from the

    fellow-women those things which by evil arts they know; and, since they are weak, they find an

    easy and secret manner of vindicating themselves by witchcraft….All wickedness is but little to

    the wickedness of a woman. And to this may be added that, as they are very impressionable, they

    act accordingly.

    But because in these times this perfidy is more often found in women than in men, as we

    learn by actual experience, if anyone is curious as to the reason, we may add to what has already

    been said the following: that since they are feebler both in mind and body, it is not surprising that

    they should come more under the spell of witchcraft . . .

    But the natural reason is that she is more carnal than a man, as is clear from her many

    carnal abominations. And it should be noted that there was a defect in the formation of the first

    woman, since she was formed from a bent rib, that is, a rib of the breast, which is bent as it were

    in a contrary direction to a man. And since through this defect she is an imperfect animal, she

    always deceives . . .

    And indeed, just as through the first defect in their intelligence that are more prone to

    abjure the faith; so through their second defect of inordinate affections and passions they search

    for, brood over, and inflict various vengeances, either by witchcraft, or by some other means.

    Wherefore it is no wonder that so great a number of witches exist in this sex . . .

    To conclude. All witchcraft comes from carnal lust, which is in women insatiable. See

    Proverbs xxx: There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, a fourth thing which says not, It

    is enough; that is, the mouth of the womb. Wherefore for the sake of fulfilling their lusts they

    consort even with devils. More such reasons could be brought forward, but to the understanding

    it is sufficiently clear that it is no matter for wonder that there are more women than men found

    infected with the heresy of witchcraft. And in consequence of this, it is better called the heresy of

    witches than of wizards, since the name is taken from the more powerful party. And blessed be

    the Highest Who has so far preserved the male sex from so great a crime: for since He was

    willing to be born and to suffer for us, therefore He has granted to men the privilege.

    Excerpt from Section on How to Determine if a Woman is a Witch:

    If he wishes to find out whether she is endowed with a witch’s power of preserving

    silence, let him take note whether she is able to shed tears when standing in his presence, or

    when being tortured. For we are taught both by the words of worthy men of old and by our

    own experience that this is a most certain sign, and it has been found that even if she be

    urged and exhorted by solemn conjurations to shed tears, if she be a witch she will not be

    able to weep: although she will assume a tearful aspect and smear her cheeks and eyes with

    spittle to make it appear that she is weeping; wherefore she must be closely watched by the

    attendants.

    In passing sentence the Judge or priest may use some such method as the following in

    conjuring her to true tears if she be innocent, or in restraining false tears. Let him place his

    hand on the head of the accused and say: I conjure you by the bitter tears shed on the Cross

    by our Saviour the Lord JESUS Christ for the salvation of the world, and by the burning

    tears poured in the evening hour over His wounds by the most glorious Virgin MARY, His

    Mother, and by all the tears which have been shed here in this world by the Saints and Elect

    of God, from whose eyes He has now wiped away all tears, that if you be innocent you do

    now shed tears, but if you be guilty that you shall by no means do so. In the name of the

    Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.

    And it is found by experience that the more they are conjured the less are they able to

    weep, however hard they may try to do so, or smear their cheeks with spittle. Nevertheless it

    is possible that afterwards, in the absence of the Judge and not at the time or in the place of

    torture, they may be able to weep in the presence of their gaolers.

    And as for the reason for a witch’s inability to weep, it can be said that the grace of

    tears is one of the chief gifts allowed to the penitent; for S. Bernard tells us that the tears of

    the humble can penetrate to heaven and conquer the unconquerable. Therefore there can be

    no doubt that they are displeasing to the devil, and that he uses all his endeavour to restrain

    them, to prevent a witch from finally attaining to penitence.

    But it may be objected that it might suit with the devil’s cunning, with God’s

    permission, to allow even a witch to weep; since tearful grieving, weaving and deceiving are

    said to be proper to women. We may answer that in this case, since the judgements of God

    are a mystery, if there is no other way of convicting the accused, by legitimate witnesses or

    the evidence of the fact, and if she is not under a strong or grave suspicion, she is to be

    discharged; but because she rests under a slight suspicion by reason of her reputation to

    which the witnesses have testified, she must be required to abjure the heresy of witchcraft,

    as we shall show when we deal with the second method of pronouncing sentence.

    The third precaution to be observed in this tenth action is that the hair should be shaved

    from every part of her body. The reason for this is the same as that for stripping her of her

    clothes, which we have already mentioned; for in order to preserve their power of silence

    they are in the habit of hiding some superstitious object in their clothes or in their hair, or

    even in the most secret parts of the their bodies which must not be named.

    But it may be objected that the devil might, without the use of such charms, so harden

    the heart of a witch that she is unable to confess her crimes; just as it is often found in the

    case of other criminals, no matter how great the tortures to which they are exposed, or how

    much they are convicted by the evidence of the facts and of witnesses. We answer that it is

    true that the devil can affect such taciturnity without the use of such charms; but he prefers

    to use them for the perdition of souls and the greater offence to the Divine Majesty of God.

    This can be made clear from the example of a certain witch in the town of Hagenau,

    whom we have mentioned in the Second Part of this work. She used to obtain this gift of

    silence in the following manner: she killed a newly-born first-born male child who had not

    been baptized, and having roasted it in an oven together with other matters which it is not

    expedient to mention, ground it to powder and ashes; and if any witch or criminal carried

    about him some of this substance he would in no way be able to confess his crimes.

    Here it is clear that a hundred thousand children so employed could not of their own

    virtue endow a person with such a power of keeping silence; but any intelligent person can

    understand that such means are used by the devil for the perdition of souls and to offend the

    Divine Majesty.

    TheWife of Bath’s Tale
    from The Canterbury Tales

    Geoffrey Chaucer, translated by Nevill Coghill

    The Prologue

    The Pardoner started up, and thereupon
    “Madam,” he said, “by God and by St. John,
    That’s noble preaching no one could surpass!
    I was about to take a wife; alas!
    5 Am I to buy it on my flesh so dear?
    There’ll be no marrying for me this year!”
    “You wait,” she said, “my story’s not begun.
    You’ll taste another brew before I’ve done;
    You’ll find it doesn’t taste as good as ale;
    10 And when I’ve finished telling you my tale
    Of tribulation in the married life
    In which I’ve been an expert as a wife,
    That is to say, myself have been the whip.
    So please yourself whether you want to sip
    15 At that same cask of marriage I shall broach.
    Be cautious before making the approach,
    For I’ll give instances, and more than ten.
    And those who won’t be warned by other men,
    By other men shall suffer their correction,
    20 So Ptolemy has said, in this connection.
    You read his Almagest; you’ll find it there.”
    “Madam, I put it to you as a prayer,”
    The Pardoner said, “go on as you began!
    Tell us your tale, spare not for any man.
    25 Instruct us younger men in your technique.”
    “Gladly,” she said, “if you will let me speak,
    But still I hope the company won’t reprove me
    Though I should speak as fantasy may move me,
    And please don’t be offended at my views;
    30 They’re really only offered to amuse.

    The Tale

    When good King Arthur ruled in ancient days
    (A king that every Briton loves to praise)
    This was a land brim-full of fairy folk.
    The Elf-Queen and her courtiers joined and broke
    35 Their elfin dance on many a green mead,
    Or so was the opinion once, I read,

    Hundreds of years ago, in days of yore.
    But no one now sees fairies any more.
    For now the saintly charity and prayer
    40 Of holy friars seem to have purged the air;
    They search the countryside through field and stream
    As thick as motes that speckle a sun-beam,
    Blessing the halls, the chambers, kitchens, bowers,
    Cities and boroughs, castles, courts and towers,
    45 Thorpes, barns and stables, outhouses and dairies,
    And that’s the reason why there are no fairies.
    Wherever there was wont to walk an elf
    To-day there walks the holy friar himself
    As evening falls or when the daylight springs,
    50 Saying his matins and his holy things,
    Walking his limit round from town to town.
    Women can now go safely up and down
    By every bush or under every tree;
    There is no other incubus but he,
    55 So there is really no one else to hurt you
    And he will do no more than take your virtue.
    Now it so happened, I began to say,
    Long, long ago in good King Arthur’s day,
    There was a knight who was a lusty liver.
    60 One day as he came riding from the river
    He saw a maiden walking all forlorn
    Ahead of him, alone as she was born.
    And of that maiden, spite of all she said,
    By very force he took her maidenhead.
    65 This act of violence made such a stir,
    So much petitioning to the king for her,
    That he condemned the knight to lose his head
    By course of law. He was as good as dead
    (It seems that then the statutes took that view)
    70 But that the queen, and other ladies too,
    Implored the king to exercise his grace
    So ceaselessly, he gave the queen the case
    And granted her his life, and she could choose
    Whether to show him mercy or refuse.
    75 The queen returned him thanks with all her might,
    And then she sent a summons to the knight
    At her convenience, and expressed her will:
    “You stand, for such is the position still,
    In no way certain of your life,” said she,
    80 “Yet you shall live if you can answer me:
    What is the thing that women most desire?
    Beware the axe and say as I require.

    “If you can’t answer on the moment, though,
    I will concede you this: You are to go
    85 A twelvemonth and a day to seek and learn
    Sufficient answer, then you shall return.
    I shall take gages from you to extort
    Surrender of your body to the court.”
    Sad was the knight and sorrowfully sighed,
    90 But there! All other choices were denied,
    And in the end he chose to go away
    And to return after a year and day
    Armed with such answer as there might be sent
    To him by God. He took his leave and went.
    95 He knocked at every house, searched every place,
    Yes, anywhere that offered hope of grace.
    What could it be that women wanted most?
    But all the same he never touched a coast,
    Country, or town in which there seemed to be
    100 Any two people willing to agree.
    Some said that women wanted wealth and treasure,
    “Honor,” said some, some “Jollity and pleasure,”
    Some “Gorgeous clothes” and others “Fun in bed,”
    “To be oft widowed and remarried,” said
    105 Others again, and some that what most mattered
    Was that we should be cossetted and flattered.
    That’s very near the truth, it seems to me;
    A man can win us best with flattery.
    To dance attendance on us, make a fuss,
    110 Ensnares us all, the best and worst of us.
    Some say the things we most desire are these:
    Freedom to do exactly as we please,
    With no one to reprove our faults and lies,
    Rather to have one call us good and wise.
    115 Truly there’s not a woman in ten score
    Who has a fault, and someone rubs the sore,
    But she will kick if what he says is true;
    You try it out and you will find so too.
    However vicious we may be within
    120 We like to be thought wise and void of sin.
    Others assert we women find it sweet
    When we are thought dependable, discreet
    And secret, firm of purpose and controlled,
    Never betraying things that we are told.
    125 But that’s not worth the handle of a rake;
    Women conceal a thing? For Heaven’s sake!
    Remember Midas? Will you hear the tale?
    Among some other little things, now stale,

    Ovid relates that under his long hair
    130 The unhappy Midas grew a splendid pair
    Of ass’s ears; as subtly as he might,
    He kept his foul deformity from sight;
    Save for his wife, there was not one that knew.
    He loved her best, and trusted in her too.
    135 He begged her not to tell a living creature
    That he possessed so horrible a feature.
    And she—she swore, were all the world to win,
    She would not do such villainy and sin
    As saddle her husband with so foul a name;
    140 Besides to speak would be to share the shame.
    Nevertheless she thought she would have died
    Keeping this secret bottled up inside;
    It seemed to swell her heart and she, no doubt,
    Thought it was on the point of bursting out.
    Fearing to speak of it to woman or man,
    Down to a reedy marsh she quickly ran
    And reached the sedge. Her heart was all on fire
    And, as a bittern bumbles in the mire,
    She whispered to the water, near the ground,
    150 “Betray me not, O water, with thy sound!
    To thee alone I tell it: It appears
    My husband has a pair of ass’s ears!
    Ah! My heart’s well again, the secret’s out!
    I could no longer keep it, not a doubt.”
    155 And so you see, although we may hold fast
    A little while, it must come out at last,
    We can’t keep secrets; as for Midas, well,
    Read Ovid for his story; he will tell.
    This knight that I am telling you about
    160 Perceived at last he never would find out
    What it could be that women loved the best.
    Faint was the soul within his sorrowful breast,
    As home he went, he dared no longer stay;
    His year was up and now it was the day.
    165 As he rode home in a dejected mood
    Suddenly, at the margin of a wood,
    He saw a dance upon the leafy floor
    Of four and twenty ladies, nay, and more.
    Eagerly he approached, in hope to learn
    170 Some words of wisdom ere he should return;
    But lo! Before he came to where they were,
    Dancers and dance all vanished into air!
    There wasn’t a living creature to be seen
    Save one old woman crouched upon the green.

    175 A fouler-looking creature I suppose
    Could scarcely be imagined. She arose
    And said, “Sir knight, there’s no way on from here.
    Tell me what you are looking for, my dear,
    For peradventure that were best for you;
    180 We old, old women know a thing or two.”
    “Dear Mother,” said the knight, “alack the day!
    I am as good as dead if I can’t say
    What thing it is that women most desire;
    If you could tell me I would pay your hire.”
    185 “Give me your hand,” she said, “and swear to do
    Whatever I shall next require of you
    —If so to do should lie within your might—
    And you shall know the answer before night.”
    “Upon my honor,” he answered, “I agree.”
    190 “Then,” said the crone, “I dare to guarantee
    Your life is safe; I shall make good my claim.
    Upon my life the queen will say the same.
    Show me the very proudest of them all
    In costly coverchief or jeweled caul
    195 That dare say no to what I have to teach.
    Let us go forward without further speech.”
    And then she crooned her gospel in his ear
    And told him to be glad and not to fear.
    They came to court. This knight, in full array,
    200 Stood forth and said, “O Queen, I’ve kept my day
    And kept my word and have my answer ready.”
    There sat the noble matrons and the heady
    Young girls, and widows too, that have the grace
    Of wisdom, all assembled in that place,
    205 And there the queen herself was throned to hear
    And judge his answer. Then the knight drew near
    And silence was commanded through the hall.
    The queen gave order he should tell them all
    What thing it was that women wanted most.
    210 He stood not silent like a beast or post,
    But gave his answer with the ringing word
    Of a man’s voice and the assembly heard:
    “My liege and lady, in general,” said he,
    “A woman wants the self-same sovereignty
    215 Over her husband as over her lover,
    And master him; he must not be above her.
    That is your greatest wish, whether you kill
    Or spare me; please yourself. I wait your will.”
    In all the court not one that shook her head
    220 Or contradicted what the knight had said;

    Maid, wife, and widow cried, “He’s saved his life!”
    And on the word up started the old wife,
    The one the knight saw sitting on the green,
    And cried, “Your mercy, sovereign lady queen!
    225 Before the court disperses, do me right!
    ’Twas I who taught this answer to the knight,
    For which he swore, and pledged his honor to it,
    That the first thing I asked of him he’d do it,
    So far as it should lie within his might.
    230 Before this court I ask you then, sir knight,
    To keep your word and take me for your wife;
    For well you know that I have saved your life.
    If this be false, deny it on your sword!”
    “Alas!” he said, “Old lady, by the Lord
    235 I know indeed that such was my behest,
    But for God’s love think of a new request,
    Take all my goods, but leave my body free.”
    “A curse on us,” she said, “if I agree!
    I may be foul, I may be poor and old,
    240 Yet will not choose to be, for all the gold
    That’s bedded in the earth or lies above,
    Less than your wife, nay, than your very love!”
    “My love?” said he. “By heaven, my damnation!
    Alas that any of my race and station
    245 Should ever make so foul a misalliance!”
    Yet in the end his pleading and defiance
    All went for nothing, he was forced to wed.
    He takes his ancient wife and goes to bed.
    Now peradventure some may well suspect
    250 A lack of care in me since I neglect
    To tell of the rejoicings and display
    Made at the feast upon their wedding-day.
    I have but a short answer to let fall;
    I say there was no joy or feast at all,
    255 Nothing but heaviness of heart and sorrow.
    He married her in private on the morrow
    And all day long stayed hidden like an owl,
    It was such torture that his wife looked foul.
    Great was the anguish churning in his head
    260 When he and she were piloted to bed;
    He wallowed back and forth in desperate style.
    His ancient wife lay smiling all the while;
    At last she said “Bless us! Is this, my dear,
    How knights and wives get on together here?
    265 Are these the laws of good King Arthur’s house?
    Are knights of his all so contemptuous?

    I am your own beloved and your wife,
    And I am she, indeed, that saved your life;
    And certainly I never did you wrong.
    270 Then why, this first of nights, so sad a song?
    You’re carrying on as if you were half-witted
    Say, for God’s love, what sin have I committed?
    I’ll put things right if you will tell me how.”
    “Put right?” he cried. “That never can be now!
    275 Nothing can ever be put right again!
    You’re old, and so abominably plain,
    So poor to start with, so low-bred to follow;
    It’s little wonder if I twist and wallow!
    God, that my heart would burst within my breast!”
    280 “Is that,” said she, “the cause of your unrest?”
    “Yes, certainly,” he said, “and can you wonder?”
    “I could set right what you suppose a blunder,
    That’s if I cared to, in a day or two,
    If I were shown more courtesy by you.
    285 Just now,” she said, “you spoke of gentle birth,
    Such as descends from ancient wealth and worth.
    If that’s the claim you make for gentlemen
    Such arrogance is hardly worth a hen.
    Whoever loves to work for virtuous ends,
    290 Public and private, and who most intends
    To do what deeds of gentleness he can,
    Take him to be the greatest gentleman.
    Christ wills we take our gentleness from Him,
    Not from a wealth of ancestry long dim,
    295 Though they bequeath their whole establishment
    By which we claim to be of high descent.
    Our fathers cannot make us a bequest
    Of all those virtues that became them best
    And earned for them the name of gentlemen,
    300 But bade us follow them as best we can.
    “Thus the wise poet of the Florentines,
    Dante by name, has written in these lines,
    For such is the opinion Dante launches:
    ‘Seldom arises by these slender branches
    305 Prowess of men, for it is God, no less,
    Wills us to claim of Him our gentleness.’
    For of our parents nothing can we claim
    Save temporal things, and these may hurt and maim.
    “But everyone knows this as well as I;
    310 For if gentility were implanted by
    The natural course of lineage down the line,
    Public or private, could it cease to shine

    In doing the fair work of gentle deed?
    No vice or villainy could then bear seed.
    315 “Take fire and carry it to the darkest house
    Between this kingdom and the Caucasus,
    And shut the doors on it and leave it there,
    It will burn on, and it will burn as fair
    As if ten thousand men were there to see,
    320 For fire will keep its nature and degree,
    I can assure you, sir, until it dies.
    “But gentleness, as you will recognize,
    Is not annexed in nature to possessions.
    Men fail in living up to their professions;
    325 But fire never ceases to be fire.
    God knows you’ll often find, if you inquire,
    Some lording full of villainy and shame.
    If you would be esteemed for the mere name
    Of having been by birth a gentleman
    330 And stemming from some virtuous, noble clan,
    And do not live yourself by gentle deed
    Or take your father’s noble code and creed,
    You are no gentleman, though duke or earl.
    Vice and bad manners are what make a churl.
    335 “Gentility is only the renown
    For bounty that your fathers handed down,
    Quite foreign to your person, not your own;
    Gentility must come from God alone.
    That we are gentle comes to us by grace
    340 And by no means is it bequeathed with place.
    “Reflect how noble (says Valerius)
    Was Tullius surnamed Hostilius,
    Who rose from poverty to nobleness.
    And read Boethius, Seneca no less,
    345 Thus they express themselves and are agreed:
    ‘Gentle is he that does a gentle deed.’
    And therefore, my dear husband, I conclude
    That even if my ancestors were rude,
    Yet God on high—and so I hope He will—
    350 Can grant me grace to live in virtue still,
    A gentlewoman only when beginning
    To live in virtue and to shrink from sinning.
    “As for my poverty which you reprove,
    Almighty God Himself in whom we move,
    355 Believe, and have our being, chose a life
    Of poverty, and every man or wife
    Nay, every child can see our Heavenly King
    Would never stoop to choose a shameful thing.

    No shame in poverty if the heart is gay,
    360 As Seneca and all the learned say.
    He who accepts his poverty unhurt
    I’d say is rich although he lacked a shirt.
    But truly poor are they who whine and fret
    And covet what they cannot hope to get.
    365 And he that, having nothing, covets not,
    Is rich, though you may think he is a sot.
    “True poverty can find a song to sing.
    Juvenal says a pleasant little thing:
    ‘The poor can dance and sing in the relief
    370 Of having nothing that will tempt a thief.’
    Though it be hateful, poverty is good,
    A great incentive to a livelihood,
    And a great help to our capacity
    For wisdom, if accepted patiently.
    375 Poverty is, though wanting in estate,
    A kind of wealth that none calumniate.
    Poverty often, when the heart is lowly,
    Brings one to God and teaches what is holy,
    Gives knowledge of oneself and even lends
    380 A glass by which to see one’s truest friends.
    And since it’s no offense, let me be plain;
    Do not rebuke my poverty again.
    “Lastly you taxed me, sir, with being old.
    Yet even if you never had been told
    385 By ancient books, you gentlemen engage
    Yourselves in honor to respect old age.
    To call an old man ‘father’ shows good breeding,
    And this could be supported from my reading.
    “You say I’m old and fouler than a fen.
    390 You need not fear to be a cuckold, then.
    Filth and old age, I’m sure you will agree,
    Are powerful wardens over chastity.
    Nevertheless, well knowing your delights,
    I shall fulfill your worldly appetites.
    395 “You have two choices; which one will you try?
    To have me old and ugly till I die,
    But still a loyal, true, and humble wife
    That never will displease you all her life,
    Or would you rather I were young and pretty
    400 And chance your arm what happens in a city
    Where friends will visit you because of me,
    Yes, and in other places too, maybe.
    Which would you have? The choice is all your own.”
    The knight thought long, and with a piteous groan

    405 At last he said, with all the care in life,
    “My lady and my love, my dearest wife,
    I leave the matter to your wise decision.
    You make the choice yourself, for the provision
    Of what may be agreeable and rich
    410 In honor to us both, I don’t care which;
    Whatever pleases you suffices me.”
    “And have I won the mastery?” said she,
    “Since I’m to choose and rule as I think fit?”
    “Certainly, wife,” he answered her, “that’s it.”
    415 “Kiss me,” she cried. “No quarrels! On my oath
    And word of honor, you shall find me both,
    That is, both fair and faithful as a wife;
    May I go howling mad and take my life
    Unless I prove to be as good and true
    420 As ever wife was since the world was new!
    And if to-morrow when the sun’s above
    I seem less fair than any lady-love,
    Than any queen or empress east or west,
    Do with my life and death as you think best.
    425 Cast up the curtain, husband. Look at me!”
    And when indeed the knight had looked to see,
    Lo, she was young and lovely, rich in charms.
    In ecstasy he caught her in his arms,
    His heart went bathing in a bath of blisses
    430 And melted in a hundred thousand kisses,
    And she responded in the fullest measure
    With all that could delight or give him pleasure.
    So they lived ever after to the end
    In perfect bliss; and may Christ Jesus send
    435 Us husbands meek and young and fresh in bed,
    And grace to overbid them when we wed.
    And—Jesu hear my prayer!—cut short the lives
    Of those who won’t be governed by their wives;
    And all old, angry niggards of their pence,
    440 God send them soon a very pestilence!

    Academic Writing Pet Peeves!

    · Short story and poem titles go in quotation marks.

    · “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe

    · “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gillman

    · Book and Play titles go in italics.

    · Moby Dick by Herman Melville

    · Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

    · The Title of Your Paper

    · Should not just be the title of the work you’re writing about!

    · A bad title: “The Raven”

    · A good title: Analyzing Rhyme in Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”

    · Should not be in quotation marks or underlined

    · See above. The only thing in quotation marks should be titles of other people’s works.

    · Quotations

    · All quotations MUST BE INTRODUCED! Do not ever start a sentence with a quotation.

    · A bad example:

    · “Feminism is an important component of Glaspell’s writing” (Jones 27).

    · A good example:

    · In James Jones’ essay “Susan Glaspell Uncovered,” he notes that, “Feminism is an important component of Glaspell’s writing” (27).

    · Never begin or end a paragraph with a quotation.

    · Paragraphs should begin with a topic sentence.

    · All quotes should be explained afterward.

    · Tense

    · Any time you write about literature, you should be writing in the present tense. For example, we would say, “Hamlet struggles with the death of his father” rather than “Hamlet struggled with the death of his father.”

    · Action that happens before the beginning of the story or play may be put in past tense.

    · NEVER

    · Refer to the author by his or her first name. You are not friends. Last names only. (The first time you mention an author, you may use first and last name. After that, last names are all you need.)

    · Use first or second person (no “I” or “You”)

    · Use contractions or abbreviations

    · Make announcements in your paper: (“In this paper I will discuss…” “This paper is about…” “My reasons are…”)

    · ALWAYS

    · Introduce the full name of the text(s) and author(s) at some point in your introductory paragraph. Your title is not enough.

    · Head, format, double-space, and type your paper in Times New Roman size 12

    Achiever Essays
    Calculate your paper price
    Pages (550 words)
    Approximate price: -

    Why Work with Us

    Top Quality and Well-Researched Papers

    We always make sure that writers follow all your instructions precisely. You can choose your academic level: high school, college/university or professional, and we will assign a writer who has a respective degree.

    Professional and Experienced Academic Writers

    We have a team of professional writers with experience in academic and business writing. Many are native speakers and able to perform any task for which you need help.

    Free Unlimited Revisions

    If you think we missed something, send your order for a free revision. You have 10 days to submit the order for review after you have received the final document. You can do this yourself after logging into your personal account or by contacting our support.

    Prompt Delivery and 100% Money-Back-Guarantee

    All papers are always delivered on time. In case we need more time to master your paper, we may contact you regarding the deadline extension. In case you cannot provide us with more time, a 100% refund is guaranteed.

    Original & Confidential

    We use several writing tools checks to ensure that all documents you receive are free from plagiarism. Our editors carefully review all quotations in the text. We also promise maximum confidentiality in all of our services.

    24/7 Customer Support

    Our support agents are available 24 hours a day 7 days a week and committed to providing you with the best customer experience. Get in touch whenever you need any assistance.

    Try it now!

    Calculate the price of your order

    Total price:
    $0.00

    How it works?

    Follow these simple steps to get your paper done

    Place your order

    Fill in the order form and provide all details of your assignment.

    Proceed with the payment

    Choose the payment system that suits you most.

    Receive the final file

    Once your paper is ready, we will email it to you.

    Our Services

    No need to work on your paper at night. Sleep tight, we will cover your back. We offer all kinds of writing services.

    Essays

    Essay Writing Service

    No matter what kind of academic paper you need and how urgent you need it, you are welcome to choose your academic level and the type of your paper at an affordable price. We take care of all your paper needs and give a 24/7 customer care support system.

    Admissions

    Admission Essays & Business Writing Help

    An admission essay is an essay or other written statement by a candidate, often a potential student enrolling in a college, university, or graduate school. You can be rest assurred that through our service we will write the best admission essay for you.

    Reviews

    Editing Support

    Our academic writers and editors make the necessary changes to your paper so that it is polished. We also format your document by correctly quoting the sources and creating reference lists in the formats APA, Harvard, MLA, Chicago / Turabian.

    Reviews

    Revision Support

    If you think your paper could be improved, you can request a review. In this case, your paper will be checked by the writer or assigned to an editor. You can use this option as many times as you see fit. This is free because we want you to be completely satisfied with the service offered.

    Live Chat+1(978) 822-0999EmailWhatsApp

    Order your essay today and save 20% with the discount code RESEARCH