Category Archives: literature

And gratis there she offered me

It is not four years ago,
I offered forty crowns
To lie with her a night or so:
She answered me in frowns.

Not two years since, she meeting me
Did whisper in my ear,
That she would at my service be,
If I contented were.

I told her I was cold as snow,
And had no great desire;
But should be well content to go
To twenty, but no higher.

Some three months since or thereabout,
She that so coy had been,
Bethought herself and found me out,
And was content to sin.

I smiled at that, and told her I
Did think it something late,
And that I’d not repentance buy
At above half the rate.

This present morning early she
Forsooth came to my bed,
And gratis there she offered me
Her high-prized maidenhead.

I told her that I thought it then
Far dearer than I did,
When I at first the forty crowns
For one night’s lodging bid.

It is not four years ago is a poem by John Suckling reminiscent of a scene in the 1969 film Coming Apart. The scene where a young pregnant mother visits the protagonist psychiatrist and offers herself. She asks “Is it worth fifty dollars to you?” And Rip Torn answers: “Baby, you’re worth a million dollars to me”. They then proceed without monetary exchange. Loved the film. The poem came by way of the Kronhausens book Pornography and the law: The psychology of erotic realism and pornography.

If a married man

The Jade Despoiled

 

The Jade Despoiled from the Cent Nouvelles nouvelles.

By Messire Chrestien De Dygoigne.

_Of a married man who found his wife with another man, and devised means to get from her her money, clothes, jewels, and all, down to her chemise, and then sent her away in that condition, as shall be afterwards recorded.

It is no new and strange thing for wives to make their husbands jealous,–or indeed, by God, cuckolds. And so it happened formerly, in the city of Antwerp, that a married woman, who was not the chastest person in the world, was desired by a good fellow to do–you know what. And she, being kind and courteous, did not like to refuse the request, but gladly consented, and they two continued this life for a long time. In the end, Fortune, tired of always giving them good luck, willed that the husband should catch them in the act, much to his own surprise. Perhaps though it would be hard to say which was the most surprised–the lover, or his mistress, or the husband. Nevertheless, the lover, with the aid of a good sword he had, made his escape without getting any harm. There remained the husband and wife, and what they said to each other may be guessed. After a few words on both sides, the husband, thinking to himself that as she had commenced to sin it would be difficult to break her of her bad habits, and that if she did sin again it might come to the knowledge of other people, and he might be dishonoured; and considering also that to beat or scold her would be only lost labour, determined to see if he could not drive her out, and never let her disgrace his house again. So he said to his wife;

“Well, I see that you are not such as you ought to be; nevertheless, hoping that you will never again behave as you have behaved, let no more be said. But let us talk of another matter. I have some business on hand which concerns me greatly, and you also. We must put in it all our jewels; and if you have any little hoard of money stored away, bring it forth, for it is required.”

“By my oath,” said the wench, “I will do so willingly, if you will pardon me the wrong I have done you.”

“Don’t speak about it,” he replied, “and no more will I.”

She, believing that she had absolution and remission of her sins, to please her husband, and atone for the scandal she had caused, gave him all the money she had, her gold rings, rich stuffs, certain well-stuffed purses, a number of very fine kerchiefs, many whole furs of great value–in short, all that she had, and that her husband could ask, she gave to do him pleasure.

“The devil!” quoth he; “still I have not enough.”

When he had everything, down to the gown and petticoat she wore, he said, “I must have that gown.”

“Indeed!” said she. “I have nothing else to wear. Do you want me to go naked?”

“You must,” he said, “give it me, and the petticoat also, and be quick about it, for either by good-will or force, I must have them.”

She, knowing that force was not on her side, stripped off her gown and petticoat, and stood in her chemise.

“There!” she said; “Have I done what pleases you?”

“Not always,” he replied. “If you obey me now, God knows you do so willingly–but let us leave that and talk of another matter. When I married you, you brought scarcely anything with you, and the little that you had you have dissipated or forfeited. There is no need for me to speak of your conduct–you know better than anyone what you are, and being what you are, I hereby renounce you, and say farewell to you for ever! There is the door! go your way; and if you are wise, you will never come into my presence again.”

The poor wench, more astounded than ever, did not dare to stay after this terrible reproof, so she left, and went, I believe, to the house of her lover, for the first night, and sent many ambassadors to try and get back her apparel and belongings, but it was no avail. Her husband was headstrong and obstinate, and would never hear her spoken about, and still less take her back, although he was much pressed both by his own friends and those of his wife.

She was obliged to earn other clothes, and instead of her husband live with a friend until her husband’s wrath is appeased, but, up to the present, he is still displeased with her, and will on no account see her.

The French Decameron

Cent Nouvelle Nouvelles

Les Cent Nouvelles nouvelles, here published as an Ace pulp.

The Cent Nouvelles nouvelles is an anonymous collection of nouvelles supposed to be narrated by various persons at the court of Philippe le Bon, and collected by Antoine de la Sale in the 1456-1457. The work borrowed from Boccaccio‘s Decameron (1350-1353) and has in fact been subtitled as the French Decameron (a title which has also been given to the Heptameron (1558)). It is similar to Chaucer‘s Canterbury Tales (1390s), the Contes et nouvelles en vers (1665-66) by Fontaine and Brantôme‘s Les Vies des Dames galantes (1665-1666).

The nouvelle as genre is considered the first example of literary prose in French, the first text in this category is generally cited as Les Cent Nouvelles nouvelles.

More than thirty-two noblemen or squires contributed the stories, with some 14 or 15 taken from Giovanni Boccaccio, and as many more from Gian Francesco Poggio Bracciolini or other Italian writers, or French fabliaux, but about 70 of them appear to be original.

Stories

 

Here in a Charles Carrington edition

The stories are bawdy, ribald and burlesque, with titles such as The Monk-Doctor, The Armed Cuckold, The Drunkard In Paradise, The Castrated Clerk and the The Husband As Doctor.

 

Momus on paratextual pleasures

Momus

“As a student of literature, something you find yourself doing a lot is reading books about books — narratives which tear through the plot outlines, critical receptions and choicest quotes of other books, giving you some kind of rapid gist or taste of hundreds of titles you’ll probably never read. What I’ve always liked about these books-about-books.”

He mentions

He also mentions the fact that the paratext is often better than the text itself

“In a weird, inverted way, some of the books which must be most hellish to read in real life, in real time, turn out, in these metabook accounts, to be the most entertaining to read about” (see paratext).

Example of the latter:

This post reminds me of the following quote of O. Wilde:

“I never read a book I must review, it prejudices you so.” —Oscar Wilde

and my own recent research in thematic literary criticism and my earlier praise of secondary literature.

Via the comments to Momus’s post we come to reviews of books we’ve never read. Stanislaw Lem wrote a few sets of introductions to and reviews of fictional books here and Borges has An Examination of the Work of Herbert Quain

To top it off there is ‘How to Talk of Books We Haven’t Read?‘ by Pierre Bayard.

Inspired by The dream life of metabooks

Introducing Isabella Santacroce

Isabella Santacroce & Maria Callas, a Youtube mix by FactoryB0y.

Introducing Isabella Santacroce.

Andrej, thanks for the links. Loved your post about the Kyrous (did not realize there was a second brother). I’ve made a stub for Ariel. I was intrigued by his reference to Shaolin Soccer, the term sounded so familiarly unfamiliar to my ears (is the film any good?). I would like to review Le Surréalisme au cinéma in greater depth but would just as rather publish its CAPs and SIPs analysis (in the style of what I am doing for Film as a Subversive Art), if that were possible.

For Santacroce: tip of the hat to Jaklien Teuwen.

Here is a film based on the work of Santacroce:

Luminal