G. A. Henty - "With Moore At Corunna"

Frances Wilson Huard - "With Those Who Wait"

Grace Livingston Hill - "The City of Fire"

Elisabeth Woodbridge - "More Jonathan Papers"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 1

W >> William Painter >> The Palace of Pleasure, Volume 1







THE EIGHTEENTH NOUELL.

_The Historie of Papyrius Pratextatus._


The same historie is written by Cato, in an oration which he made to his
souldiours against Galba, contayninge in effecte as foloweth. The
Senatours of Rome vsed before this time, to enter into the Senate house
with their sonnes, Praetextatis, that is, in long robes garded about the
skirtes with purple silke. When the Senate debated of graue and waightie
matters, they euer deferred the same till the next day, forbiddinge that
those causes should not be published, before they were throughly
decreed. The mother of this yong gentleman Papyrius, which had been with
his father in the Senate house, asked of him, what the fathers had done
in the Senate house that day? Papyrius aunswered, that in any wise, he
ought not to tell the secretes of the same. The mother more desirous to
know then she was before, went about by faire meanes, foule wordes and
correction, to vnderstand the secretes of the Senate, and the cause why
the same were kept so silente. Wherefore she more earnestlye endeuoured
to learne the same of her sonne. The yong man by compulsion of his
mother, toke occasion to inuent a pleasaunt and mery lie, in this wise.
"Mother (quoth he) the Senate doth deliberate and consult, whether it be
more commodious and profitable for the common wealthe, that one man
should haue two wiues, or whether one wife shoulde haue two husbandes."
When the old Ladie heard this she was abashed, and in fearefull wise
goeth to the other Ladies and matrones of Rome, tellinge them, where
about their husbands did consult. The next day the women flocked
together in great traines, and in lamentable wise repaired to the
Senate, beseching them that one woman might rather be maried to two
husbands, then two wiues to one man. The Senatours entring into the
Court, marueyled what toyes were in the womens heads, to make that
demaunde. The yong gentleman Papyrius stepped foorth, declaring how
importunate his mother was, to know whereuppon they consulted the day
before, and therefore he deuised that fained tale, to pacifie her
desire. The Senatours hearing and perceyuing his good and honeste
disposition, greatly commended and extolled his fidelity and witte.
Howbeit, they made a lawe that from that time forth, none of their
sonnes should come into the house with their father, but onely Papyrius.
Who afterwardes receiued the surname of Praetextatus, to honour and
beautifie his name, for his notable wysedome in keeping secretes, and
holding his peace, in the time of that youthly age.




THE NINETEENTH NOUELL.

_How Plutarche did beate his man, and of pretie talke touching signes of
anger._


Avlus Gellius demaunding of the Philosopher Taurus, whether a wise man
could be angrie? Taurus after he had disputed much of that affection,
turned to Gellius and said: "This is mine opinion of the angrie man: but
what the Philosopher Plutarche iudgeth thereof, I thincke it not a misse
to tell thee. Plutarche had a bondman which was an vnthrift and wicked
verlet, but geuen to learning and to disputation of Philosophie, whom
vppon a time he did beate, making him to put of his coate, and to be
whipped, for what offence I know not: he began to beate him: the fellow
cryed out, that he had deserued no cause, why he ought to be so beaten.
At length in continuance of his beating, he gaue ouer his crying
complaintes, and began to vtter earneste and serious woordes, saying.
'It was not Plutarche the Philosopher, that beate him: (he said) it was
a shame for Plutarche to be angrie, and how he had heard him many times
dispute of that vice of anger, and yet he had written a goodly booke
thereof:' with manye such words. 'Why, (quoth Plutarche, with gentle and
quiet debating of the matter:) thou lubbor, do I seeme to be angry with
thee? Doest thou either by my countenaunce, by my talke, by my colour,
or words, perceyue that I am angrie? Nether mine eyes be fierce, nor my
mouth troubled: I cry not out a loude: I chaufe not in rage or fume: I
speake no vnseemely woordes, whereof I take repentaunce: I tremble not.
All which be signes and tokens of anger: which pretie notes of that
vnseemely passion, ought to minister to all men, occasion to auoyde that
vice.'"




THE TWENTIETH NOUELL.

_A pretie tale drawne out of the Larke of AEsope._


AEsope of Phrygia is not vnworthely demed a wise man. For so much as he
admonisheth and perswadeth those thinges that be profitable, not
seuerely or imperiously as Philosophers doe, but by pretye and pleasaunt
fables he indueth the mindes of men with holsome and prouident
instructions. As by this fable of the birdes neste, he pretily and aptly
doth premonish that hope and confidence of thinges attempted by man,
ought to be fixed and trusted in none other but in him selfe. A litle
birde (saith he) called the Larke, builded her neste in a Wheate field,
and when the Wheate was ready to be ripped, her yonge began to fledge.
Therefore flyinge abroade to seeke meate for them, shee warned them that
if there fortuned anye newes to be done or spoken in her absence, they
should giue diligent heede thereunto, and to tell her when she
retourned. Within a while after, the Owner of the corne called a yong
man, his sonne, vnto him, (saying) "Doest thou see this Wheate now ripe
and ready to be cut, lacking nothing but helpe to reape the same? Gette
thee therefore to morowe in the morninge (so soone as the daye doth
breake) vnto my frendes and neighbours, and praye them to come and helpe
me in with this Corne:" and so departed. When the damme retourned, the
yonge Larkes in trembling and fearefull wise, peping and chirping about
their mother, prayed her to make hast to seeke some other place: for the
owner of the Wheat had sent for his frends, to be there the next day by
times to haue it in. Their damme bad them to be of good cheere: "If the
owner (quoth she) do referre it to his frendes, I am sure the Wheate
shal not be cutte downe to morowe, and therefore wee shall not neede to
feare." The next day the damme flew abrode again for foode, and the
owner waited at the houre appointed for his frendes. The Sunne was vp,
whose beames shone hot, and nothing was done: his frendes came not. Then
he said againe to his sonne: "Me thincke sonne (quoth he) our neighbours
be slepers and tarrie long. Goe, call I pray thee, our kinsfolke and
cosins, that they maye helpe vs to morowe betimes." Which saying the
yong Larkes ones againe afraid, tolde their damme when she returned: the
damme still perswaded them to be of good cheere and not to feare: "For
kinsfolke in these dayes, be so slacke to do good deedes (quoth she) and
to helpe their owne stocke and kinred, that they bee loothe to take
paines, specially at so short and sodaine warning: neuerthelesse, faire
byrdes, (quoth shee) harken what shalbe said againe and tell mee." The
next morning the old Larke went forth againe for food and forage, and
the kinsfolke and cosins came not, according to the owners request. At
length the owner saide to his sonne: "Adieu my frendes and kinsemen: to
morow in the morning, bring hither two Sickles, the one for mee, and the
other for thy selfe, and wee with our owne hands, wil cut downe this
Wheate." The mother Larke, hearing her yong ones tel this tale at her
retourne: "Ye marie my babes (quoth shee) now it is time to be gone: for
the thing whereof the owner hath spoken so long, shal now be done in
deede, sith he purposeth to do the same himselfe, and trusteth to none
other." Whereuppon the Larke toke vp her yong ones, and went to inhabite
in some other place. And the corne accordinglye, was cutte downe by the
owner. This fable AEsope reporteth, premonishing men to beware of lighte
hope, and vaine truste, to be reposed in frends and kinsfolke. And the
same Q. Ennius in his Satyres, very elegantlye in trim verses hath
described the two laste, whereof worthie to be had in harte and memorie,
I haue thought good to remember.

_Alwayes fixe fast in breast,
in prompt and ready wise:
This prouerbe olde and true,
a sentence of the wise:
The thing do not expect,
by frends for to atchieue:
Which thou thyselfe canst doe,
thy selfe for to relieue._




THE TWENTY-FIRST NOUELL.

_A merie geste, vttered by Hanniball to king Antiochus._


Antiochus making great preparation and furniture, to inferre warres vpon
the Romaines, decked his armie with Siluer and Golden Ensignes and
Pendentes, wherein he had plentie of wagons, chariots and Elephantes
with towers, his bande of horsemen glittered gloriouslie, with golden
bridles, trappers, barbes, and such like. The king beholdinge, in
glorious and reioysing wise, his gaye and beautifull armie: loked
towards Hannibal, and said: "How saiest thou Hannibal? thinkest thou
that these thinges be not ynough and sufficient to match with the
Romaynes?" Hannibal mocking and deluding the cowardnes and weakenes of
his souldiours, clad in those precious and costlie furnitures, saide.
"All these thinges be ynough and ynough againe for the Romaines,
although they were the most couetous men of the world." The king
vnderstoode Hannibal, that he had meant of the nomber of his souldiours,
and of their brauerie. But hee meant of the pray and spoile, which the
Romaines should winne and gette.




THE TWENTY-SECOND NOUELL.

_The marueilous knowledge of a Lion, being acquainted with a man, called
Androdus._


There chaunced to be certaine playes and games at Rome, wher were many
monstruous and cruel beastes: but amonges all those beastes, the
hugenesse and cruell aspectes of the Lions were had in greatest wonder,
especially of one: which Lion was of an huge and greate bignesse,
hauinge a terrible voyce, his clawes stretched forth, his bristles and
heare vprighte, beholdinge with his fierce and deadly eyes, all the
multitude standing by. There was brought in to fight with the lion
amonges al the rest, one Androdus a Dacian borne, the bondman of a great
personage, of the Consular order, whom the Lion beholding a farre of,
sodenly stoode still: and afterwards by litle and litle, in gentle sort
he came vnto the man, as though he had knowen him: Wagging his taile
like a Spaniel fawning vpon his maister, and licked the handes and
legges of the poore felow, which for feare was almost dead. This
Androdus perceyuing the flatteries of this fierce beast, recouered
comforte, and earnestly viewed and marked the Lion. Then they began to
enter into mutual acquaintaunce, one reioycing at an others meting. Upon
which straung euent, the people raysed great shoutes and acclamations:
wherupon Androdus was called before the Emperoure, and demaunded the
cause, why that most cruell beast did in that sorte, fawne and fauour
him aboue all other.

Androdus tould a maruaylous and straunge historye of the cause thereof,
saying: "If it please your Maiestie, when my Lorde and maister did by
the office of Proconsull gouerne Africa, I throughe his causelesse
stripes and dailye whippinges, was forced to runne awaye. And when I had
gotten pardon of the liefetenaunte of that countrie, to remaine there,
I withdrew my selfe into the deserts and voide places: and lacking meate
to ease the paine of hunger, I determined by some meanes, to seeke mine
owne death. It chaunced about the midde of the day, when the Sunne was
feruent hot, I entred into a Caue, which was farre from habitation,
verye wide and large. Whereunto, within a while after, this Lion
resorted, hauing one of his feete bloudie and hurt: for paine whereof,
he vttered much mone and sorrow, bewayling the griefe, and anguishe of
the sore. When I saw the Lion my hart began to quake for feare, but
beinge come in, as it were into his owne habitation (for so it shoulde
appeare,) perceyuinge me to go aboute to hide myselfe a farre of, he
like a milde and gentle beast came vnto me, holding vp his foote,
reaching the same to me, as though he desired helpe and reliefe at my
handes. Wherewithall I plucked out of his foote a stubbe, which stucke
betweene the pawes thereof, and taking a litle salue, which I had in my
bosome, I thrust it into the bottome of the wounde, and diligently
without any further feare, I dryed vp the wound, and wiped away the
bloud thereof: wherewith the lion being eased, resting his foote in my
handes, he laye downe to refreshe him selfe. From that day duringe the
space of three yeares, the Lion and I continued together, and liued with
like fare: the fattest and best morsels of those beastes, which he
prayed, he did euer bring me into the Caue: which meate because I had no
fire, I rosted in the heate of the Sunne, and did eate the same with
good stomacke. But when I began to waxe weary of that kinde of diet,
vpon a time the Lion being abroad, I forsoke the Caue, and trauailing
almost the space of three dayes, I was espied and taken of the
souldiours, and brought home to my maister out of Africa to Rome: who
immediatlie condempned mee to be deuoured of beastes. And now I perceiue
that this lion sithens I lefte his companie is taken, and doth acquite
that good tourne and cure, which I shewed him then." The people hearing
the discourse of this straunge fact, made suite that the felow might be
pardoned, and set at libertie: and the Lion by generall voyce was giuen
vnto him for reward. Afterwards Androdus caried the Lion abrode the
citie in a litle corde, and had muche money giuen him: and the Lion was
decked and beautified with flowers, and euery man that met them, did vse
to say:--"This is the Lion the frend of this man, and this is the man,
the Phisition of the Lion."




THE TWENTY-THIRD NOUELL.

_A pretie disputation of the philosopher Phauorinus, to perswade a woman
not to put forth her child to nursse, but to nourishe it herselfe with
her owne milke._


It was told to the Philosopher Phauorinus, that the wife of one of his
Sectators and scholers was brought a bedde of a sonne. "Let vs go (quoth
Phauorinus) to visite the childwife, and to gratulate the father for the
ioy of his sonne." When they were entred the house, after hee had
saluted the good man, according to the custome, he asked the wife how
she did, and prayed the Gods to sende her good footing, and then
inquired of her trauel, and painfull panges. When he vnderstode that her
trauel was greate, and her bodye weake with watchinge, howbeit somewhat
comforted with sleepe which she had taken, he determined to enter into
further talke. "I doubt not gossip (quoth he) but that you purpose to
nourish your sonne your selfe." The mother of the woman hearing him say
so, began to pray pardon, and said, that her doughter might not both
sustaine paine in the birth, and also trouble to nourish it herselfe.
"I pray thee mother, said Phauorinus, to suffer thy doughter to be the
whole and intire mother of her owne sonne. What kinde of halfe and
vnperfecte mothers be they, which so sone as they be deliuered do,
against nature, by and by thruste the child awaye from them? Can they
nourishe with their owne bloud, the thing which they see not, and wil
they not vouchsafe to bestow their milke vppon that, which is now a
lyuing creature, crying out before their faces for the mothers helpe,
and dutie? O thou vnkinde woman, doest thou thincke that nature hath
giuen thee two breastes for nothinge els, but to beautifie and adorne
thy bodie, and not to giue sucke to thy children? In like sort many
prodigious and monstruous women, haue dried vp and extinguished that
moste sacred fountaine of the body, the educatour of mankinde: not
without peril of their persons: as though the same were a disgracing of
their beautie and comlinesse. The like also some do attempt by deuises
and subtile secretes to extrude theyr conceptions, that the swelling of
their body might not irrigate and wrinckle their faces, and that their
paineful labours and great burdens, do not make them looke olde in their
youthly dayes. And like as it is generally to be abhorred, that man in
his first beginnings, (when he is fashioned and inspired with life, and
in the handes of the cunning and wise woman, dame Nature,) should be
killed and slaine: euen so with not much lesse detestation it is to be
had and compted, when he is perfecte and borne and the childe of thine
owne bloude, to be depriued from his due sustenance. But it is no matter
(wil som say) with whose milke hee be nourced, so hee receiue milke and
liue. The like may be said to that man which is so dull in perceyuing
the prouidence of nature, that what matter had it been in whose bodye,
and with whose bloud, he himselfe had been formed and brought into
light. Hath not she which nowe respireth, and with beauty waxeth white
and fayre, the same bloud now in her breastes, which was before
remayninge in her wombe? Is not the wysedome of nature manifest in this,
that after the cunning workman the bloud, hath framed in the inward
parts euery body of man, straight way when the time of byrthe
approcheth, the same bloude infudeth himselfe into the vpper partes, and
is readie to nourishe the rudimentes of lyfe and lighte, offeringe
acquaintaunce and familiar sustinance to the new borne? Wherefore in
vaine is not that report and beliefe, that like as the force and nature
of the generation seede is able to shape the similitudes of the mind and
body, euen so the qualities and properties of the Milke, do auayle to
like effect. Which thinge is not onelye marked in men, but also in brute
beastes. For if Kiddes be sockled vp wyth Ewes Milke, and Lambes wyth
Goates, the woll of thone will grow more rough and hard, and the heare
of the other more tender and soft. In trees also and fruites, there is
for the most part, a greater force and power in the nature of the soile
and water where they grow, eyther for the pruning and planting, then
there is if straunge impes and seedes be grifted and sowen there. And
many times you see, that a fruitfull tree, caried and set in an other
place, decayeth, throughe the nature of the ground more barren. What
reason is this then, to corrupt the noble nature of this borne childe,
whose body and minde, is well begunne wyth naturall beginninges to
infect the the same wyth the degenerate food of straung Milke. Specially
if she to whom you shall put forth this childe to giue sucke, be eyther
a bonde and seruile woman, and (as commonly it chauncheth) of a forren
and barbarous nation, be she wicked, ill fauoured, whorish or drunken.
For diuers times without difference, children be put foorth to suche
Noursses, whose honestie and conditions, in the tyme of the putting
foorth, be vtterly vnknowen. Shall we suffer therefore, this our infant
to be corrupted with pestiferous milke? Shall we abyde a newe nature and
spirite, to bee renued in his mynde and bodye, deriued from that whiche
is moste vile and wicked? Muche like to the same, whiche many tymes wee
see and wonder, howe diuers chyldren borne of chaste and honest women,
haue bodies and qualities farre discrepant from their honest parentes.
Wherefore very trimlie and cunningly Maro folowing Homeres verses, doth
say, speaking of the cruel nature of Achilles:

_Sir Peleus that gentle knight,
was not thy father sure,
Nor yet thy dame faire Thetis was
whose grace the Goddes did lure:
The raging Sea, and stonie rockes,
did bring thee forth to light:
Thy nature is so bloudie bent,
so fierce in cruell fight._

He did not herein reprehende the birth of Achilles, but the nature of
the cruell and sauage beaste that broughte him vp; for he added this of
his owne.

_And the Hircan Tigres did giue him sucke._

And truely the condicion of the Noursse, and nature of the milke,
disposeth almost the greater part of the childes condition, whiche
(notwithstanding the fathers seede, and creation of the bodie and mynde,
within the mothers wombe) doth nowe in the beginning of his nouriture,
configurate and frame a newe disposition in him. Moreouer who can saye
the contrarie, but that such women as put their children from them,
deliuering them to bee nourced of other, doe cut of, naye, rather doe
wype awaye and extinguyshe, that bande and increase of mynde and
affection, that doeth consociate and ioyne in nature, the parentes
towarde their children. For when the childe is put forth to an other
place and remoued from the mothers sighte, the vigor and tendernesse of
her affection, is by litle and little forgotten, and out of memorie, and
the derest care of her tender babe, groweth to vtter silence. The
sending awaye of the chylde to an other Nourice is not muche inferiour
to the forgetfulnesse that chaunceth when death dothe take it awaye.
Agayne, the affection, the loue, and familiaritie of the chylde, is
prone to her that giueth it sucke. And so as it is euidently seene in
them that be put foorth, the chylde taketh no knoweledge, or desire of
the owne mother, that brought it forth. Therefore, when the elementes
and beginnings of natural pietie and loue be ones abandoned and defaced,
howe soeuer suche children, in that sorte brought vp, shall seeme to
loue the parentes, yet for the moste part, it is no pure and naturall
affection, but rather a suposed and Ciuile loue." Thus this noble
Philosopher giueth counsayle to euery good mother, not to be ashamed or
grieued, to bringe vp her childe with her own Milke, after her greatest
payne past, whom before with her owne bloud, she disdained not to feede
in her owne bodie.




THE TWENTY-FOURTH NOUELL.

_Of Sertorius a noble Romaine capitaine._


Like as in a good captaine, chosen out by any prince and monarche, to
serue in his warres and exploytes, manhode and valiaunce is to be
desired and wished: euen so in the same a politique minde, to forecaste
and preuente, as well the saufetie and good gouernement of his owne
charge, as the anoyaunce of the enemie is to be desired. Cicero in his
oration _Pro lege Manilia_, affirmeth fower thinges, mete to be in a
Generall or Lieutenaunte. That is to saye: _Scientia rei militaris,
virtus, authoritas, f[oe]licitas_, Knowledge of warfare, Manhode,
Authoritie, and good Fortune. Knowledge and experience, in choyce of his
souldiours, in trayning the ignoraunt, in lodging the campe, in
politique order howe to dispose the Scoutes and watche, in making the
approche, and defence of the armie lodged, with other necessarie orders,
incident to the same. In manhode, boldlie to aduenture, warely to
retire, paciently to suffer misfortune, hardly to lie, sparely to fare,
stoutlie to abide stormes and colde weather. In authoritie wiselie to
gouerne, gently to speake, iustly to threaten, deseruedly to punishe,
mercifully to forgiue, liberally to deuide, and louingly to be obeied.
And in felicitie and good successe, to honour God: to be faithfull to
the prince, to preuente the enemy, not to triumphe before the victorie.
To be constant in froward fortune, and coragious in extremitie. Al which
and many other, are very mete and requisite in him, that shalbe put in
trust, by his soueraigne Lorde or Ladie, to aduenture the painful charge
of a Deputie, General, Lieutenaunt, or Captaine. Whereof, or in the
chiefest of the same this noble gentleman Sertorius, a captaine of the
Romaine citie, in time of Marius and Sylla, when the citie of Rome were
at ciuile discention, had greate skil and knowledge. For besides his
experience in the warres (as Plutarche saith in his life) hee was very
abstinente from pleasures, and continente in other disorders, a rare
thing in men of his calling. But because I purpose not to staye in the
full discourse of his vertues and qualities, I meane but to touche in
this Nouell, so muche as Aulus Gellius (in whom I am now conuersant)
doth of him make remembraunce. Referring the studious reader, desirous
to know the state of his life and doinges, to the plentifull recorders
of such memorable and worthie personages: Plutarche _de vitis
illustrium_, and Appianu's _de ciuili Romanorum bello_. Which beinge
Greeke authours, be very eloquently translated in the Latine, thone by
Gulielmus Xilander 1561, and thother by Sigismundus Gelenius 1554. This
Sertorius was of a pregnaunt witte, and therewithall a noble Captaine,
very skilfull in the vse and gouernement of an armye. In distresse and
harde aduentures hee practised for pollicie, to make lies to his
souldiours, to proue if they coulde preuaile. He vsed counterfait
letters, to imagine dreames, and to conferre false religions, to trye if
those thinges could serue his tourne, in comforting and couraging his
souldiours. Amonges al the factes of Sertorius, this insuing was very
notable and famous. A white Stagge of exceeding beauty and liuely
swetenesse, was giuen vnto him by a Lusitanian: He perswaded euery man,
that the same was deliuered vnto him by the Goddes, and how the Goddesse
Diana had inspired that beaste to admonishe and teache what was meete
and profitable: and when he wente about to cause his souldiours to
aduenture anye hard and difficile exploit: he affirmed, that the Stagge
had giuen him warning thereof, which they vniversally beleued, and
willingly obeyed, as though the same had been sent downe from the Gods
in deede. The same Stagge vpon a time, when newes came that the enemye
had made incursion into his campe, amased with the haste and turmoile,
ranne awaye and hid him selfe in a marishe harde adioyning. Afterwardes
being sought for, hee was supposed to be dead. Within fewe dayes after,
tidinges was brought to Sertorius that the Stagge was founde. The
messenger was commaunded by him to holde his peace, and threatened to be
punished, if he did disclose it. The next day, the same messenger was
appointed sodainly, to bring the Stagge into the place, where he and his
frendes, did consulte together. When they were assembled he tolde them
howe the daye after that he had lost his Stagge, he dreamed that he was
come againe, and according to his custome, tolde him that was needefull
to be done. Then Sertorius making a signe, to haue the order fulfilled,
whiche he had geuen the daye before, by and by the Stagge brake into the
chamber. Wherewithall a great shoute was made, and an admiration raysed
of that chaunce. Whiche credulitie of the barbarous countries, serued
Sertorius tourne in his weightie affaires. A worthy matter also, is to
be remembred of him, that no Souldiour that euer serued him, of those
vnciuile countries (that tooke his part) did neuer reuolte or forsake
him, although those kinde of people be moste inconstant.

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