In the Labyrinth

Pietro Aretino and The Sixteen Pleasures

I'll admit it -- I'm a fan of Renaissance bad-boy poet Pietro Aretino, whose writings often necessitated his fleeing angry cardinals and creditors, yet whose letters to and from powerful men could have prompted their blackmail, earned him the title "Scourge of Princes." He occupied this place between wealth and privilege and hand to mouth poverty, between high brow literary works and a robust low brow vernacular which flourished in the Venetian literary salons in the 16th century. 

Renaissance scholar Douglas Biow writes "Aretino represents himself as having an immense, almost insatiable, appetite for food, an appetite that found expression not only in his letters, which rendered him a public figure of notorious repute and created a vogue for such collections in the venacular, but also in works of imaginative literature....he was, according to his vigorous self-mythologizing, open to all types of foods associated with all strata of society, much as, to connect at the outset of this chapter two aspects of pleasure central to his Aretino's life, food and words, he was open to all types of linguistic registers, from the popular to the elite. Aretino self consciously portrayed himself as a great and conspicuous consumer with an enormous appetite. By doing so, he inevitably offered himself up artfully as a figure worthy of consumption in print for the widest possible public." (Biow, In Your Face: Professional Improprieties of Being Conspicuous in Sixteenth Century Italy, p. 66)

My favorite (so far) of his works are the Sonetti Lussuriosi (Sonnets of Lust) in a book I Modi, translated into English by Lynne Lawner as "The Sixteen Pleasures." This collection of poetry was inspired by a series of erotic paintings by Giulio Romano intended as wall frescoes for Federico Gonzaga's Palazzo De Mantua. But such art is too good to keep hidden, and a fellow artist, Marcantonio Raimondi undertook to engrave versions of the art and published them in 1524 to some success. Soon after, the Pope caught wind of them and Raimondi was imprisoned for indecency. Aretino went to see his friend Romano and got a private tour of the art, and inspired by those voluptuous figures, penned 16 of arguably the most obscene sonnets ever written to accompany the art. Published together, art and text, I Modi became a bestseller in 1527 throughout Europe and, despite efforts by the Vatican to burn all the copies, forgeries (never as good as the original!) emerged. Sadly today, there are only forgeries and copies -- but not one of the original. 

I had a spectacular day a number of years back reading Lynne Lawner's history of I Modi and her translations (along with the oldest versions of the art available) in a Special Collections library -- no doubt to keep it protected from naughty college students deciding to add their own art or graffited comments to the work. I blushed, laughed, and celebrated the man who all those centuries ago enjoyed food, sex, and satire with equal poetic joy. 

You can see copies argued to have been created by a copyist who actually saw the original. The sonnets (in Italian) are included with the woodblock prints.  The British Museum has 9 fragments from the original engravings in their archives, including the three in this post. I would also like to recommend a wonderful novel, The Sixteen Pleasures, by Robert Hellenga -- set in the frenzy of art restoration after the flooding Florence in 1966, a young volunteer discovers a waterlogged copy of the infamous book, hidden in a convent.

 

"From A Friend," the Art of the Calling Card

I have been going through a cigar box of collected calling cards from my great grandmother and I am astonished by the variety of pretty designs combined with the elegant scripts. It just seems such a lovely convention and I am rather sorry we don't do it anymore. Now we hand out "business cards" which have every conceivable method of contacting us crammed on the card -- and while it's true the designs can be quiet striking -- their function is so different than these beauties, which was simply to announce or memorialize one's visit. That my great grandmother gathered them together and stored them says something too about her visual delight in keeping them, not just as mementos but small slips of domestic art. I love too that they were used equally by both men and women.

So I thought I would share them with you and have created a little gallery of all the cards which you can find here -- or in the right hand column for future reference. Seeing them all together really makes me want to design a few for myself -- and to hell with the clever, efficient business card!

Here are some of my favorites (though I confess to being besotted by all of them):

 

 

The last calling card is especially unique as it is made from a small rectangle of birch bark inscribed with the visitor's name -- A. G. Robinson.

You can view other terrific collections online, such as the accumulated calling cards of the Washburn Family of Camps Mills, Town of Hounsfield, Jefferson County, New York, or read about the etiquette of using the cards on the Jane Austen website, or rather wistfully have a look at this gorgeous antique silver calling card case.

In the comments below, Mark wondered about the cards also using the language of flowers to send a more subtle message. Yes, of course as it turns out! There are quite few posters which help to reveal some of the more subtle meanings on the card. 

And this one from a paying site --so excuse the watermark -- but the bunches of different flowers seemed to more closely resemble the calling cards. 

 

Tearing Up The Canals: The Women's Regatta in Venice, 18th Century

 I am rather in love with this painting of the Women's Regatta in Venice by Gabriele Bella, 1730-1799 (click on for a larger view). I had no idea that women were accomplished rowers, though it does on reflection make a certain amount of sense. If one lives on the waters and the canals, or course every woman would have to know how to manage her own small boat if she wanted to get any where important. (This is the problem of being a tourist in Venice -- one always assumes someone else will row one around). 

Here's a bit more information from a nice post in Seductive Venice (indeed it is).

"Women had raced in regattas (boat races) since 1493. An island community like Venice, where every nonna knew how to row a boat, allowed its women to enter the races and processionals (or at least the women from the working class). The priests even blessed them. Regattas were usually held when a visiting dignitary came to town, and rowers showed off their skills or challenged others in order to keep fit for their jobs, such as did the gondoliers or workers at the Arsenale where they made boats."

The post also includes a lovely painted portrait of an especially skilled woman, five-time regatta winner Maria Boscola: "Maria had first raced in 1740, winning the red pennant for first place, with her partner and friend Emma, nicknamed La Garbina. But 24 years passed before women participated in the races again. These may have been the years that Maria bore and raised her children. She also grew enough vegetables that she could bring in to the Rialto market to sell, keeping her rowing arms strong for the 25 kilometer trip each market day." 

So, she took a little time off to keep up with her produce business and raise children -- but she kept herself in shape and ready for the day she could return to race. Pretty remarkable and determined! 

I do recommend having a read through the Seductive Venice blog -- it has lots of historical gems about women lives and activities in Venice and it is a delight to read.  

Drunken Tengu: Masters of the Sword and Drink

Among the more celebrated Japanese tricksters are the Tengu. These peculiar half-human, half-bird (sometimes hawk-like, sometimes more vulture) creatures are famous for their love of sake and their abilities with the sword. In fact, part of their mythology is that the tengu created the unique Japanese style of kendo, and were responsible for teaching it to Japan's greatest epic heroes. Minamoto no Yoshistune, the very handsome (and historical) hero of the Heike Monogatari was alleged to have been instructed in the art of the sword by tengu teachers.

The tengu are also wonderful mischief makers. They are known to shapesift into yamabushi (Japanese monks) in order to travel among human beings (and also to play tricks on impious monks at times). They have carted off naughty children and either educated them into something more heroic, or made them pay the consequences for their behavior. They have arrived in the nick of time to rescue floundering heroes, and they have gotten ridiculously drunk in various inns.

The art surrounding them is terrific -- sometimes they appear in the lavish epic style of Kuniyoshi's richly colored prints and other times in the hilarious pen and inks of Hokusai. They are also depicted with absurdly long noses with which they produce calligraphy, balance bowls, and carry bundles. 

Art: Top is by Kawanabe Kyosai, middle is by Utagawa Kuniyoshi, and the bottom is by Hokusai.

Death and Dinner, Mais Oui.

I am a wee bit past Bastille Day, but in the spirit of that revolutionary and rather bloody event, I would like to offer a meal fit for Death. The Old Foodie, is a brilliant blog devoted to providing readers with 400 words a day on a historical food topic, along with recipes. This offering was a splendid piece on the infamous "mortuary dinner" given by eccentric French gourmand Grimod de la Reynière in 1783. Here's the first paragraph of the article:

"The eighteenth century French gourmand Grimod de la Reynière hosted a most unusual dinner party in 1783 which has gone down in history as 'the Mortuary Dinner’. Grimod was known to be eccentric, but even for him, this dinner was a little over-the-top. The invitation to a 'collation-supper' was in the form of an obituary notice, and guest were advised 'The arrival is fixed for 9 o'clock and supper will take place at 10 o'clock. You are requested not to bring neither dog nor lackey as there will be enough servants. Neither pig nor oil will be missing from the supper. You are requested to bring this invitation, without which admittance will be refused.' ”

The whole event is terrifically weird and worthy of a Tim Burton cinematic moment (who could forget the shrimp cocktail in Beetle Juice?) -- plenty of black crepe on the walls, coffins to lounge in, and a silent audience in the balcony to observe the spectacle. The Old Foodie also provides a tasty recipe for Ragout of Pork Chops -- just in case you, like me, have no idea what "plenty of pig and oil" might actually mean. You can read the whole piece here.

And better yet, here is a wonderful video of a "Black Meal" from the British show "Supersize Eaters" that examines the eating habits of different historical periods and then spend a week living, cooking, and eating in a version of that period. The results are very funny, and very fascinating. In this video -- a celebration of Grimod's "Mortuary Dinner" -- you get a clear, first hand look at this peculiar feast.

And while the article is from 2009, this piece "Liberty, Equality, Gastronomy, Paris via the 19th Century Guide" is a hoot to read.

Bound For Glory: America in Color 1939--1943

Here are a small handful of stunning photographs taken during the late 30s, early 40s through the Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information of rural farm life across the country and the military. The images demonstrate the grace with which people weathered a difficult and uncertain time in this country. The faces are rugged, open, and beautiful in their strength.

(I love the way each child is looking in a different direction -- and the way they are all wearing a dress made from the same bolt of cloth.)

The Tiger's Wife and Shopping in the Renaissance

Ok...trust me...don't even wait for the reviews which will be lavish and praising (including my own when it comes). Go out now and buy this book, or order this book, or get that someone who owes you something to give you this book in exchange for the debt. I have been waiting for over a year ever since I read the short story version in The New Yorker, for Téa Obreht's novel The Tiger's Wife to be published. At a mere 25 years old, Obreht's writing has the hallmarks of a mature, poised author -- one who can deftly handle plotting, evocative characters, a deep appreciation of myth, and gorgeous writing. Really...take my word for it. I'll post my own review of the novel shortly -- for now, still drinking it all in. But you can see the first of many to come at the Wall Street Journal (which is free if you get a chance to look at it today.)

 

 

 

 

 

And here's here's a second fast review/recommendation: Shopping in the Renaissance by Evelyn Welch. Not a new book -- but a terrific social history of marketing in Renaissance Italy 1400-1600. Welch writes with a light, accessible style -- but make no mistake, there's a lot of information here, delivered in thoughtful analysis of Italy's markets, the social relations of buyers and sellers, the myth, metaphor, and cultural attitudes to the markets -- and the astonishing abundance of the markets themselves. Even a small town like Poppi in Northern Italy, with a population of less than 1,500 had  "five grocery stores, two bakeries, two butchers, three drugstores, a mercer's shop, a barber a tailor and a shoemaker, along with workshops for wool, leather, and iron as well as kilns producing ceramic wares." Original source materials (particularly fun shopping lists and letters describing among other things battling women shoppers in the market) depict a lively market scene, perfect for fleshing out the kind of scenes I am writing at the moment. Always wonderful when art really does reflect life....even in a magic realist novel.