Brass Bed Read Online Free

that she used. She closed her left one and used the right one somewhat as if she were looking through a telescope.
    “This conversation is getting dull,” she said. “Every time you get into a conversation, Sid, it immediately begins getting dull. I think it would be exciting to talk about Felix for a change. What have you been doing with yourself, Felix?”
    “I’ve been teaching bright kids and schoolteachers about goliards,” I said.
    “Seriously? I’m afraid that doesn’t sound so exciting after all. You are being a big disappointment to me, Felix.”
    “Well, the kids and the schoolteachers aren’t much, I’ll admit, but the goliards are pretty exciting.”
    “Do you mean it? Really exciting? What are they?”
    “Not are. Were. They were mostly twelfth century clerics and students in the universities.”
    “What’s so exciting about students in universities? What I’d like to know is, why should twelfth century students be more exciting than twentieth century students? You just said your own students aren’t so much, and it seems very unlikely to me that twelfth century students were any better.”
    “From the standpoint of being interesting, they were much better. They wrote poetry about drinking and gambling and having love affairs.”
    “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll agree that this puts a different light on the matter. Why are they called goliards?”
    “They were supposed to have had a leader named Golias, but it is generally understood that Golias was a mythical figure. Some of the poetry is pretty good.”
    “Is it all about drinking and love and stuff like that?”
    “Mostly. They wandered around a lot, and there are some about how nice it was out on the open road and all that, and there are a few parodies of sacred hymns.”
    “You say some of these goliards were clerics? Doesn’t that mean priests or something?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s what I thought, and it seems to me very odd that they should have written that kind of poetry. I’m not at all sure that they should have done it.”
    “I don’t agree,” Jolly said. “I think it’s very nice that they wrote poetry about drinking and love, especially if it has turned out to be interesting to Felix, but what I think was wrong is that they wrote parodies of sacred hymns. I’m very reverent myself, and I don’t think it was right to write parodies of sacred hymns.”
    “Some of them are pretty vulgar,” I said.
    “You see? Vulgar parodies of sacred hymns. That wasn’t right.”
    “Could you recite one of the vulgar parodies?” Fran said.
    “I don’t want to hear it,” Jolly said.
    “Oh, come on, Jolly, be a sport,” Fran said. “Let’s hear it.”
    “You needn’t argue about it,” I said, “because I don’t remember any of the parodies.”
    “Good,” said Jolly. “I’m glad you don’t remember any. I’m very reverent, and I wouldn’t want to hear it.”
    “Since when have you been so reverent?” Fran said.
    “I’ve always been reverent,” Jolly said. “Didn’t you know that?”
    “It isn’t very apparent,” Fran said.
    “Well,” Jolly said, “I have been, just the same. I’m reverent by nature.”
    “How about one about love?” Fran said. “Do you know one about love, Felix?”
    “Yes,” Jolly said, “I wouldn’t object at all to hearing one about love.”
    “I know one called
The Pretty Fruits of Love,”
I said. “It’s about a pregnant girl whose lover has run away.”
    “That doesn’t sound very interesting to me,” Jolly said. “I don’t believe I care to hear a poem on that subject.”
    “I must say you are being quite difficult, Jolly,” Fran said. “It seems to me that a poem about a pregnant girl would be unusual and interesting.”
    “I don’t want to hear it,” Jolly said.
    “Would you please explain why? Perhaps you are sensitive or something. Have you ever had an unfortunate experience along that line?”
    “Not at all. The truth is, it would be