Men Behaving Badly: Samuel Pepys & the Dirty Book

Susan reports:

Though it's hard to imagine in the internet age, dirty books are a relatively new invention. In the 1660s London of diarist/government administrator Samuel Pepys, (that's Samuel to the left, painted by John Hayls in 1666), they're still very much a novelty. The one he finds by accident in his local bookseller is in French. L'escholle des Filles ("The School for Young Women") is written in what becomes a classic dirty-book format: an older, experienced woman explains Life, Love, & Men to a young newbie, and does it in explicit, titillating language. You know, Playboy Advisor.

When Samuel first comes across the book, he thinks from the title that it might be an edifying read for his French-speaking wife. A glance through the pages, however, quickly changes his mind. But let's have Samuel explain, in three excerpt from his famous Diary:

January 13, 1668: "....stopped at Martin's my bookseller, where I saw the French book which I did think to have had for my wife to translate, called L'escholle des Filles, but when I came to look into it, it is the most bawdy, lewd book that ever I saw, rather worse than Puttana Errante [an infamous 16th. c. Italian erotic book] - so that I was ashamed of reading in it."

February 8, 1668: Thence away to the Strand to my bookseller's, and there stayed an hour and bought that idle, roguish book, L'escholle des Filles, which I have bought in plain binding (avoiding the buying of it better bound) because I resolve, as soon as I have read it, to burn it, that it may not stand in the list of my books, nor among them, to disgrace them if it should be found.

February 9, 1668: Lord's Day. Up, and at my chamber all the morning and in the office, doing business and also reading a little of L'escholle des Filles, which is a mighty lewd book, but yet not amiss for a sober man once to read over to inform himself in the villainy of the world....[later that afternoon] I to my chamber, where I did read through L'escholle de Filles a lewd book, but what doth me no wrong to read for information sake [this next is Sam's own shorthand, but you can figure out his meaning without too much difficulty] but it did hazer my prick para stand all the while, and una vez to decharge; and after I had done [the book], I burned it, that it might not be among my books to my shame; and so at night to supper and then to bed.

Modern historians say that this is the earliest reference to an erotic book in the English language. Oh, Samuel. . . .

Men Behaving Badly: Boswell gets the clap

Loretta reports:

Despite my ruthless cutting, this is still longer than my usual post. But it’s hard to get the full picture otherwise. For the complete version, go here and scroll down.

Tuesday 18 January 1763
I this day began to feel an unaccountable alarm of unexpected evil: a little heat in the members of my body sacred to Cupid, very like a symptom of that distemper with which Venus, when cross, takes it into her head to plague her votaries. But then I had run no risks. I had been with no woman but Louisa, and sure she could not have such a thing . . .

Thursday 20 January
I opened my sad case to Douglas, who upon examining the parts, declared I had got an evident infection and that the woman who gave it me could not but know of it . . . .

I then went to Louisa. With excellent address did I carry on this interview, as the following scene, I trust, will make appear. . . . .

BOSWELL. Madam, I have had no connection with any woman but you these two months. I was with my surgeon this morning, who declared I had got a strong infection, and that she from whom I had it could not be ignorant of it. Madam, such a thing in this case is worse than from a woman of the town, as from her you may expect it. You have used me very ill . . . .

LOUISA. Sir, I will confess to you that about three years ago I was very bad. But for these fifteen months I have been quite well. I appeal to GOD Almighty that I am speaking true; and for these six months I have had to do with no man but yourself.

BOSWELL. But by G-D, Madam, I have been with none but you, and here am I very bad.

LOUISA. Well, Sir, by the same solemn oath I protest that I was ignorant of it.

BOSWELL. Madam, I wish much to believe you. But I own I cannot upon this occasion believe a miracle.

LOUISA. Sir, I cannot say more to you. But you will leave me in the greatest misery. I shall lose your esteem. I shall be hurt in the opinion of everybody, and in my circumstances.

BOSWELL (to himself). What the devil does the confounded jilt mean by being hurt in her circumstances? This is the grossest cunning. But I won't take notice of that at all. — Madam, as to the opinion of everybody, you need not be afraid. I was going to joke and say that I never boast of a lady's favours. But I give you my word of honour that you shall not be discovered.

LOUISA. Sir, this is being more generous than I could expect.

During all this conversation I really behaved with a manly composure and polite dignity that could not fail to inspire an awe, and she was pale as ashes and trembled and faltered . . . . I was really confounded at her behaviour. There is scarcely a possibility that she could be innocent of the crime of horrid imposition. And yet her positive asseverations really stunned me. She is in all probability a most consummate dissembling whore.

From Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763
By James Boswell

Wrapped in Luxury: Cashmere Shawls

Susan reports:

Imagining early 19th c. ladies in their thin, unstructured gowns of muslin and silk during the winter makes us shiver in sympathy with them – especially imagining those gowns in a drafty drawing room before central heating.  But fear not: in the late 18th c., the British East India Company had nobly come to aid of shivering ladies.

The first shawls were imported in the late 18th c. from Kashmir, where they were worn primarily by men, but  English and French ladies were quick to adopt them.  Long, rectangular stoles handwoven of impossibly soft and warm cashmere, the shawls featured deep borders with  boteh (pine cones) or paisley motifs on each end.  The shawls had everything a lady of fashion could desire: they looked gorgeous over the plain gowns, they were as graceful and flirtatious as a fan, they were warm, and they were really, really expensive.  

Madame Riviere, above, painted by John-Auguste-Dominique Ingres in 1806, demonstrates exactly why the shawls were such a flattering style.  She was famous for her shawls; one theory suggests that they were costly gifts from a guilty husband who bought them for her to make up for his numerous infidelities.  

Soon a cashmere shawl from India became the status wrap, much like mink stoles were in the 1950s, and any 19th c. fashionista worth her style-salt could spot a fake one of ordinary English or Scottish wool at twenty paces. The Napoleonic Wars that made shipping perilous only drove the prices higher and made the shawls even more desirable, and the English blockades forced French ladies (or rather, their husbands and lovers) to pay exorbitantly for smuggled shawls.  

"The elegance of a woman can be equated with the quality of her shawl, or rather, of its price" declared the Journal de Paris in 1805, and who are we to argue?  The drawing above dates from the 1880s, long after the style was current, but it still shows the wide variety of ways in which the shawls were worn. 

We NHG think that as historical fashion goes, these cashmere shawls were pretty cool (or rather, pretty warm) and we're sure we'd write MUCH better books if we had one of these wrapped around our shoulders.  

For more about early 19th c. cashmere shawls, check out one of our absolutely favorite costume/art history books, Ingres in Fashion by Eileen Ribeiro.

Getting Warmer, 18th Century Style

Susan reports:

It's December, almost winter. As temperatures begin to drop in earnest, most of us fight the urge to tweak the thermostat up another notch, and add one more layer of fleece or flannel instead.  

But despite what L.L.Bean may tell us, layering is hardly new. Quilted clothing has been used for warmth and comfort since ancient times.  Few examples, however, achieve the style of this gentleman's silk and wool waistcoat with sleeves, replicated by the tailors of Colonial Williamsburg.

Such a waistcoat would have been worn over a white linen shirt by an 18th c. English gentleman relaxing before his fire, or informally receiving friends at home.  On a cold day, he might also wear it layered beneath another,

more structured coat for an extra bit of warmth.  There's a certain cavalier nonchalance to the waistcoat: what's more impractical (and therefore, more insanely fashionable) around a dish of tea or a glass of Madeira than pure white silk?

 

I love the double-breasted piece at the throat that can be buttoned against the chill, or folded into a stylish lapel. The cuffs, too, could be buttoned back, and there are deep pockets with flaps for tucking away a letter or snuff-box.  As with so much bespoke clothing, the details are amazing: all that diamond-patterned quilting is entirely stitched by hand, and the matching "death's head" buttons (thirty-two, by my rough count) are wrapped thread over a shaped wooden core. 

Can you imagine a more elegant alternative to a sweatshirt?

Men Behaving Badly: Scrope Davies

Loretta reports:

"When the Lent term of 1808 at Cambridge began, Byron was unable to return by reason of his debts. Scrope [Davies] chose not to do so and the two friends plunged into a life of dissipation in London. In Byron's case it was chiefly whoring and gambling; in Scrope's gambling and drinking. In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron recalled one of Scropes more noteworthy achievements:

One night, Scrope Davies at a gaming house...being tipsy as he usually was at the Midnight hour, and having lost monies, was in vain intreated by his friends, one degree less intoxicated than himself, to come or go home. In despair, he was left to himself, and to the demons of the dice-box. Next day, being visited, about two of the Clock by some friends just risen with a severe headache and empty pockets (who had left him losing at four or five in the morning), he was found in a sound sleep, without a night-cap, and not particularly encumbered with bed-cloathes: a Chamber-pot stood by his bed-side, brim-full of--Bank Notes! all won, God knows how, and crammed, Scrope knew not where; but there they were, all good legitimate notes, and to the amount of some thousand pounds."

T.A.J. Burnett, The Rise & Fall of a Regency Dandy: The Life and Times of Scrope Berdmore Davies