Working late tonight after spending the day seeing friends for the last time before going back to Cam,and planning a holiday with them in Europe
Still mindlessly revising 18th Century British Politics. Hopefully soon my posts will diversify and I will end this monotonous regularity.
I have decided to end my posts with one thing that made my smile (trying to up my positivity because last year was not Great). Today, seeing 3 of my friends just in general made me unbelievably happy. What’s made you smile today?
From the jewellery box of Helene Cathrine Büchler of Linderud Manor, Oslo
This was her wedding present when she married Mogens Larsen Monsen in 1762. It consists of a wooden box with silver boxes for hair pins, pomades etc, and a silver mirror. Inside two jewellery sets; one with rock crystals in Regènce style, the other with opalized glass in a lighter, floral Rococo style. In addition monogrammed rings, shoe buckles, a fan and various chains.
The jewellery box remained in the family at Linderud for almost 250 years, until it was eventually bought by Kunstindustrimuseet/Nasjonalmuseet in Oslo in 1994. You can see more detailed photos of the whole set here:
The manor was owned by the same family for some 300 years, and has both an amazing history and amazing items - especially from the 18th century when the prominent couple Mogens Larsen Monsen and Helene Cathrine Büchler inhabited the place. Here’s some favourites!
Tea set for two, from Royal Copenhagen ca. 1788. A gift to the Monsen couple from the Danish-Norwegian crown prince Frederik.
Banyan made of Spitalfields silk, 1750-60. Worn by Mogens Larsen Monsen (today in The National Museum).
Miniature portrait of Mogens Larsen Monsen, ca. 1780.
Robe a la Francaise, 1770s. Comes from Linderud, was probably worn by Helene Cathrine Büchler (today in The National Museum).
The reconstructed Baroque hall, 1713-20, at Lindreud.
The wedding present from husband to wife: a wooden box with two complete jewellery sets (parure), fan, toothpick, a mirror plus silver boxes for hairpins, pomades etc (today in The National Museum).
Closeup of one of the jewellery sets, 1762
Salute cannons, 1790s
A huge class cup with engraving “Welcome to Linderud”, used for toasting ceremonies. Made by Nøstetangen in the 1760s.
“My neck and my bosom is white and well shaped. My figure is quite good and fairly well proportioned and my stature straight (…). My hands are awful as I didn’t want to wear gloves as a child, but they are small and fairly well shaped. My legs are straight and, as my feet, nicely shaped, yes I can claim it’s the best part of me” (from the diary of Hedvig Elisabeth Charlotta, quoted in the book “Underkläder: en kulturhistoria” from 2008)
Attire:The portrait was painted one year after her wedding to prince Charles in July 1774, and it’s said to depict her in her wedding dress. How do we know? Because that very same wedding dress has survived and can today be seen in the collection of Livrustkammaren in Stockholm.
“As messengers, Jacobite Scotswomen personally hand delivered secret correspondence as a safeguard against discovery. After the ‘Forty-five, Jean Cameron of Dungallon (c. 1705-1753?)— wife of the well-known doctor Archibald Cameron of Lochiel, brother of the Gentle Lochiel [XIX Chief of Clan Cameron] and the last Jacobite to be executed for treason in 1753 — was employed by one of the Highland chiefs to transmit messages of intelligence in the area. According to two different sources of enemy intelligence, Jean Cameron, who was living in Strontian, Western Lochaber, was working alongside the younger Clanranald, who had been left behind by those fleeing Scotland, ‘to be at hand to receive such ships and dispatch Expresses with accounts of their news.’ Jean’s job was to carry the intelligence and the ships’ news to a contact in Dounan in Rannoch, who would then forward them to important Jacobite officers such as Cluny and Ardsheal. She was also noted by another government agent, Aeneas McDonnell, as receiving messages from Lochiel. She was requested to deliver them to Jacobites in hiding with the instructions ‘to come to him, but not in a body so as to be taken notice of.’ Although these are the only accounts of Jean Cameron’s role as a messenger, it is quite likely that she was used at other points throughout the ‘Forty-five and it’s aftermath. Using a Highland lady to deliver messages may have been done at this time with the hope that she was less conspicuous and suspicious than a Highlander on the road, who would likely have been searched for weapons, etc., if seen by the frequent Red Coat patrols. This was therefore a precaution against capture and interception; however the acknowledgement of her actions in enemy intelligence reveals that the ploy of using a woman had failed. This could likely be due to an informant or a double agent, of which there were several known at this time and in this region. Yet the success of others could be one reason why little is known about such roles performed by Scotswomen.” — Anita Randell Fairney, “Petticoat patronage": Elite Scotswomen’s Roles, Identity, and Agency in Jacobite Political Affairs, 1688-1766
In 1759 king Louis XV commissioned pioneering midwife Angélique du Coudray to teach midwifery to rural women to reduce infant mortality. Between 1760 to 1783, she traveled rural France and it is estimated that she trained about 4,000 students during that time.
Du Coudray invented the first lifesize obstetrical mannequin, called “The Machine.” Various strings and straps served to simulate the process of childbirth. The head of the infant mannequin had a shaped nose, stitched ears, hair drawn with ink, and an open mouth, with a tongue.
While the semi-creepy mannequin is not pleasant to look at, let’s hope it helped to save a lot of lives.
(I am very excited for this project that Adrian Teal is working on, and I’m hoping we can all rally behind him in support of this book. There are some wonderful benefits for supporting. Please consider helping this book come alive and showing appreciation for those keeping the 18th century alive. I asked him to explain the project, so I hope you enjoy! - Heather)
The Whig politician, Charles James Fox, is the 18th century in human form, to my way of thinking. Lauded for his ‘talent for friendship’, he was a fat, unshaven, scruffy womaniser, who was descended directly from the party animal King Charles II, and lived life on his own terms. He was a ‘man of sensibility’, who cried openly in Parliament when friends felt compelled to speak against him, and who married a courtesan in secret, devoting his declining years to tending their garden, and making her happy.
Fox was also an heroic drinker and compulsive gambler, infamous for all-night sessions. On one notorious occasion in 1772, he played Hazard non-stop from Tuesday through to Wednesday night, during which time he won, lost, and recovered £12,000, and finally lost £11,000. He paused briefly on Thursday to debate in the House of Commons, then returned to his club, drank until Friday morning, walked to Almack’s to gamble until 4pm, winning £6,000, then rode to Newmarket and blew £10,000 on the gee-gees. The Georgians – I think we can agree - make today’s celebs look like teetotal milksops.
My mission is to recapture some of the spirit of this gloriously dissipated, bawdy, and star-studded epoch, and I’m writing a crowd-funded book for UnboundcalledThe GIN LANE GAZETTE.It will be a compendium of illustrated highlights from a fictional newspaper of the 1700s: a kind of scurrilous Georgian tabloid. It will contain some of the most sensational headlines and true stories of my chosen period (1750-1800), generated by many familiar figures from history. The presses are presided over by Mr. Nathaniel Crowquill, the editor and proprietor, whose premises are located in Hogarth’s chaotic Gin Lane, and who has devoted fifty years to rooting out scandal and oddities with which to titillate his readership. The rascally Mr. Isaac Jakes supplies merciless caricatures and engravings, which disport themselves across every page. Sports reports, obituaries, fashion news, courtesans of the month, and advertisements for bizarre Georgian goods and services will also feature in this exuberant assemblage of muck and fun. I want to give readers an authentic flavour of the debauchery, bravery, villainy, inventiveness, and eccentricity which characterize the 18th century. Virtual Georgian reality, in book form, is my aim.
Unbound has published works by Monty Python legend, Terry Jones, and a host of others, including Tibor Fischer and Kate Mosse, and I’m honoured to be joining their ranks. I have spent sixteen years producing cartoons for clients such as The Sunday TelegraphandHistory Today, and hope to combine my experience in journalistic caricature with my love of history in a unique and evocative way. I entreat you to read my pitch, watch my video, and pledge if you like what you see…
Among all the learned matters one tries to cram into a child’s head when one is in charge of his education, the mysteries of Christianity, though doubtless one of the most sublime elements of that education, are nonetheless not among the easiest to explain clearly to a young mind. Try to convince a young man of fourteen or fifteen, for instance, that God the Father and God the Son are one and the same, that the Father is consubstantial to the Son and vice versa, etc., all that, however necessary it may be in ensuring a person’s happiness here below, is far more difficult to make a person understand than it is, say, to teach someone algebra. And when you really want to get your point across in a meaningful way, it is sometimes necessary to resort to physical examples, certain concrete methods that, however disproportionate they may seem, nonetheless make it easier for a young man of reasonable intelligence to grasp. No one was more profoundly practiced in this method of instruction than Abbe Du Parquet, tutor to the young Count de Nerceuil, who was about fifteen years of age and possessed of one of the handsomest faces imaginable. "Father,“ the young count was wont to say virtually every day to his tutor, "the truth is, the whole notion of consubstantiality is completely beyond my powers of comprehension. For the life of me, I just can’t figure out how two people can be one. Could you be kind enough to clarify this for me, or at least bring the mystery down to my level.” The good abbe, anxious to leave no stone unturned in making sure his student’s education was complete, and pleased by the thought that he might make it easier for his student to comprehend anything that might someday be an important factor in his life, seized upon a rather pleasurable means of overcoming the difficulties the young count was having in understanding the concept, figuring that an example taken from real life might just do the trick. Accordingly, he had a young nubile girl brought forth and after having instructed her as to what was expected of her, conjoined, as it were, the girl and his young student. "Now,“ said the abbe to his student, "do you understand more clearly the mystery of consubstantiality? Do you see how it is quite possible for two people to be but one?” “Oh, good heavens, yes, my dear Abbe,” the randy young count responded, “I now understand everything with amazing clarity. Nor am I any longer surprised if this mystery, so people maintain, provides as much pleasure as that reserved for those in heaven above, for when two people become one ‘tis pure pleasure, I find.” A few days later the young count asked his tutor if he wouldn’t mind giving him another lesson, for the more he thought about it the more he realized, he said, that he had not fully plumbed the depths of the mystery but that he was sure that if he tried it one more time everything would become crystal clear. The obliging abbe, who had in all likelihood been just as amused by the scene he had concocted as his student had been, called the same girl back and the second lesson got under way. But this time the abbe, especially moved by the vision offered to him by the sight of young de Nerceuil as he was consubstantiating with his companion, could not refrain from involving himself as a third party interested in the further clarification of the evangelical parable, and the beauteous backside upon which his hands were compelled to roam in the process of his explanation ended up exciting him uncontrollably. "It is my studied opinion,“ said Du Parquet, "that things are progressing at far too fast a pace. Much too much buoyancy in all the movements, as a result of which the conjunction, not being as intimate as it ought to be, does not conjure up a proper image of the mystery. Let me demonstrate… If we set about it just so, this way…” whereupon the scoundrel did unto his student precisely what the student was doing unto the young lady. "Oh! Good God above! you’re hurting me, Abbe,“ the lad exclaimed. "Nor can I see that this whole ceremony is serving any useful purpose. In what way, may I ask, does this further clarify the mystery?” "Oh, ventrebleu!“ the abbe mumbled, overcome as he was by the pleasurable lesson, "don’t you see, my dear boy, that I’m teaching the whole thing in one fell swoop. That’s the trinity I’m demonstrating in today’s lesson. Another six or seven lessons and you’ll be as learned as any doctor at the Sorbonne!”
The fabulously talented Adrian Teal is working on a project that needs your help. The Gin Lane Gazette is:
a compendium of illustrated ‘best bits’ from a fictional newspaper of the latter 1700s. It will contain some of the most sensational headlines and true stories of the period.
You can lend your support through the website Unbound. There you can also watch a video of Adrian explaining the project much more eloquently than I. There are also some wonderful rewards for supporting the book, so be sure to check it out!
Let us all encourage those keeping the 18th century alive!
(Special thanks to Kitty Pridden for tweeting this.)
