SUNDRIES: An eighteenth century newsletter

N° 36 - June 24, 2006

BLOGS: An 18th century phenomenon? inter text FOLKLORE: The Zombie Wore Taffeta inter text EXHIBITS: An 18th-Century Motion Picture; Eliot Porter

law scales THE OLD REGIME POLICE BLOTTER: Rape (viol) and sexual assault

inter cooking 18th CENTURY RECIPE: Hollandaise Sauce

fleur de lysFOR READERS OF FRENCHfleur de lys
inter text Magasin Pittoresque: No 40 - 1872


BLOGS: An 18th century phenomenon?

I blog, therefore I am? Blogging as an 18th century phenomenon

W. Caleb McDaniel, a graduate student in the department of history at The Johns Hopkins University, is not only a blogger at Mode for Caleb and Cliopatria, a group blog for historians, he argues that blogging has a long and distinguished American pedigree. He says that blogs today have much in common with 18th and 19th century reading and journal-keeping practices. So here is a bit of what McDaniel says in:
Blogging in the Early Republic: Why bloggers belong in the history of reading.
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FOLKLORE: The Zombie Wore Taffeta

As of this writing, the always-in-flux Wikipedia says: "The first book to expose modern western culture to the concept of the zombie was The Magic Island by W.B. Seabrook in 1929."

While I might have guessed the date to be sometime in the nineteenth century, this statement would not at first seem far off. (The word - referring to a snake god? - is originally African, but the version most Westerners know comes from the Caribbean.)

The first contradiction of the date above comes from the on-line French dictionary the Tresor de la Langue Francaise, which cites a 1797 mention by Moreau de Saint-Méry in Description topographique et politique de la partie espagnole de l'isle Saint-Domingue, saying that it is a creole word meaning "spirit, ghost" (specifically, in French, a revenant, that is, a "returning" person). (Moreau also mentions that, in one place on the island, slaves buried their dead despite being forbidden to do so, and that floods sometimes brought them back to the surface.) The TLF also mentions the word "zambys", referring to spirit gods of African tribes, found in the Encyclopedie's 1765 article on "Negroes".

Eighteenth century zombies? How about seventeenth century? In 1697, "Pierre-Corneille" (actually Paul-Alexis) Blessebois published Le Zombi du grand Pérou, that is, "The Zombie of the Great Peru", a novel, at least in form.

Here is how Gallica has this listed:

Auteur(s) : Blessebois, Pierre-Corneille (1646-1700?). Auteur du texte
Titre(s) : Le zombi du grand Pérou, ou La comtesse de Cocagne [Texte imprimé] / (par P.-C. Blessebois)
Publication : [S.l.] : [s.n.], 1697
Description matérielle : 145 p. ; in-12
Note(s) : A la fin : "Portrait de la comtesse de Cocagne : vers irréguliers"
Titre alternatif : La comtesse de Cocagne"

Blessebois seems to have been somewhere between a petty hustler and a career criminal, and his misbehavior landed him in the Antilles in 1686 where he was "sold" (as an indentured servant?) to a widow of the owner of the property called "Grand-Pérou". He managed to pass himself as a sorcerer, with the result that Félicité de Lespinay, "called" the countess of Cocagne, enlisted his help in trying to obtain the property. He set up several situations to make her think she had become an invisible spirit ("zombi"), in which guise she caused some mischief. The rumors all this caused came to the attention of the authorities and he was soon arrested (again).

The novel tells this (supposedly true) tale, though with a combination of slapstick humor (much of it suggests old Three Stooges routines) and rather crass erotic passages (he paints her morals in the most lurid light: "Her beauty was not in the least ornamented with chastity, decency or modesty" (2)):

She [promised me] mountains of gold in the future, if I would make her invisible, and make it easier for her to frighten the Marquis in his bed, reproach him for his infidelity, & menace him with continual worry, if he did not satisfy the promise he had made to marry her... I told him of the discussion I had had with his Mistress, & the desire she had to pretend to be a Zombie to frighten him, & to make him match his acts to his conscience.....I think no one was still asleep when the Countess of Cocagne entered by the back door, which I had been careful to leave open, and came up to our Room dressed as a snow-colored Zombie, & in the belief that She was invisible...She furiously shook the windows of our Room, she struck us one after the other...I took the foreign Prince to her house, to give her the pleasure of seeing he whom She thought to have so well fooled; She made him tell a hundred times how frightened he had been, how the Zombie had thrown him on the ground.

Aside from the "zombi" of the title, the book also describes another element that became a staple of pop depictions of voodoo:

She spoke to me of a certain wax figure, which represented an enemy, & by means of which one invisibly took vengeance on its is enough that you make her waste away a little, in bringing it near the fire sometimes, or in pricking it in the buttocks with a pin, when she talks against your love to her son.
(56-57; 63)

Zombies, needles and wax dolls - familiar elements, but here in the service of wit and erotica (with a good dose of score-settling, I suspect, thrown in). No one but the Countess actually believes all this is magic.

Note, too, that the author never explains what a Zombi is, which suggests that his readers already had heard the term. It seems likely then that Western readers were first aware of zombies sometime towards the end of the seventeenth century. At least until an earlier work on the subject is found to prove otherwise.

One last question: will "Brotherhood of the Wolf" soon be followed by "Sisterhood of the Zombie"?

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EXHIBITS: An 18th-Century Motion Picture; Eliot Porter

When I went to the Getty last Saturday, I must admit it was mainly to escape the Valley heat. A good choice for that purpose; a French architect friend once expained to me how well-designed the space is to 'break' Southern California's direct sunlight. Having sat some while in the cool shadows, sipping white wine, I almost didn't notice, until just before I left the exhibit closing the next day: "Carmontelle's Transparency: An 18th-Century Motion Picture".

Carmontelle's Transparency: An 18th-Century Motion Picture

This exhibition spotlights one of the most unusual objects in the Getty Museum's collection—a 12-foot-long transparent drawing by Louis de Carmontelle. Depicting elegant figures in a sun-drenched landscape, it was meant to be unrolled in front of viewers, section by section, through a backlit viewing box. It is thought to be the first of Carmontelle's rouleaux transparents ("rolled-up, transparent drawings").

The first thing I noticed looking over the long fantasy landscape was that a little structure on a hill looks very much like in Paris' Parc Monceau. It turns out that used to be the Duke d'Orleans' property, which Carmontelle helped enhance. Otherwise, it was something of a treat to turn two handles that scrolled a back lit reproduction of the work, showing the "moving picture" that once thrilled d'Orleans' guests.

Around the central piece, the Getty was showing several other drawings from the period: Oudry, Gillot, Portail.

Off-topic, but lovely are Eliot Porter's photographs of nature. Many of them of undulant rocks and other landscapes, but one series shows lively and colorful pictures of birds (he constructed special stands to capture them).

Porter promoted the use of color photography from the 1940s until the mid-1970s, a time when most serious photographers worked in black and white. Porter's work was widely published and used as a powerful visual argument for nature conservation.
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THE OLD REGIME POLICE BLOTTER: Rape (viol) and sexual assault

Readers of English may not recall, or ever have known, that the word "rape" means not only to impose sex without consent, but to carry away (which is why paintings of the "Rape of Europa" or "The Rape of the Sabines", for instance, show women being carried off.) In Old Regime France, these meanings were expressed, legally, in two different words: viol (forcible rape) and rapt (abduction). In practice the latter covered a broad range of actions, from kidnapping as a prelude to forcible rape to (fully consensual) elopement. All were considered, in theory at least, to be rape - that is, a capital crime. When consensual, these might, in modern terms, be considered a form of statutory rape - bearing in mind that, in Old Regime France, one was a minor until twenty-five (though girls were pubescent - "nubile" -, and so able to be engaged, at twelve).

In presenting the following, I will describe abductions which appear to have been consensual in a separate group. Actions (rapes or other sexual assaults) which clearly were not will appear in these first groupings.

Denisart, in Decisions Nouvelles, discusses "viol" and "rapt" in separate articles (Tome III); Jousse, in Traite de la Justice Criminelle, discusses both together, as well as other 'carnal relations' in a long continuum (Tome 3, 705-752). Without resuming either text, here are a few striking points:

  • Rape of a victim who was in an ill-famed place or was "dressed in an indecent manner like a courtisan" was punished less harshly
  • A woman's reputation was a key statutory element in proof
  • The social rank of the victim increased or diminished the gravity of the crime
  • Rape of a child (that is, not just a minor, but a prepubescent girl) was supposedly punished more harshly (Jousse cites one 17th century case where a man was broken on the wheel for raping a four-year-old; a man who raped a seven year old, however, was merely hung)
  • Rape of a prisoner by a jailor was punished severely, unless the victim was a prostitute, etc.
  • Parents had no standing to forgive a rapist and/or abductor who married the victim (since the crime was not against them, but the public)
  • A woman who "raped" - abducted - a young man to force him into marriage could be punished by death
  • A woman who killed a man to prevent her rape could obtain a pardon (but had to request it)
  • The victim's identity was sometimes protected
  • A false accusation was, like rape itself, punishable by death

Jousse provides a list of "Presumptions of the bad conduct of a girl or woman" [I have omitted his references for each of these.]

55. These presumptions are,

1. When she dresses in an indecent & immodest manner.
2. When she walks alone at ungodly hours.
3. When young men, or other suspect persons enter her house at night, & are welcomed.
4. When she has dance parties, or other similar, at night, with these kinds of people.
5. Poverty, or an uncomfortable life is often also reason to suspect a person, when this cause is joined with other presumptions.
6. Finally, women, or girls, of taverns, & and other public places, are also presumed to be of less regular conduct than others.

Finally, though this dates from before our period, it is interesting to note that a statute of May, 1579 prescribes punishment for those who obtain lettres de cachet for the purpose of rape. This simultaneously shows how badly such instruments could be abused and that they were nonetheless subject to some legal limits. Recueil général des anciennes lois françaises, Tome XIV - juillet 1559-mai 1574 [sic - volume goes to 1589] (443)


It is rare, outside judicial records, to find first hand accounts by rapists. Here are three by two very different writers.


The glazier Menetra's memoirs were found after his death and apparently were never meant to be published. But this only partially explains why he would include two incidents that, even by his own account, are to his discredit, despite his creepy formulation: "Half willingly and the rest by force".

Menetra was a Parisian, but like many craftsman did a "Tour of France", going to the provinces to get a breadth of experience. These (undated) incidents are from his travels during that time.

Finally I left accompanied by a man from Rennes to go to Angers. On the route I had some good luck. At the entry of a little wood I spotted a little shepherd and a young shepherdess who were at it. I went as softly as possible and when I was near I made some noise. The undressed young man started to flee and the young girl to cover herself. My comrade went running after the young man but I amused myself with the girl half willingly and the rest by force. But I had second thoughts because my comrade made no attempt to profit from the adventure. I retraced my steps and stopped a second time and as I was a good Christian and I had heard it said that a sin paid is half pardoned I gave her three two-sol pieces and continued on my way.
around 1757-1758 (53)
At this time a [man from?] Quercy arrived with a young girl disguised as a tailor's boy and he was a cutler's worker who brought her from Toulouse. In the evening we supped together but I perceived that this was goods for a man and was not wrong. The first night they slept together in our room. The next day the Quercy went to work and came in the evening to drink with us and went to sleep at his boss's. I took his place at night half by force and the rest willingly. The next day she told her lover what happened to her but since several of us slept together in the room he did not know whom to go after. He told us each separately and we mocked them so strongly that all the workers came to have a laugh. The two individuals were obliged to beat it and everybody saying and the house-mother too that only the Parisian would pull a trick like that and me denying it all outright.
about 1755-1760 (87)


Since the next account comes from Venice, let me first establish its link with eighteenth century France. In speaking of the cabarets of the Courtille, just outside Paris, one historian says,

If an ill-advised husband took his wife there, it could happen, if she was young, - there are examples - that he see her taken from his arms and be beaten in trying to defend her. She was carried to one of the carriages which were always parked at the door of the guinguettes and whose drivers obeyed the ravishers, then taken by force to some hovel in Belleville, hidden from police inquiries, and her husband only saw her three or four days later. Today these facts seem unbelievable, and yet they took place right under the noses of the authorities, who closed their eyes rather than admit their powerlessness. The truth is the police officers, then in insufficient number, and soldiers' patrols did not dare venture into these ill-famed and truly dangerous places.
Joseph Barberet, Le travail en France: monographies professionnelles, Volume 7, "Debitants de boisson" (11)

I have not found and do not expect to find any first hand accounts from any of the 'ravishers' mentioned above. But one man who engaged in a similar 'entertainment' in Venice, not only wrote about it, but did so with evident delight: Casanova.

This is described in a very long passage (from Gutenberg's English version).

It was during the Carnival of 1745, after midnight; we were, all the eight of us, rambling about together with our masks on, in quest of some new sort of mischief to amuse us, and we went into the magazzino of the parish of the Holy Cross to get something to drink. We found the public room empty, but in one of the private chambers we discovered three men quietly conversing with a young and pretty woman, and enjoying their wine.

Our chief, a noble Venetian belonging to the Balbi family, said to us, "It would be a good joke to carry off those three blockheads, and to keep the pretty woman in our possession." He immediately explained his plan, and under cover of our masks we entered their room, Balbi at the head of us. Our sudden appearance rather surprised the good people, but you may fancy their astonishment when they heard Balbi say to them: "Under penalty of death, and by order of the Council of Ten, I command you to follow us immediately, without making the slightest noise; as to you, my good woman, you need not be frightened, you will be escorted to your house." When he had finished his speech, two of us got hold of the woman to take her where our chief had arranged beforehand, and the others seized the three poor fellows, who were trembling all over, and had not the slightest idea of opposing any resistance.

The waiter of the magazzino came to be paid, and our chief gave him what was due, enjoining silence under penalty of death. We took our three prisoners to a large boat. Balbi went to the stern, ordered the boatman to stand at the bow, and told him that he need not enquire where we were going, that he would steer himself whichever way he thought fit. Not one of us knew where Balbi wanted to take the three poor devils.

He sails all along the canal, gets out of it, takes several turnings, and in a quarter of an hour, we reach Saint George where Balbi lands our prisoners, who are delighted to find themselves at liberty. After this, the boatman is ordered to take us to Saint Genevieve, where we land, after paying for the boat.

We proceed at once to Palombo Square, where my brother and another of our band were waiting for us with our lovely prisoner, who was crying.

"Do not weep, my beauty," says Balbi to her, "we will not hurt you. We intend only to take some refreshment at the Rialto, and then we will take you home in safety."

"Where is my husband?"

"Never fear; you shall see him again to-morrow."

Comforted by that promise, and as gentle as a lamb, she follows us to the "Two Swords." We ordered a good fire in a private room, and, everything we wanted to eat and to drink having been brought in, we send the waiter away, and remain alone. We take off our masks, and the sight of eight young, healthy faces seems to please the beauty we had so unceremoniously carried off. We soon manage to reconcile her to her fate by the gallantry of our proceedings; encouraged by a good supper and by the stimulus of wine, prepared by our compliments and by a few kisses, she realizes what is in store for her, and does not seem to have any unconquerable objection. Our chief, as a matter of right, claims the privilege of opening the ball; and by dint of sweet words he overcomes the very natural repugnance she feels at consummating the sacrifice in so numerous company. She, doubtless, thinks the offering agreeable, for, when I present myself as the priest appointed to sacrifice a second time to the god of love, she receives me almost with gratitude, and she cannot conceal her joy when she finds out that she is destined to make us all happy. My brother Francois alone exempted himself from paying the tribute, saying that he was ill, the only excuse which could render his refusal valid, for we had established as a law that every member of our society was bound to do whatever was done by the others.

After that fine exploit, we put on our masks, and, the bill being paid, escorted the happy victim to Saint Job, where she lived, and did not leave her till we had seen her safe in her house, and the street door closed.

My readers may imagine whether we felt inclined to laugh when the charming creature bade us good night, thanking us all with perfect good faith!
Memoirs of Casanova — Volume 04: Return to Venice by Giacomo Casanova

Note that, like Menetra in the first case, Casanova had at least one companion (his brother) who did not choose to join in the "fun".


This story is curious in itself. But equally curious is the fact that it is the only example Denisart gives for his article on forcible rape (viol) (whereas his article on abduction (rapt) cites several cases). Yet, whatever the truth of the case, it is clear that no rape was completed here.

A young man, named Jean Gobinot, being in the garden of Marin Quaint, worker in Paris, near Pont-sur-Seine, with the latter's wife, this wife did to Gobinot the work of cutting off what made him a man.

Goinot did not die of this; he brought a complaint at Pont-sur-Seine, against the wife as well as the husband, & said that this attack on his personn was the effect of Quaint's jealousy, that Quaint's wife had drawn him (Godinot) into a garden where she had told him everything that a violent passion can make a woman say; that this speech having had no effect, she made him the most shameful advances, and provoked him by lascivious touching, but that he at once became the victim of his gullibility...

Quaint's wife said, to the contrary, that Gobinot had come, armed with a pistol, to find him in the garden, that he wanted to rape her; she admitted using her knife, & rendering Gobinot incapable of consummating his crime; but she denied that she was guilty: she added that under the circumstances she could have deprived Gobinot of his life, & that she had all the more reason to uproot the source of this man's disorder.

In regard to Quaint, he offered an alibi, but it was proven that sometime before Gobinot's misfortune, the husband & the wife had mistreated him in a barn.

On this Sentence came down at Pont, which condemned Quaint & his wife together to 1200 pounds of civil damages, & to banishment, tne woman for seven years, & the husband for five years; but, by a Decision delivered July 8, 1729, on the report of M. Delpech, this Sentence was vacated; the wife Quaint was condemned to 600 pounds of civil interest & and to expenses; and for the husband, the Court ordered further inquiry.
Denisart (T. 3 292)
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From CHEZ JIM Books:
and a history of the CROISSANT:

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18th CENTURY RECIPE: Hollandaise Sauce

To seek out Hollandaise sauce in the eighteenth century is to end up on two different paths: one in search of the (many) recipes prepared "Dutch-style" (à la Hollandaise), the other in search of sauces made with butter and egg yolks (preferably emulsified, like mayonnaise.)

Several Web sites give a history of Hollandaise sauce, though naturally they do not quite agree:

Sauce Hollandaise, as we now know it, is the modern descendant of earlier forms of a sauce believed to have been brought to France by the Huguenots. So, its prototype appears to have actually been a Flemish or Dutch sauce thickened with eggs, like a savory custard, and perhaps a little butter beaten in to smooth the texture. I'm not up on the finer details of Huguenot history, but that would put the prototype sauce at what, late sixteenth, early seventeenth century?
History - Most historians agree that it was originally called Sauce Isigny after a town in Normandy, Isigny-sur-Mer, known for its butter. Today, Normandy is called the cream capital of France. During World War I, butter production came to a halt in France and had to be imported from Holland. The name was changed to hollandaise to indicate the source of the butter and was never changed back.
The sauce using egg yolks and butter appeared in the 19th century. Though various sources say it was first known as "sauce Isigny" (a town in Normandy said to have been renowned for the quality of its butter), Mrs. Isabella Beeton's Household Management had recipes in the first edition (1861) for "Dutch sauce, for fish" (p. 405) and its variant on the following page, "Green sauce, or Hollandaise verte".

But these sites offer little in the way of pre-nineteenth century recipes.

Certainly, there are numerous recipes "à la Hollandaise" in period cookbooks, as in these three from the Dons de Comus (1750). The first two of these recipes have some clear common elements with modern Hollandaise sauce - they use butter as a key ingredient, and lemon juice to "sharpen" the sauce. Though egg yolks are not mentioned, they had often been used as binding over the centuries and it would not have been surprising if some cooks simply added them to these or similar recipes.

Hollandoise [sic] Sauce

Put in a pot two sticks of butter, a little four, two cloves of garlic stuck with a clove, slices of lemon, a pinch of chopped and blanched parsley. Cover with a good bouillon, quintessence, or consommé. Turn on the fire and give it a light consistency. Take out the lemon slices and garlic; when serving, add lemon juice.
(I, 54)
Chickens Hollandoise

Prepare them for the spit, do not cook them more than is needed for entrées of poultry on the spit, and [leave them] white on top. Take two glasses [missing text?] of sticks [sic] of excellent butter, a pinch of blanched and chopped parsley, a garlic clove studded with a clove, a little flour. Turn this on the fire; in finishing [add] lemon juice and serve on your chicken.
(II, 163)

This on the other hand shows how different a "Dutch-style" preparation might be:

Roasts à la Hollandoise

Take anchovies, well-cleaned and desalted. Take out the fillet and cut them neatly into matchsticks. Make a mixture of oil, parsley, spring onion, shallots, crushed pepper, chopped anchovies. Your roasts being done put on them a layer of this mixture, and garnish the top with little anchovy fillets neatly laid out.
(III, 143)

Somewhat later (1806), Viard offers a very different Hollandaise sauce:

Take reduced velouté in which you will put whole peppers, a trickle of tarragon vinegar, you will keep your sauce hot: just at the moment of serving it, put in half an egg of fine butter, that you will melt in the hot sauce; then you will take a little spinach green [juice from cooked spinach] which you will blend into your sauce as you serve it.

This sauce can be made without velouté; you will need a little white roux, which you will moisten with a little stock, as from cooking poultry, noix [approximately, rump] of veal, veal tendon, etc. Your liquid must be colorless; when your sauce is reduced and has a good taste, put in the things as above.
Le Cuisinier Imperial (53)

What about sauces that did include both butter and egg? (None, as it happens, are called "Hollandaise".)

The article above from Stephan's Florilegium cites a 1651 item from La Varenne "calling for 'good fresh butter, a little vinegar, salt, nutmeg, and an egg yolk to bind the sauce; take care that it does not curdle.'" But though the webmistress of What's Cooking America was kind enough to tell me the name of the recipe ("Asparagus in Fragrant Sauce"), I have not been able to find this in the copy of Le Cuisinier Francois I have available.

The following English recipe from 1736 does say to "thicken up your sauce with yolks of eggs and butter, and pour it in the dish with your meat." The overall effect here (especially on lamb) does not seem as if it would much resemble today's Hollandaise sauce, but it does show the two were used together in a sauce:

To marinade a Leg of Lamb: Take a leg of lamb, cut it in pieces the bigness of a half-crown; hack them with the back of a knife; then take an eschalot, three or four anchovies, some cloves, mace, nutmeg, all beaten; put your meat in a dish, and strew the seasoning over it, and put it in a stew-pan, with as much white-wine as will cover it, and let it be two hours; then put it all together in a frying-pan, and let it be half enough; then take it out and drain it through a colander, saving the liquor, and put to your liquor a little pepper and salt, and half a pint of gravy; dip your meat in yolks of eggs, and fry it brown in butter; thicken up your sauce with yolks of eggs and butter, and pour it in the dish with your meat: lay sweet-breads and forc'd-meat balls over your meat; dip them in eggs, and fry them. Garnish with lemon.
E. Smith's Compleat Housewife 1736

From just a bit later, in 1750, the Dictionnaire des Alimens offers this rather tart combination of the two ingredients, which in fact does not seem too far from modern Hollandaise:

Sour Sauce

Put in a pot three or four egg yolks, a little mace , a glass of vinegar, a little water, a lump of butter, salt, pepper; cook your sauce stirring with a wooden spoon and be careful that it does not curdle; you can also put in a lump of kneaded butter, that will bind it better; another time anchovies; this sauce is normally used for perch or other fish; it is served in a sauceboat or on the fish.
III (346)

Whatever the origin of the American version, by 1853, a French cooking dictionary offered three recipes for the sauce, the first of which sounds very much like the modern one (bearing in mind that lemon juice, vinegar and verjuice have often been used interchangeably):

Yellow sauce hollandaise (for turbot or pike) - Put in a pot, with a glass of good vinegar, twelve raw egg yolks, a quarter pound of butter, whole pepper, salt, pimento, nutmeg; heat all this in a double-boiler, stirring the whole while; when it begins to take, that is to thicken, add a pound and a half of very fresh butter, stirring until the butter is melted and everything well blended, then pour this sauce through a strainer.
Dictionnaire de la Cuisine Francaise Ancienne et Moderne (446)
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fleur de lysFOR READERS OF FRENCHfleur de lys

Magasin Pittoresque: No 40 - 1872

REMINDER: The Magasin Pittoresque was a nineteenth century French magazine. Issues can be found on Gallica.Also, most articles are accompanied by at least one image, and so some may interest even those who do not read French.

The one reference this issue of the magazine makes to Paris' then recent troubles is a long article on the Siege of Paris. Presumably all those pictures of dead bodies from the Commune would have been a bit much for their readership. Lots for caricature lovers here, including a guide to the art and Gillray. It's a bit shocking to see that there were robbers who specialized in stealing from children (though Dickens shows something similar in "Dombey and Son"). But a few months ago in California a man was caught on video ripping a gold chain from a little girl's neck (and later caught in person).

The off-topic study of life spans of married and unmarried people is surprisingly in agreement with a similar study done a few years ago.

24 - 18th century collector's Celtic trident ax
26 - first French society of agriculture 1757
104 - huissiers' procession
152 - robbers of children
161 - fragment of an old almanac
193 - a political discussion (engraving)
248 - gutters of Paris (based on Mercier)
264 - lesson at Oxford (Hogarth)

individuals of note:
11 - James Gillray's caricatures on fashion
54 - Raisin, little boy in 'music box', adopted by Moliere
55 - Boisguillebert and the freedom of commerce, 1701
98 - a candid view of Buffon
107 - engraver Papillon
207 - botanist Pierre Poivre
232 - conductor Hiedegger
242 - Mme de Genlis - passing the time

off-topic of interest:
3- balloons of the Siege of Paris
35 - article on caricature
62 - astrological and magic mirrors
78 - origin of the mortar (by Turkish sultan)
91 - meanings of various abbreviations
127 - Tsai Leu, Chinese paper inventor
135 - education in the US
192 - using mummy wrappings as napkins
280 - relative mortality of widows, widowers, etc.
326 - Nathaniel Hawthorne

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End quote

No doubt they will ask themselves again, on what are founded these praises, little considered, with which our Preachers, our Moralists, even our Satyrists, are happy to ceaselessly exalt times past, in order to indict the perversity of our own. Oh, how little these vain declaimers know both History and men!"

Grand d'Aussy, Histoire de la Vie Privee des Francais (II, 228)

FROM CHEZ JIM BOOKS Three works on eighteenth century subjects:

For some sample 18th century vegetarian recipes, click here.

copyright 2006 Jim Chevallier.
When using brief extracts from this site, please credit properly and provide a link back to this site.
(NOTE: Most translations, except where otherwise noted, are by Jim Chevallier and are copyrighted as such.)
Please do not reproduce extended pieces (recipes, translated pieces, etc.) without prior permission.


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