Gossip- an early modern invention?

A woman expecting would take her customary lying-in period— disappearing into the quiet, calm, controlled environment of her chamber. I can only imagine Jeopardy music tinkering away in the background as she strummed her fingers over her belly.  *Dum dee dum dum, dum dee dum*. Baby, where are you?

During this time, the woman’s company was exclusively female: the midwife and female kinsmen, neighbors, and servants attended her.  This ragtag group, abounding with womanly wisdom, were called “gossips”.

And so, the men curiously wondered… “What on earth do you think they are talking about in there?’

This may explain the somewhat malicious connotation of the word “gossip” today. As for “gossiping”,  I believe we have dear old Shakespeare to thank for that. The OED has its earliest citation for the phrase “to gossip” from this wonderfully ruff fellow. Interestingly, Shakespeare used the verb with the meaning “to make oneself at home like a gossip—that is, a kindred spirit or a fast friend.” 

I will begin to warmly call all my friends “my gossips”. 

History Woes

I have one question—

Why are shows like Ancient Aliens and UFO Hunters playing on the History Channel instead of shows like this:

Harlots, Housewives and Heroines

History Channel, what have you become?

Ahoy thar!

The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle is on my summer reading list.

Behold the tales of Peregrine Pickle, an egotistical dandy, and his escapades in eighteenth-century European society. Written by Scottish author Tobias Smollett. Published in 1751. A satire. A picaresque novel to be exact. Published in four volumes. And—

“Ahoy” (a nautical call used in hailing) is first recorded in this novel.

Found this morsel exploring the OED’s twitter.  Such a discovery has made me reevaluate my feelings toward twitter. 

God bless the pirates, the dandies, and the innate silliness of the word “pickle”

Royal Tennis Outfits

Some news on BBC online

Maria Hayward, a professor at the University of Southampton, made an astonishing discovery: King Charles I and Charles II had special tennis outfits.

Charles I wore a close-fitting jacket with open seams

Charles II had a cream-colored linen ensemble

…and their racquets were trimmed with lace (should we be surprised?)

Special tennis shoes and socks— A MUST

Here, FINALLY a little nugget of knowledge to toss around while at work.

“Where are your tennis shirts?”

“Over here. And while we’re on the subject of men’s tennis outfits…”

Dighton and Dandies.. and Pigeons?

Richard Dighton’s original print bares the informative title “Going to White’s.”  Lord Alvanley was a key member of the Dandy Dynasty in the early nineteenth-century. After Beau Brummell fled to France to avoid his debtors, Alvanley took the beau’s prized seat in the bay window of White’s (a gentlemen’s club on St. James’ Street, London). Ah yes, finally a chance to display all his dandical beauty! Captain Gronow wrote in his memoirs that Alvanley was “awarded the reputation, good or bad, of all witticisms in clubs after the abdication of the throne of dandyism by Brummell.” There you go, Alvanley. Sit your dandy bottom down, straighten your cravat, and prepare to be gazed upon. 

A friend pointed out to me (after looking at my mini-slideshow of Dighton’s prints), “they look like pigeons”. I agree. And let us not forget, Dighton’s drawings are caricatures. However, there is truth to this pigeon silhouette. Dandy attire featured nipped in waists, puffed out chests and somber tones.  

And, you can bet your breeches that their breeches fit better than yours. When it came to dandy fashion, the tailor was the true hero. His cuts and stitches were the great facilitators of all pigeon-like greatness.

Print Culture: Haven’t I Seen This Before Somewhere?

Woodcut was the primary medium for book illustrations up until the late sixteenth-century. It is a relief-style printing in which the non-printed part is cut away from the wood surface. After browsing through a few early modern manuscripts, you begin to notice a trend… and you start asking yourself, “didn’t I just see this image?”

Recycling images are they now? 

In the Grete Herball (1526), you find pictures of plants that don’t look like those described on the page.

“Is that an onion?”

“Yes”

“Really?  I think I saw one last week and—”

“WE DIDN’T HAVE ANY OTHER PICTURE OKAY?”

(to be far, the onion was one of the few images which actually depicted the vegetable in its proper light. Many just appear generically ‘planty’).

image from the Grete Herball (1526)

Clicking through British Printed Images to 1700, finding a print of a robber named Captain James Hind (c. 1652)… which later was used a mock execution broadside as a portrait of Napoleon.

“Here is a portrait of Captain James Hind, the Robber, who died of treason… which can double as a picture of Bonaparte with his last dying speech and confession.”

“Isn’t it lucky that they look exactly the same?”

“Yes….”

I think my favorite aspect of this is the fact that the title for the later Napoleon version read “Neapoleon Bonaparte alias Bonyparty.” This is entirely unrelated to my primary point, but had to be mentioned. The image was printed via letterpress rather than woodcut c. 1810. 

It all makes sense though, to reuse these bits and pieces.  Back then, were we being frugal, lazy, ironic, satirical, or resourceful? Print culture was expanding with great speed, and people wanted pictures. Yes, perhaps (especially in the case of a more instructive manuscript such as the Grete Herball) such reproduction compromised the text’s accuracy, but it had a lovely consequence: historical eye candy. I shall never argue against that- oh how I love illustrations.

*all italicized conversations are completely hypothetical. 

How Things Never Change: 1580’s Proverb

Though husbandrie seemeth, to bring in the gaines,

Yet huswiferie labours, seem equall in paines.

Some respit to husbands, to weather may send,

But huswives affaires, have never an end.

-from Thomas Tusser’s Five Hundred Pointes of Good Husbandrie… Over and Besides the Booke of Huswiferie, 1580.